A few feet away, Nitta struggles against her bonds, trying to go to Wren. Naja jerks the chain. Nitta’s back arches as the collar crushes her throat.
“Wait,” the King commands. He pauses in his beating. “We want the cat alive for now. Use the war-horns to get their attention. Tell Ketai Hanno we have two of his warriors and his daughter. Tell him if he calls off his men and conquers me in a duel, he can have everything. His daughter, the palace… all of Ikhara.”
Naja hesitates. “But, my King—”
“NOW!”
Naja shoves the chain into the hand of one of the guards nearby, then crosses the hall, disappearing through the sable curtain covering its vaulted entranceway.
Merrin and Nitta’s stifled sobs cleave me. They’re crying because they think I’m dead, even as I’m right here, barely meters away.
The urge to launch myself over the side of the gallery rises with new fervor. But the royal archers are all still surveying the room, and the Demon Queen is too close to the King. Even if I somehow made it past the archers’ arrows, the tiniest misjudgment in my jump and I could hurt the Queen instead. Or I could land badly and break something, rendering myself useless—and offering myself up to the King.
I won’t let him have the satisfaction of having captured both of us.
But I won’t let him kill Wren.
As my mind whirrs, calculating every possible move, the King returns to his throne.
“My father will kill you in a duel in seconds,” Wren declares.
The King laughs. He leans in his throne, dangling a hand over the armrest, his knuckles dark with Wren’s blood. “I’m not going to fight him, stupid girl. You see, your father still believes in honor. In tradition. He will come, believing my offer to be true—then, when he thinks for certain he is about to gain everything he has ever dreamed of, I will have my soldiers kill him. Even the mighty Ketai Hanno cannot compete with fifty expert archers. Their arrows will tear him to shreds, and then I’ll turn them on you and your friends.” His tone is chilling. “You are going to die here tonight, Wren-zhi. If you have any last words you wish to say to me, speak them now.”
Hatred pulses off Wren in cold waves, an echo of her lost power. The tiniest curl tucks the corner of her mouth. “You are small, and pitiful, and weak,” she tells the King. “And I am not afraid of you.”
He stares, tense. Then he waves a soldier over. “Gag her,” he orders.
The demon shoves a roll of fabric into Wren’s mouth, tying it roughly behind her head.
Though I can’t see his face, I can tell the King is smiling. “You say you are not afraid of me,” he whispers. His voice chills me to the bone. “You should be.”
THIRTY-NINE
LEI
WHEN KETAI ENTERS THE HALL, accompanied by Naja and a flank of royal guards, his arrival startles me. I wasn’t sure he would come. Part of me wants to believe it’s for Wren, yet the sharper, wiser part knows it is because of the King’s offer.
He can have everything.
All of Ikhara.
The King watches, unmoving, as Ketai is led around the pool. His crisp footsteps echo off the marble. Despite the blood splatters on his clothes and skin, and a nasty-looking slash along his jaw, from the way he carries himself you’d never know this is a man who has spent hours fighting. Like his daughter, it’s clear Ketai is determined not to show the King a scrap of weakness. Only the burn in his eyes, intent on his opponent, gives away any emotion. He hardly glances at Wren, Merrin, or Nitta—just a flick of his lashes as he registers their presence, no doubt analyzing the best way to play the situation.
When they reach the throne, Naja drives the sheathed jian she’s carrying—Ketai’s own weapon—into his back, forcing him to his knees. “Bow to your King,” she snarls.
He sinks low, though his brow doesn’t quite touch the floor.
“Such formalities,” the King drawls. “And to think we spent so many banquets and clan meetings together. We shared food, drink, laughter… Looking at us now, Ketai, anyone would imagine us strangers.”
Ketai raises his bloodied face. “We are strangers. You have never known me, Demon. Though I am unfortunate not to be able to say the same for you.”
“You think you know me?” the King asks, quiet, a threat.
A slight smile tugs Ketai’s lips. “Everyone knows you. There have always been men and demons like you, and there’ll be more after your death.” His smile sharpens. “It is easy to spot a coward. Shall I teach you how? A coward is the one who uses force when a gentler hand would be more effective. He is the one who lets his nation suffer while he bathes in their blood. The one who hides within walls while sending others to fight for him. Who dresses in armor and masks, thinking it will intimidate his enemies, when it only proves how fearful he really is—”
There’s a crack as Ketai’s cheekbone smacks into the floor.
“Insolent Paper filth!” Naja spits, drawing her arm to strike him again. “You dare talk to the Heavenly Master that way—”
“Leave him. He is mine.” The King rises. “His weapon.”
Naja hands him Ketai’s sword. The King draws it free.
Ever since Ketai’s arrival, Merrin and Nitta have been struggling against their binds. We all know the King isn’t planning to make this a fair fight, and Nitta and Merrin try to send the message to Ketai, shouting incomprehensively through their gags. As they jerk harder at the sight of the King wielding Ketai’s weapon, the guards standing over them restrain them with sharp yanks of their shackles.
When the dog demon guarding Nitta pulls on her collar, it forces her still. But Merrin’s bond is a bar bolted through his wing-arms. His bone-gray feathers are stained red. Though the pain must be unbearable, Merrin continues to struggle. The guard’s grip on him loosens—and before he can reassert it, Merrin lurches forward.
He crashes headfirst into the King.
Merrin’s gag slips. He calls out, “Ketai…!”
There’s a flash of silver.
A garnet spray.
Nitta lets out a stifled scream as Merrin’s body hits the floor. His head tilts at an unnatural angle, almost completely severed by the King’s powerful slash.
His orange eyes stare blankly up. Blood pumps from his neck, spreading fast on the marble. It drips into the pool, blooming beneath the water’s surface.
Shock rocks me, waves of horror and grief so strong they almost drop me to my knees.
I’m too stunned for tears. I see everything all too clearly. Nitta’s anguish. Ketai and Wren’s astonishment, finally unmasked. Naja’s victorious smirk. And the King, offering the dripping blade to Ketai.
“My proposal of a duel still stands,” he says. “Take it, and no more will die.”
Ketai climbs to his feet and accepts the sword.
“You called me a coward,” the King says. “And yet it was your warrior who attacked me from behind. It was you and your clan who betrayed me.” He spreads his arms. “Come, now, Ketai. Let us settle this once and for all. Demon to man. King to Clan Lord. Or are you scared you’ll lose against a so-called coward?”