But there was no more time for his grief. Isbit rushed out the door, braids flying. His mother would make no time for sorrow. She only desired vengeance and power.
Gemma cursed under her breath and followed after her, and Tollan trailed after Elam and Devery, with Wince supporting the sobbing maid behind him.
The two queens led them through the remainder of the southern wing and into the belly of the palace without slowing down until they reached the enormous mahogany doors that led to the throne room. As Isbit made to push them open, Gemma turned to exchange a glance with Elam and Devery. In unison, they snapped their fingers twice. Then Tollan’s mother pushed the doors open and released the Void.
Wince wanted to pull everyone backward—back through the palace, out past the Golden Door, beyond the tunnels and back to Dockside. He wanted a minute to catch his breath and figure out what had happened—what was still happening—and how best to deal with it. He wanted to comfort Tollan, for he knew that the sight of his brother in such a condition must have pained Tollan greatly. But events were moving at breakneck speed, and he had no time to do anything more than make wishes.
Something was wrong with Devery. Something terminal. He was slow and his shoulders were hunched, and Wince was fairly sure that his hair had gone suddenly gray.
Queen Isbit was dragging them ever forward, careening toward the confrontation that he dreaded would destroy them all. She was oblivious to all consequences as she charged headlong toward the throne room and vengeance. Wince had always feared Tollan’s mother, but this was something else entirely. And she’d already told Tollan that no one else mattered. He knew without a doubt that she would throw away every last one of them in an attempt to right the wrongs she’d been dealt. He glanced at Tollan and saw actual fear on his face. No mother should instill that kind of terror in her child.
Wince could see the enormous polished wood doors that led to the throne room. It was now or never. He met Elam’s gaze and a silent discussion happened in an instant. Elam’s hand twitched in his pocket, where Wince knew he kept the reed that held the poisoned needle. Should he use it?
As they neared the doors, Gemma hissed, “Isbit, wait!” but the Queen of Above ignored her. As panic took hold of Wince, he tried to remember what Lian had said when she’d pulled the two of them aside and given Elam the reed just before they left.
“Mistress Melnora always had me keep a few made up,” she’d said, as she carefully dropped the thin reed capped with wax into Elam’s hand. “She said you never know when you might have to take out one of your own.” She’d looked at Wince, then. “And you’ll need to serve as Elam’s eyes. You know those of the Above better than he does. If it’s one of them, you let him know, in whatever way is necessary.” She had trusted him, and it had felt like an enormous gift to Wince, at the time.
“Who do you think …” his voice had broken.
She shrugged. “We eat lies like sweets here in Under, and I suppose Above isn’t all that different. It could be anyone. You’ll know it when you see it. It won’t kill. It’ll just … take them out of the equation temporarily.”
Elam wrapped his hand around the reed, his face showing a mixture of awe and dread. “What if it’s me?” he asked.
She’d grinned. “It won’t be either of you. It’s not how you’re built.” She patted his hand thoughtfully. “But, Elam. Don’t rule out the possibility that it could be Gemma.”
But it wasn’t Gemma. Not this time, anyway. Gemma’s rage was fiery and smoldering, but it was the kind of anger you could predict, and it did nothing to blunt the edges of her feelings. Isbit, however, had gone as cold as the depths of the Hadriak, and she no longer bothered to look beyond the borders of her own hatred.
Elam took one more look at Tollan, and Wince saw the moment he made his decision.
The door flew open as he pulled the needle from his pocket. “Isbit!” Elam called, just to grab her attention. They only needed her to hesitate for a heartbeat. He only needed to break the skin.
Wince held his breath and said a silent prayer.
There was no time to think, no time to breathe. Gemma tried to recount their plan. All two hundred of the Ain were in the tunnels, guarding against escape. The dozen sellswords and eight assassins who were still awake were stationed beyond the burning brambles at the front doors of the palace, and Lian was supervising the remaining members of the Guild who surrounded the palace of Yigris.
But Gemma and Dev and Elam and the rest were just as trapped as the mages were now, and Isbit refused to slow down. They needed to gather their wits and come up with an attack plan, but the Queen of Above had gone mad with grief and fury.
Gemma understood. Somewhere beneath the buzzing in her veins and the pounding of adrenaline in her chest, she remembered. Even if they won today, she had lost. Her throat grew thick with pain for an instant, before she smelled peaches and cinnamon, and her breathing eased. She would grieve properly, after. Right now, she had to get Katya back. Right now, she had to protect Devery. Right now, Isbit was flinging open the doors to their doom.
“Isbit!” Elam called as he slipped past Gemma. The Queen of Above paused for just an instant. Elam reached out, his hand brushing Isbit’s arm, and the queen slumped to the ground.
“What the prickling Void?” Gemma cursed, gaze darting about as she searched for danger.
Gemma’s bowels rumbled. Goddess, had Elam just killed Isbit?
Then Elam slipped his hand into his pocket and winked at her. He snapped his fingers, twice, then stood and spread his arms wide. “Regency,” he said formally. “If you would.”
But she had no time to think. From within the throne room, a voice rang out.
“I had hoped you were dead, you piece of Yigrisian trash. Where is my son?”
Gemma stopped, surveying the room. A young woman with pale flaxen hair sat stiffly on the throne. She wore an immense silver crown, and her eyes were flint and ice. The four captive mage women sat on a bench. Their shoulders were slumped, and their hair hung ragged and dirty around their faces. They did not seem to notice that anyone else was in the room, and they certainly didn’t seem as if they’d recently gained their freedom. Gemma had expected them to be aiding Brinna and Elsha, but they sat like statues, and Gemma realized that she was still missing a piece of the puzzle.
She had no time to dwell on it, though, because Brinna held Katya at arm’s length, her hand wrapped around the back of the girl’s neck. Her other hand burst into flame as Gemma watched. The heat rippled the air around them, and Katya winced, struggling to pull away.
Brinna waved her burning hand in the air. “Ah, there you are,” she said, her blue eyes lit with madness. “Now, come here like a good lad so I don’t have to hurt Katy. You know it’s the last thing I’d want to do.”
For an instant, Gemma forgot that Devery wasn’t Devery anymore, and she almost smiled, knowing that in a heartbeat he’d cut Brinna to bits for threatening his daughter. But as Gemma heard the plodding footsteps behind her, reality came crashing down around her. “No!” she hissed. He reached out, patting her shoulder as he walked past. It was a half-hearted gesture. He wasn’t even looking at her. His gaze remained focused on Katya. But as his hand slipped down her arm, he snapped his fingers. Once. Twice. Three times.
Have patience.
“That’s much better, Devery,” his mother said, as if she were speaking to a toddler. “Come to Mother so that I don’t have to punish you any further. You look terrible, son.”
An animal fierceness was building in Gemma. Her legs trembled with pent-up adrenaline, and her mouth was dry. Her hand slipped to the hilt of the blade at her hip.