Tanith shook her head. “And his story must reach its end, but I will not—cannot—be the one to end it. Better things to do. Bigger castles to crumble.” She looked to her Firedrakes, still arrayed in an arc around the throne, as still as statues.
“Show my brother the mercy he deserves,” said Tanith, her voice sounding more like her own than it had just minutes ago. The taint had receded from it, infinitesimally.
She turned her eyes—redder now, but no less vicious—to Caius.
“Kill him.”
—
The words were a cruel taunt. An echo of something Caius had said months earlier, when faced with two Avicen prisoners at his mercy while his sister watched. The bloodlust had been strong in her even then, before the ku?edra had brought out the worst in her, watering her venom like a diligent gardener so that it could grow stronger than ever before.
In a swirl of scarlet wool and black smoke acrid with the stench of the in-between, Tanith was gone, whisked away to gods only knew where, while her hounds obeyed her command.
Show my brother the mercy he deserves.
Caius had half a second to appreciate the irony of being on the receiving end of those words before the Firedrakes rushed him, a solid wall of gold and crimson closing in, swords brandished.
His body moved before his mind had time to formulate a strategy, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance to steel himself against the first battering blows. There were a dozen of them, but they couldn’t all come at him at once, blocked by each other’s bodies as they were.
The gaze of the court beat down on him, brimming more with anticipation than fear now that Tanith was gone, an undeniable and unavoidable audience. But he didn’t want to avoid them. He wanted them to watch. He wanted them to see what he was made of, to measure his mettle against those who would strike him down.
His knives found flesh, slipping between plates of armor, seeking out the weaknesses he knew he would find. An unprotected armpit. The bend at the back of a knee. The sliver of neck between breastplate and helm.
One fell. Then another. And another.
Three down, nine to go.
Caius’s muscles sang with the effort of the dance. Despite the spider’s web of old scars and new bruises traced across his body, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. Wondrously, marvelously alive. Sweat trickled down his spine and gathered at his temples, but it was nothing compared with how he made the Firedrakes work, transitioning them seamlessly from offense to defense as he hurled himself through the air, sliding beneath swinging swords and leaping over kicking legs. With his back to the wall, it was hard for them to surround him, and they bottlenecked in their approach, putting themselves at a disadvantage as Caius turned himself into a whirlwind of sharpened steel. He didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to plan. He simply needed to do what he had done so well for so many years.
Two centuries’ worth of combat had honed him into something more than a man, more like a weapon. He spun the hilt of his dagger in his palm, bringing the pommel down on the head of the nearest Firedrake, who folded beneath the blow in a clatter of golden armor.
Four down.
The Firedrake collapsed against the legs of one of his compatriots, startling the man—he was too tall and broad of shoulder to be any of the women Caius knew to take up Tanith’s banner—and that moment’s break in focus was all Caius needed. He kicked the man’s knee and was rewarded with a scream, which he silenced with a whisper of steel against the man’s throat. Blood poured over the gilded breastplate, a richer red than the crimson of the Firedrake’s cloak.
Five down.
Two of the Firedrakes broke away from the pack, trying to find a way to circle Caius. He dove as one of the remaining five found courage enough to attempt a head-on attack. Wood splintered behind him as the Firedrake’s sword buried itself in one of the long tables that had been pushed to the side, no doubt to make room for Tanith’s spectacle of depravity as she’d drained the magic from her own courtiers one by one. A Firedrake tripped over a corpse, cursing as he lost his footing and landed in the path of Caius’s dagger.
Six down.
Halfway there.
Dorian was right. This was one battle Caius had to fight alone. Only he could prove to the people he had failed that he was worthy of their choice. That he was strong enough to keep them safe. They had known that once, but they had forgotten. And Caius had let them forget. Now was his chance to remind them.
Caius came up behind the Firedrake struggling to free his sword. His armor gaped beneath his arms and Caius buried his dagger there, slipping it free as the guard fell.
Seven down.
There was a place beyond pain, beyond sweat and blood, and that was where Caius pushed himself, deaf to the scream of his own muscles, of his body begging him to slow, to rest, to lay down his arms. His focus sharpened to a razor’s edge as the crowd fell away, leaving only himself and his foes.
Lunge, parry, strike.
Dodge, dive, pivot.
Slash, stab, repeat.
Caius knew the steps of this dance by heart. Had fought against worse odds and triumphed. Certainty was a balm to his wounds, his sore limbs, his fevered skin, his aching lungs.
Another down. And another.
A pause as the remaining three Firedrakes withdrew, searching for a momentary respite and hoping Caius wouldn’t follow. He saw their gazes rake across their fallen comrades, over the blood pooling around burnished armor. Red and gold, just like Tanith’s colors. He wondered if they resented her for what she’d done. For leaving them here to die. He wondered if he cared.
There was no space left in him for mercy. He let them catch their breath while he caught his, but defeat was written in every inch of their bodies. Their stances were sloppy. Their swords were clean. He hadn’t let them close enough to make even the tiniest nick, and he hadn’t even worn proper plate. His armor was soft, made of leather supple enough to allow for unrestricted movement at the cost of protection. But Caius had not needed anything more than his wits and his skill. The asymmetry, he had no doubt, was not lost on their captive audience.
The Firedrakes never stood a chance.
Not against Caius.
Not against the rightful Dragon Prince.
Two of them darted forward, but the third dropped his weapon and fell to his knees in surrender. Caius would deal with him later.
Dispatching them was far less difficult than it should have been. Tanith—the true Tanith, not the poisoned monstrosity she had become—would have been so disappointed. They were tired and it showed. Evading them was easy. Caius barely had to sidestep their blows. Their swords glanced off his daggers, sparks rising off the clashing steel. His own blades found their weaknesses and exploited them with ease.
Within minutes, it was done. Their bodies lay at Caius’s feet, as still as their fellows’.
The last Firedrake had remained on his knees as Caius had cut down his brothers. His head was bowed low, accepting of his fate.