Kylac dropped the stool and reached for his blades.
Traeger managed a third strike, this one stronger and more focused. Brie deflected it as she had the others, then lunged forward with one of those lighting thrusts she executed so well, catching Traeger in the side.
“I got him!” she cried, the thrill evident in her voice.
Guard up, thought Kylac, dashing toward her on legs suddenly made of sand.
A broad grin raised her puffy cheeks. But as her fiery gaze found his, gleaming with anticipation of his approval, Kylac watched Traeger’s sword slash out in counter.
She was still grinning when its tip ripped a matching smile across her throat.
Traeger lurched aside as Kylac flew past, ignoring the captain completely. He dropped his blades to catch Brie as she slid into his arms. She was still smiling when she looked up at him, sword slipping from her nerveless fingers.
“Brie?”
“I got him,” she said again, a whisper now as blood pulsed from her throat.
He put his hand to her neck as if he might wipe the wound clear. But it was the smile on her face that vanished, a choking realization seizing upon her brow. Her eyes turned toward the ceiling, lids fluttering.
“Kylac…?”
“I’m here, Brie. Lie still. I’m here.”
Her gaze found his again, though it seemed to peer through him. She reached a hand toward his face. “You…You’re…”
A sudden spasm gripped her. She clutched his arm with amazing intensity, nails gouging his flesh. “Breathe. Just breathe. I’m here, Brie. I’m here. Shards, I’m right here.”
She blinked twice more before her eyes rolled back and her head sagged in the crook of his arm. “Brie? Brie?”
As her grip on him weakened, he clutched her all the harder, pressing his cheek to hers, where her blood smeared against his tears.
“Hypocrites,” he heard Traeger say, as though from a great distance. “You sow death amid the shadows, yet weep when the harvest comes home.”
Kylac opened his eyes to find the captain standing beside Rohn, blade perched against his throat. A fistful of hair kept Rohn’s head upright. His father was awake now, if only barely.
“Too long has my fair city suffered your plague,” Traeger spat, and there was blood in it. His abdomen glistened darkly where Brie had pierced him. “Tonight, I end it.”
Kylac lowered Brie softly to the earth, gently closing the lids over her eyes. You…You’re… He folded her palms upon her chest.
“Doubtless, another will take his place. But Magistrate Aarhus will continue to hunt you. And as each head rises, he will strike it down, until no more dare rise.”
Guard up, Kylac thought. He noticed Brie’s blade upon the ground, lying near his own.
“Tehric,” Rohn coughed suddenly. “He’ll not be pleased…should you cheat him of his prize.”
The words proved a distraction, stealing the captain’s focus, giving him pause. In that moment, a sensation like liquid ice burned up Kylac’s spine, spilling into his shoulders, coursing outward through his limbs. He could not have said how it happened next, only that he willed himself forward, and his body responded. A pair of swords came to hand. His heart beat once, twice, while the physical world stood still around him. When it was done, Traeger’s severed sword arm was falling toward the earth, and Brie’s blade was sliding cleanly through his gaping mouth.
Too easy.
A chill ran through him as the captain’s body fell. It convulsed upon the floor, its expression contorting with fury and denial, blood coughing from its ruined face. Its back arched as it flopped to one side, where it finally lay twitching.
Kylac watched, awaiting a sense of satisfaction, of triumph, of vengeance slaked. He watched until the throes had ceased, yet tasted only raw, writhing emptiness.
He continued to stand there, unmoving, while blood pooled beneath the mutilated body, spilling outward into the cracks and crevices of the floor, spreading…
The presence of a shadow drew his gaze toward the chamber stairwell. There stood a man in silken robes trimmed with gold, his impressive height and rigid posture giving him an austere bearing. His head was shorn, his close-cropped chin beard shaped into an arrowhead. The gilded ropes draped about his shoulders proclaimed his office.
Magistrate Aarhus.
The magistrate surveyed the scene. He seemed utterly disinterested in the pair of watchmen bound at the base of the stair, Turnip pale with fear, Gaptooth unconscious. His gaze lingered only slightly longer on Thumbs, similarly insensate, bleeding at the wrists—whom Brie hadn’t had a chance to bind. He took careful note of Brie’s small form, laid out peacefully, and of Traeger’s, laid out in pieces. Only when his eyes found Kylac’s did they cease to roam, taking hold like a raptor’s talons.