It was Tierri, but somehow also not him. Gone were the armor and the weapons and the straight-backed posture. His shoulders were slumped and his hair fell around his down-turned face. He wore a dirty tunic with a sleeve cut to show the golden slaver's band, a tradition to which he had never been required to adhere before. His wrists were bound in front of him by a rope that, to Rayne's horror, led to Danyll's hand. When Old Sim had said he was on a short leash, it hadn't been a figure of speech. Danyll had no more regard for Tierri than he would a dog, and her father allowed it. In fact, neither of them even acknowledged the man who had once held an esteemed position in their ranks. It was as if they had erased him from their minds completely.
Couples twirled between them, her father and his entourage disappearing from view. Rayne slumped back against the wall. What was she supposed to do? Wido was coming, Danyll wanted her dead, and her only allies were an old jailer, a prisoner, and a down-trodden wielder.
She didn't get a chance to formulate a plan, though, because in the next moment, there was the sound of crashing glass and a whoosh as the drapes of one of the giant picture windows overlooking the courtyard caught fire. The music screeched to a halt as the musicians scrambled away, and the dancers gasped and shrieked in retreat. For a few terrible breaths, there was stillness, and then men began to climb through the broken window, and still others poured through the main doors.
Not men, Rayne realized, watching the way the invaders moved, swift and dark, cutting through the revelers without mercy or regret. Not men, but Knights.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Rayne
Madness erupted in the ballroom. The servant’s door behind her swung open and she saw one of her father's guards lying in a pool of blood. In front of her, a Knight grabbed a noblewoman by the hair and threw her to the ground. The woman shrieked until the man silenced her with a slice across the throat. It spurred Rayne into action and she moved into the room, hiding behind columns and men with swords, doing her best to remain unnoticed.
In the middle of the room, Danyll was calling the fire from the drapes to him in a great, burning whirlwind. He had dropped Tierri's rope, but the wielder was on his knees, grimacing as Danyll drained his energy. Behind him, a guard was ushering her father out a side door, shoving panicked nobles out of his way. The king made no protest, no move to stay and help. Rayne was a few feet from Tierri when she saw the black and blue splotches coloring his face and the way he held his arms close to his ribs. He had been beaten, but Danyll still called on his power. Maybe it was part of his strategy, to keep him drained and weak so he couldn't fight back. Too valuable to kill but too powerful to possess.
Rayne dropped to her knees beside him as Danyll moved away, backing two of the Knight invaders into a corner behind the flaming cyclone, shouting for guards and not paying a bit of attention to the wielder.
“Tierri,” she said, her hands on his face.
He looked up, his eyes dull until they seemed to register what they were seeing. “Is it really you?” Together they stood, his eyes not leaving hers. They were wide and earnest behind the bruises, vulnerable in a way she had not seen before. She knew she was seeing the real Tierri. Not the general or the slave or the Malstrom, but the man. “I’m so sorry,” he started to say, and the words brought back the memory of his hand around her throat.
To keep herself from lingering in that moment, she dropped her hands to his wrists and began to pick at the rope there, working the knot with her nails. There was a twisting in her gut that she had learned to hate, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw only Danyll's dark gaze zeroed in on her. Behind him were the charred bodies of the Knights he had been battling. The fire had burned out, the ballroom lit only by moonlight streaming in through the broken window. But he didn't need fire. She already knew he could manipulate all the elements, and with Tierri's energy feeding him, there was no telling what he could come up with.
“Quick,” Tierri said. “Quick.”
“I can't,” Rayne said, her hands fumbling uselessly at the rope, panic rising in her throat. Her stomach was twisted in knots and suddenly she was looking at Imeyna through her prison bars. I can't, she had told her, begging her for an excuse, permission to give up. And Imeyna hadn't given it. It cannot be all for nothing.
The rope loosened finally just as her panic reached its peak, her hands shaking violently as the marble floor quaked at her feet. Danyll was going to bring the palace down on top of her if it meant stopping her. He wanted the kingdom, even if it was in ruins. But so did she.
Terri threw them sideways as the floor split open, his arms, now free, going around her and holding her close as they fell. People still in the ballroom screamed, and over Tierri's shoulder, Rayne saw a Knight in his black leather stumble and fall into the opening rift, his head cracking on the marble floor before disappearing. As the ground shook, Tierri wrapped himself around her and she held on tight, but there was no time to relish the feeling. As soon as the ground stabilized, he rolled her off of him and stood in one fluid movement, putting himself between Rayne and Danyll.
Danyll stopped, looked at the two of them, and smirked, his lips twisting into a mockery of a smile. “What do you think he can do?” Danyll asked, his eyes on her instead of on Tierri. “He is mine. His magic is mine, his life is mine.” Danyll lifted a hand and squeezed it into a fist. Tierri went back to his knees, clutching his chest, his teeth bared. Rayne scrambled up behind him and braced herself against his back.
She was weak from her imprisonment and unarmed. Without him, she was no match for the prince. “Tierri,” she said. “What do I do?” Wind whipped around her, tossing her hair and her dress, but she grasped Tierri's shoulders.
“I can't,” he whispered. “I'm sorry. I can't.” And then she was lifted off the ground, and the air was sucked out of her lungs. Her vision swam and she clawed at her throat, her nails scratching burning lines down to her chest.
Below her, Tierri roared his frustration, veins bulging in his neck as he struggled to regain control, to fight against Danyll. Tierri tried to stand, but every step Danyll took drove him back down again. The prince was playing with them. While the palace was flooded by rebels, while her own sister was likely in grave danger, he was here, fighting a fight he knew he would win.
Rayne was so tired, then. Tired of fighting and losing. She was a princess. An assassin. Maybe she couldn't control fire, but she didn't have to sit by and watch this tyrant prince take what was rightfully hers and destroy it. He had no right to any of this. Not the kingdom, not her sister, not her father, and especially not her. She was a Crowheart, after all.