“Please, milady, you must stop this!” Mela stood flustered before her, dabbing at her face with a cloth while simultaneously trying to keep all the curlers and pins in place.
La’tiera tried everything to end her tears. Sobs were already on the way, and she knew if she went that far, nothing would prevent her from wailing in her misery.
It couldn’t be right. Something else had to have gone wrong. They couldn’t have been lying to her all this time. It wasn’t possible! None of it made sense. She had to be misinterpreting something.
“We know you will miss us, milady. And it is so sweet of you to think of us. But right now is not the time. Now you must be strong.”
Strong, yes, she needed to be strong. If she only had an idea about what she should do.
“Perhaps some food and drink would make you feel better? I thought it’d be best if you fasted, but perhaps a little something would cause no harm.”
La’tiera nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She grabbed on to Mela’s solution, hoping it would get the older woman out of there and give her a few precious minutes alone to think and pull herself together.
“Stay right there. I’ll get something and be right back.” She placed a handkerchief in La’tiera’s hands, looking doubtful.
“I’ll be fine.” She made a show of using the cloth on her face. “Something to eat sounds very nice.”
“Allright. It’ll take but a moment.”
As soon as Mela left, La’tiera felt the tears start again. She bit her lip hard, willing herself to stop. Half of her wanted to stand up and run ranting and raving around the room, screaming at the injustice, the betrayal. Another part of her wanted to just give in and fall to the floor to curl up in a ball, to escape all this doubt and uncertainty.
She did neither. Instead, she sat taking deep, shuddering breaths.
She’d been so certain for so long. Then, the moment Aya and then Dal entered her life, everything was turned upside down. But if what she feared was true, why, why would they do it? It made no sense! Why would anyone want to allow the demons free rein in their world? It was madness!
She didn’t know who or what to believe anymore.
She almost jumped from her chair as a large boom! came from outside. Disregarding Mela’s instructions, she went to the window and reopened the shutters.
The garden looked normal, so she looked toward the outer wall. She saw more men stationed there than ever before.
The booming sounded again, and several of the men ran in the direction of the gate. Faint cries were carried on the wind, and seemed full of fear and anger. Why?
“Milady!”
La’tiera closed the shutter before turning around, already sure of the disapproving look she would find on Mela’s face. She wasn’t disappointed.
“What’s happening? What is that sound?”
The older woman sent a dark glare at the window before setting the tray she was carrying down.
“I’m sure it’s being dealt with. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s not what I asked!” She shocked herself with her anger as much if not more than her keeper.
“You truly are distraught today, milady.” Her voice was ice. “If you must know, there are men at the gate. Men who want to stop the ceremony. They will not make it through in time, however, so there’s nothing to worry about. Though we should not dawdle. There’s still much left to be done. Come, eat, so we may continue.”
La’tiera hesitated for a moment then did as she’d been bid. Mela served her and watched her eat.
Was Rostocha one of those outside? What of Kyr and Mishal? Was this the place they would receive their wounds, the ones she’d seen in her dream? Or would those come later? And what would happen once they broke through the gate, if the ritual was over? Wouldn’t they be angry?
“Mela, if they’re too late, won’t you and the viscount be in danger?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t we?” Mela sent her a sidelong glance. “The viscount has taken all of this into account. We will not be harmed in any way.” She gave a smug smile.
La’tiera looked away, sure there was something unpleasant behind it. But what could she do? How could she make sure? A sense of dread settled about her shoulders, heavier than the dress she would eventually wear.
The dishes were soon removed, and La’tiera was herded back to the dressing table. She couldn’t look in the mirror, not wanting to see anything the Eye would care to show her. She wanted to believe, to stay strong. Never did the heroes have doubts, never were they unsure of the truth. She had no proof, only suspicions. Yes, they may have lied to her, but the lies could have been meant to shelter her, to protect her from things she couldn’t change. Yet…
She felt a deep need to talk to Dal. She couldn’t understand why him, of all people, but it didn’t change her feelings. He felt about his cause as deeply as she felt about hers, but he showed no doubts, no hesitation.
Mela fussed with her hair, then her hands, feet, the color on her face. For once, La’tiera had become the canvas, and she would be the woman’s greatest masterpiece. The bejeweled dress was as heavy as it looked. And though she thought the colors clashed, still she was to wear the necklace. She felt trapped, controlled, maneuvered, lost—and she had no idea how to make it better. The Eye seemed to almost burn beneath its metal prison.
Restless, she walked toward the window, the long train trailing behind her.
“Milady, it truly would be best if you left them closed.”
Acting as if she hadn’t heard, La’tiera opened the shutters wide. She could not see the setting sun, but did see the reaching fingers of darkness spreading up into the sky—the barest hint of the Herald could be seen way up above. The sound she’d heard earlier rang out once again, though it was more muted than before. The garden was quiet, empty, as if it had already forgotten all about her. Sadness settled over her as once more she realized she would never get to say goodbye to it, never get to walk again within its comforting embrace.
A soft knock at the door dragged her attention away from her melancholy thoughts. Mela moved to answer it. The viscount stepped into the room, dressed in startling finery. A necklace showing his position hung from his neck, a silver circlet was on his head. His long cloak was bordered with speckled fur, bright reds and blues for his hose and doublet, ruffles everywhere.
La’tiera had never seen him attired in this manner. The style seemed almost comical on his thin, stooped form—a total deviation from his usual warm robes and long jackets.
A sheen of excitement brightened his wrinkled face.
“La’tiera, you look wonderful. They will be so pleased.” His smile brightened the room as she wondered why demons would care. He sent a look in Mela’s direction. “Are we ready, then?”
“Uncle…”
“Yes, my dear?”
How could she ask him? How could she express what she felt? This man had protected her, raised her, given her every comfort. And she was afraid—afraid as she had been of nothing her entire life.
“It’s nothing.”
He came up close, supporting himself heavily on his cane. “Nervous? You shouldn’t be. You’ve prepared yourself for this moment your entire life. You have nothing to worry about. You will not fail us.” He took her arm. His touch felt very warm—too warm. “Shall we?”
She nodded slowly, not looking at him, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Mela gathered her train and followed them out of the room.
Their footsteps rang in the empty hallway, and La’tiera was almost overcome with the sudden urge to tear away from them, to run from all of this—from the questions, her duty, everything. But she didn’t give in to it. She would see this through to the end one way or another.
They came to the locked gate, and Mela opened it for them. The area was deserted. It was as if only the three of them existed.
Once on the main floor, they took an unassuming stairwell down, different from the one they’d taken coming back from the dungeon. At the bottom, the stairs opened into a stone room with a high ceiling. In the center, a raised dais took prominence. The walls were draped at equal intervals with tapestries depicting the viscount’s colors and family crest. Several large cabinets hugged one corner, their doors closed and locked, hiding whatever was contained within.
As her uncle steered her toward the dais, La’tiera saw that Dal and his guard were already there. Dal had been cleaned up, his face looking less swollen though the coloration was more ghastly. His torn clothes had been replaced with black hose, shirt, an overcoat—an utter contrast to her own bright colors.
At the moment, he was on his knees on the hard floor, his hands tied behind his back and a gag in place. The moment he saw her he tried to regain his feet but was forcibly held down by the guard’s meaty hand. Their eyes met, and again La’tiera was struck by his look of abject misery.
For the first time, she understood his despair. He knew he was right, just as she’d thought she’d been. And he was going to be forced to watch her die, giving the world over to slaughter and the reign of demonkind, and there was nothing he could do about it.
She almost stumbled on the stairs of the dais. What could she do? How could she stop it? She had no idea.
She glanced down at the floor of the dais, as if it might provide some answers. Unlike the rest of the room, the floor was carved with symbols filled with silver, gold and other precious metals. They blurred for a moment in her vision as the titles of the books had done, but then returned to normal, their meaning unread. She felt power emanating from the circle; then it, too, was gone. The necklace was doing its job only too well.
She placed her gloved hand between the medallion and the Eye.
“Uncle, is having him like that really necessary?” She threw another glance in Dal’s direction as she positioned herself to keep him in view.
“His misdirected beliefs are too strong. If he had the means to interfere, he would. I can’t risk that.” He threw a half-smile in the young acrobat’s direction.
Dal never noticed it, his eyes locked on her.
“Mela, the cup and vial if you please.” Tih’ouren removed a key from a pocket and handed it to her. She half-bowed as she took it then hurried over to the largest of the cabinets in the back.
“Uncle, how will they know to open the portal here?”
“They can sense the Eye. They always know where it is. It can’t be hidden from them. As soon as the sun has hidden behind the horizon, they will come.”
She couldn’t miss the rising note of excitement in his usually reserved voice.
Mela returned, holding a jeweled cup and a small vial. Tih’ouren took them from her. He tucked the vial in his belt then turned to face La’tiera fully.
“Here, drink this.”
She took the offered cup, staring at the reddish liquid within. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dal shaking his head fervently until the guard smacked him on the side of it to make him stop.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Something to calm your nerves. To make the experience less unpleasant.”
She slowly brought the cup to her lips then glanced at Dal and saw him pleading at her with his eyes not to drink it. What did he think was in the cup? What did he suspect her uncle of doing? She lowered it.
“I think I’d rather not have it, if it’s all right.”
She tried to give it back and saw a flash of annoyance cloud Mela’s face, though it was quickly hidden.
“You should do as the viscount says. It’s for your own good.”
A very faint glimmer rose around her head.
“You know from your nightmares how frightening the demons can be, how they can cause the bravest man to quiver,” Tih’ouren told her. “This will dull your senses so such things won’t affect you. Why put yourself through that if you don’t have to?”
His aged hand touched hers and pushed the cup gently back toward her lips.
Dull her senses? Slow her mind? Was it truly for her benefit…or could it be so she wouldn’t think, wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t stop the demon from taking her. It was tempting. Though she knew she had to stop them somehow, it would be so much easier just to give in. But she couldn’t—she wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. They might get angry if you try to spare me. I can’t take that risk.” When did she become so good at lying? Why had she been driven to this?
Several emotions flickered over the viscount’s face, but she couldn’t identify them. He took the cup back.
“As you wish.”
Mela made no effort to disguise her displeasure but said nothing. La’tiera felt her chest tighten, knowing it probably had nothing to do with the fact she would not be spared any pain.
“I will leave it here, in case you change your mind.” Tih’ouren set the cup at the edge of the platform. He then leaned on his cane as he went to stand close to Dal and his guard, Mela following closely behind him.
Left alone, La’tiera felt strangely exposed. Time went on with agonizing slowness. Her dress and medallion weighed her down. Her back stiffened as the air before her suddenly…changed. She could almost feel the growing waves of anticipation coming from those watching.
La’tiera’s heart sped up, goose bumps rising all over her body.
The air before her shimmered, as if she were outside during the hottest part of the day. Through this strange veil, she saw the viscount take a step forward.
It was time. The moment of truth was finally upon her, and she still had no idea what to do.
“La’tiera, there is still time for you to drink the contents of the cup.”
His misplaced insistence made her suddenly sure it was vital she not drink it. But what was she supposed to do?
A rift appeared in the shimmering air; a foul stench drifted in from the other side. She took a step back. The shimmering wall moved with her.
The tear grew wider. Air passed in and out of the opening like breathing, one moment blowing at her, the next trying to drag her in. Beyond the tear, she saw Dal trying to stand against the guard’s grip.
The tear opened further, and a long hairy leg ending in a foot with six scaly toes stepped through. A wave of fear almost drove her to her knees. She held on, knowing the fear wasn’t truly her own and only too aware from her nightmares that there would be nowhere she could run that they could not find her.
“Dearest, spare yourself. Drink.”
A long arm with claws the size of knives pushed through the opening. The breathlike wind increased in intensity.
Mela yelled at her across the distance, her eyes lit with strange glee. “Drink it! Drink it and embrace what you were raised to do!”
The demon’s body came into view, pushing the tear wider, a massive torso with hair sprouting from every inch, and long enough to reach the floor. Three legs and four arms protruded without symmetry from that body; the creature’s face almost touched the ground from the end of a long neck. It was like a puzzle someone had put together wrong.
La’tiera stared at the horrible apparition, barely seeing it as Mela’s words still rang through her mind. Drink it and embrace what you were raised to do!
The demon ogled her, drool dropping from its maw, then looked behind it over the tear at the others. Tih’ouren stepped boldly forward, staring at it eye to eye, a joyous expression on his face. Mela was but a step or two behind him.
La’tiera felt her breath coming in harsh gasps. What was she supposed to do? How could she ever hope to stop this thing?
A sudden flurry of movement attracted her. With the guard’s attention fixed on the looming creature, Dal had made his move. Shrugging out of the guard’s hold, he stood up and smashed his head into the man’s jaw, knocking him back. Before he could recover, Dal brought up his leg and pushed him hard against the nearby wall. The back of Yor’s head smacked it dead on. He slumped to the floor and didn’t get back up.
Dal hurried over to the wall and scraped the side of his face against the rough surface until the gag was pulled from his mouth.
“La’tiera, the Eye, use the Eye!”
“Ignore him, child,” Tih’ouren implored her.
The demon lumbered forward, his hot stare and breath washing over her. This thing would eat her, kill her, and she would have let it willingly if not for meeting Aya, Dal and the others. She would have walked into this blindly, bringing the end of the world. Her life was a lie, her destiny as well, the love of those around her—her entire existence was a sham.
But no more!
With shaking hands, she grabbed hold of the medallion and yanked it over her head, sending Mela’s carefully placed pins flying and messing up her coiffure.
“La’tiera, you mustn’t!” Tih’ouren staggered forward. He fumbled for the vial in his belt, throwing a glance behind him to make sure of Dal’s location.
La’tiera pitched the medallion off the dais. Mela rushed to retrieve it. Dal started moving to the side to come toward La’tiera, away from the others. The demon’s head swiveled back and forth as if trying to keep tabs on all of them.
Ignoring all this, La’tiera realized with growing dread that though the Eye was the key, she had no idea how to use it to defeat the demon. Tears welled in her eyes at her uselessness, her coming failure. Dal, Aya, all of the troupe would die. All because of her, because of her. And she would be the first casualty.
“La’tiera, use the Eye! Don’t give in! You have to live!”
To live. It was what he’d told her over and over. Was that the key? Was that what she needed? She suddenly felt it was.
“I want to live!”
The Eye on her chest fully formed, long lashes waving in the air as the lid opened. The silver iris focused on the demon before her. She felt her body tingle inside and out as the monster suddenly reached out for her.
Spots of light flickered and gathered between them.
“No! You can’t, you can’t!” Mela rushed up onto the dais, the medallion clutched in her hands.
The tingling sensation coalesced and centered in her chest. She felt the pressure gather inside her until she thought she would scream. Then, abruptly, the force was gone as a beam of light was released from the Eye and punched at the demon.
The twisted creature screamed, and then so did Mela as she tried to thrust the medallion between the beam and the demon, only to be smacked away by a flailing hairy arm. La’tiera couldn’t move, her body paralyzed, the Eye doing its work as the demon’s sharp claws came within a hand’s-breath of her cheeks.
With a guttural scream, the demon struggled against the light as it was inexorably driven backwards into the rift from which it came. La’tiera watched its maddened eyes, hunger and hatred pouring from it as it clawed at the tear, at the floor, at anything it could grab hold of to try to stay. But the Eye was unrelenting, the light giving no quarter until the demon was shoved back into the rift.
As one of its claws finally found purchase in the floor’s carvings and it fought to pull itself back out, the tear closed cutting off its arm cleanly at the elbow.
A deafening silence swept over the room as the light, the tear, the shimmering air—all but the flopping arm and its burning green blood—disappeared as if they’d never been.
La’tiera shook from head to toe. Her legs turned to water and dropped her on the hard floor. It was over, she was done—the right decision had been made. The demon was gone.
“La’tiera!”
She looked up, surprised at the sound of Dal’s voice, having forgotten the others.
“Are you all right?” He was suddenly there beside her, looking as beaten and exhausted as she felt, yet worried for her despite what she had almost allowed to happen in her ignorance. He’d managed to free his hands while she’d been distracted.
He caressed her cheek, the warmth of his fingers making her gasp. She was alive—alive, not dead.
“I’m still alive.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He gave her a tired smile. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, not really knowing if she could or not but willing to try.
She was halfway to her feet when a wail cut across the room. She turned and found her uncle helping Mela to her feet as the woman protectively cradled her right arm. It hung at a slightly skewed angle.
The older woman trapped her eyes, her own dripping with mixed pain and hatred.
“It’s gone! You wretched child. Why couldn’t you just do what you were told!”
La’tiera recoiled as if slapped. Only Dal’s gentle hold kept her from falling.
“Don’t listen to her,” he whispered for her ears alone. “You did the right thing. You saved us all.” He steered her away from Mela over toward the open doorway.
“I’m afraid the two of you can’t leave just yet.”
Tih’ouren left Mela, and faster than she’d ever seen him move, he stepped to block the way out. He pulled on the top of his cane and withdrew a long, thin sword. The vial, which he had drunk a minute before, fell empty to the floor behind him.
A dagger appeared in Dal’s hand, seemingly out of nowhere—he must have taken it from Yor’s belt. It was incredibly lacking compared to the reach of the older man’s sword.
“It’s over, Tih’ouren,” Dal said. “You’ve lost. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
Tih’ouren laughed. His voice was strong, ringing with the vibrancy of youth. “Oh, young fool, you don’t understand. Things can’t get much worse than as they stand. But with a little luck, I plan to come out of it as best I can.”
“But, Uncle, why? Why did you want me to die? Why did you want to give the world over to the demons?”
“How dare you ask him these things?” Still cradling her arm, Mela moved to stand by the viscount. “He gave you everything, everything you could ever want or need. He made you a part of his family. He gave you the kind of life you would never have had if not for him.” She pointed at herself. “And what of me? I gave up years serving you, taking care of you, making sure you were always at your loveliest, that you remained pure. Yet you would repay us both by denying us our reward.”
“Your reward?” Dal stiffened beside her. “You mean your blood prize. Throwing away the lives of everyone for your own gain!”
“What would they have given you, Uncle?” La’tiera stared at the viscount, confused. She remembered the things Tersa had told her. “Was it more money?”
Tih’ouren laughed. The coldness in it made her shiver.
“No, my dear, I’m quite capable of gaining such things on my own. I didn’t need them for that. What they could help me with you are too young to understand.”
She felt Dal shaking with anger. If only she could make sense of all of this.
“La’tiera, it doesn’t matter. He was willing to let you and everything else be destroyed for his selfishness, his madness. No one could possibly understand his motives.”
“Young fool, you really must learn to know your place.”
La’tiera grabbed on to Dal’s arm to keep him from lunging recklessly at the viscount. Something in his eyes told her it was exactly what he wanted.
“Dal, no! His sword.”
He glared at her but didn’t pull away, turning his attention entirely on the older man.
It was obvious Tih’ouren had the advantage on reach, yet it was more than that. Something about him had changed. She thought of the potion he’d drunk. If he had something to blur her senses and he could create a medallion that would curb the power of the Eye, what else might he be able to concoct? Would something that might return his youth for a time be so farfetched?
“It would have been easier, my dear, if you’d let him do it. Things have to be rectified as much as possible before anyone comes looking for us.” Tih’ouren shrugged out of his outer coat, never taking his eyes from them. “It was quite a tragedy, you see. The world was saved, but the young man who’d protected my niece after she’d been kidnapped went mad at the sight of the demon. He attacked the guard and then went after you. Before I could stop him, he killed the very object of his desire. So I had no choice but to dispatch him before he could hurt anyone else.”
He smiled and nodded to Mela, who slowly moved off to the right.
“Your compatriots might know the truth, young man, but if they make it through my walls, they’ll have no proof of wrongdoing, since the only two who could have told them different will be dead. Without proof, they won’t be able to hold me, especially since the world was saved after all. If they persist, their own tales against a noble of the realm will turn against them, and who knows what punishment the king might decide to decree for such upstarts.”
La’tiera couldn’t believe her ears, though why she still should be surprised after all that had been revealed, she wasn’t sure. She no longer recognized either Tih’ouren or Mela—or anything else.
“Milady, move away from him and make this easier for all concerned.” Mela came a little closer, moving in from behind them. “It’s the least you could do after the mess you’ve made of things. As if you hadn’t already cost his lordship enough—cost him his wife and child.”
“La’tiera, move over to my other side,” Dal told her, his eyes never leaving Tih’ouren.
She didn’t move. Mela’s words echoed in her head. Cost the viscount his wife and child? How could she have possibly done that? Was she not told his wife died before bearing him any children?
“What do you mean?”
“La’tiera, don’t listen to her. She’s trying to trick you.” Dal tried to place himself where he would be between her and Mela while at the same time not taking his attention from the viscount. Before he could, Tih’ouren lunged with his sword. Dal was forced to resume his previous place or leave La’tiera wide open to the blade.
Mela ran forward while he was distracted and, grabbing onto La’tiera’s arm, yanked the girl away with her. Dal could do nothing as Tih’ouren pressed the offensive.
Mela’s grip on her arm was painful. She tried to pull away only to have the older woman yank her more roughly than before.
“A spoiled little brat, that’s what you are. Ungrateful, deceitful. He could have locked you away in a dungeon till the time came, gave you nothing. Instead, he treated you like royalty, better than he at times treated himself. And for what? For what?”
La’tiera recoiled from her anger as far as she was able. She was sure the woman would be pummeling her with a fist if her free arm hadn’t been injured—she could see it in her face.
She didn’t understand it. “Mela, please!”
“Sacrificed his young wife and unborn child just so we could find you,” Mela hissed. “She was obedient; she knew to do as she was told. No foolish ideas of her own to get in the way of things.” Mela yanked on her arm again, throwing La’tiera to her knees.
“You’re lying. He would never do such a thing!”
“Am I?” Mela cackled. “And since he was able to find the fortitude to give them up for what was needed, what do you think was done with your useless parents once we’d found you?”
La’tiera turned her face away from the woman’s raw madness. Death—her whole existence had meant nothing but death for others. If they’d had their way, she would have been responsible for thousands of them.
Mela let go; La’tiera’s arm throbbed from the harsh grip. Before she could try to get away, however, Mela backhanded her on the face.
“Useless whore.”
La’tiera hit the floor hard, falling against the side of the dais. Mela pinned here there with her knee and slapped her again.
“You will behave and drink whatever I give you.”
La’tiera’s vision swam, her face stinging with pain. She saw Mela take hold of the golden cup they’d tried to get her to drink from. Part of her shocked, befuddled mind actually still worked enough to be amazed the cup had remained unspilled through all that had happened.
Mela pressed the cup roughly against La’tiera’s lips.
“Drink!”
Her first reflex was to comply with the harsh command, but she’d done no more than taste it before she stubbornly pressed her lips shut. She hadn’t wanted to drink this before, and she wouldn’t drink it now.
“You won’t be stubborn for long. I don’t have to restrain myself any longer.”
Her tone sent shivers down La’tiera’s arms. Mela pressed harder with her knee against her chest, then set the cup back on the dais to free her hand. An ugly smile lit her face as she bent to strike her again.
La’tiera did the only thing open to her. With what might she could muster, she hit the older woman’s injured arm.
Mela screamed. Refusing to think of what she’d just done, La’tiera pushed her away. Mela fell on her arm and screamed again. As fast as she could, La’tiera stumbled to her feet and grabbed the filled cup.
Grimacing at the pain she’d caused, she didn’t hesitate and poured the contents of the cup down the woman’s throat. Mela coughed and choked, inadvertently swallowing some of the potion down.
Mela struggled to sit up, the reddish liquid staining her clothes. La’tiera stepped back and let the cup drop to the stone floor.
“You evil little witch!” Mela glared at her, pain and hatred marring her face. Her eyes lost focus, becoming dull and clouded; her face suddenly relaxed. She sank back to the cold floor, oblivious to everything.
Backing farther away, La’tiera finally made herself turn from the prone form and check on the other conflict in the room.
Dal and Tih’ouren still faced each other. Both men were breathing heavily. Dal’s clothing was slashed in several places; cuts decorated his arms and legs, a few bleeding freely. Tih’ouren was untouched, but his stance was slightly more stooped, closer to his usual self.
La’tiera shivered, torn inside as she watched the two men who meant most to her trying to kill each other.
“Both of you, please, stop! Uncle, you can escape. We won’t try to stop you. Just don’t do this. Please. Too much blood has been spilled already. I beg you. If you ever felt anything for me, stop now.”
Tih’ouren ignored her, launching a new attack at Dal. Strange noises and muted shouts echoed down to them from the stairwell.
“La’tiera, get out of here. Go get help!” Dal flashed her a tired grin, though he never took his eyes off the viscount. “He won’t be able to stop you. He’ll be too busy dancing with me.”
Tih’ouren said nothing, only gritted his teeth and strove harder to strike Dal down, on his face an ugly grimace. Dal dodged, using his speed and blade to keep from getting cut down. The beatings he’d received during his imprisonment were taking their toll, however, hindering him and slowing him down.
More sounds descended the stairwell. Pushing her disheveled hair away from her face, La’tiera stared from the two men to the exit and back before finally nodding. Lifting her heavy skirt, she hurried toward the way out.
Tih’ouren made as if to lunge at Dal again then didn’t follow through, instead pivoting to run toward La’tiera. She saw him coming from the corner of her eye and tried to flee.
Tih’ouren suddenly stumbled, coming to a stop. He reached behind him, pain on his paling face, as La’tiera also stopped and turned, alarmed.
Tih’ouren’s hand came back filled with red. His sword clattered to the ground, soon followed by the viscount as he dropped to his knees.
“Uncle!” La’tiera took a step toward him, worry rushing through her despite all she now knew.
“Don’t!” Dal yelled at her, his gaze flickering between her and Tih’ouren. “It could be a trap. The wound is not that severe.”
He inched forward.
All the unusual energy seemed to pour out of the viscount, his shoulders and back more stooped than before. Tih’ouren fell forward. La’tiera saw the knife stuck in his back.
Once Dal got close enough to kick the viscount’s sword out of reach, she found herself coming closer.
“Uncle?”
Tih’ouren’s eyes opened, unfocused, his lips twisted in a pain-filled smile. “Betrayed by my own body. How…predictable…how utterly useless…”
“You, sir, have much to answer for.” Dal stood over him, anger and sorrow warring on his face.
Tih’ouren ignored him. “I was going to save you from this. Save you from ever having to experience the ultimate betrayal of the flesh.”
La’tiera felt tears rise in her eyes. There was just so much she didn’t understand.
Dal’s face twisted with ire. “You have no right to make such decisions for her!”
He would have said more, but hurried footsteps came from the stairs, louder than before. Throwing a worried glance in her direction, Dal stepped forward, picking up Tih’ouren’s discarded sword and put himself between her and the entrance.
La’tiera turned around to look with him, Tih’ouren gathering enough strength to partially raise his head to look as well.
A score of men flooded into the room, their weapons at the ready. She tensed, not sure what to expect. She realized the livery most of them wore was not the viscount’s.
In moments, all three of them as well as the still-unconscious guard and Mela were surrounded. La’tiera pressed closer to Dal’s side.
“Put down your weapon.”
“In whose name are you here?” Dal challenged back, the sword in his hand still raised.
“Arrest him,” Tih’ouren said. “This man is a danger to the realm. He must be restrained.”
The men around them tensed. “What about the Four Gods? What about the Trial?” The questions came from several directions at once, fear, anger, despair lacing every word. Several men knelt beside the viscount to try and help him, while others turned to press closer to Dal, their weapons at the ready.
“Wait! He’s one of mine.” A familiar voice boomed to them from the entryway.
“Rostocha!”
La’tiera heard the obvious relief in Dal’s voice; the weapon in his hand quickly lowered.
The leader of the troupe cut through the cluster of men and swept Dal into a bone-breaking hug. Dal grimaced in pain, but his eyes were bright, giving Rostocha as good as he got. La’tiera felt herself relaxing, an actual smile wanting to grow on her face.
So, she was more surprised when Rostocha spotted her and his already bright smile grew brighter.
“Thank the Gods you’re also well!” Still keeping Dal wrapped in one muscled arm, he brought her close with the other. She was too startled by the unexpected gesture to protest. She felt a lump lodge in her throat.
One of the armed men, the one who’d demanded Dal put his weapon down, stepped forward. “Is this the Bearer? I do not see the mark on her.”
“It is she, and the fact the Eye is gone means the test has been passed.” Rostocha’s voice rose in volume. “Our world is safe!”
Cheers rose across the room, the news spreading quickly outside and up the stairs, the cheering rising in volume as more and more voices joined in. La’tiera barely heard them. Instead, her gaze dropped down to her chest, where she saw that what the soldier said was true—the Eye and all trace it had ever been were gone. Every vestige of her purpose, her reason for existing had disappeared.
The room around her darkened, her vision contracting to a bare pinprick with the realization. The walls began to spin, and though she tried to speak, no sound came from her mouth.
“La’tiera?”
The darkness came and carried her away.