16

SIXTEEN: Negotiations

The first thing I noticed was the sound of the sea. As I ascended the stairs with my band of silent followers, I could see natural light up ahead of me—it was the color of marigolds and pale roses. A window had been cut out of the natural rock and when I stood before it, I could see the Grey Harbor, as well as the waterfront where Whitehold butted against the open water. The land under my feet almost seemed to pitch and sway with with the surf, humming with a force that felt alive.

I could also see the shape of Mother, her full face rising into the sapphire sky.

My stomach fell somewhere into the vicinity of my unmentionables. “No! Not yet!” My silent heart would’ve frozen in my chest if it could have. And yet… “What’s happening? Why am I still alive?”

The moon’s power hasn’t yet taken full effect, Deathbringer said. So long as the sun shines, you still have time.

I let go of an explosive sigh of relief, leaning against the stone windowsill.

My power can still sustain you, but use it wisely—not even a Spellsword’s power is limitless. And beware: both Matriarch and First Daughter know that you’ve escaped. There’s been much debate on what to do with you, but they both know you are somewhere in the Fortress.

“That was the idea, yes. Are you still on the top floor?”

Correct. The First Daughter has me in her possession. Prepare yourself, but hasten.

My window was facing south, so I could see the sun off to my right. Nearly a quarter of the glowing orb was obscured by clouds and the tops of the trees at the horizon line. In spite of the Sword’s urging, I was struck by how far I’d come in such a short time. I should’ve been settling into a new life, waiting for my man to come home. Instead, I was in this place.

I never missed the old farmstead as much as I did at that moment. I bowed my head, clutching the window frame in one hand, fighting against a torrent of sorrow that I did not—that I could not—want. Not yet. When I had time, I could give into such urges.

I wondered how many people had lived their lives under the shadow of Clan Avard’s grand citadel, unwitting or unwilling pawns in the schemes of women who considered themselves better than anyone else. I looked at that city and wanted it to burn. Then I wanted those people to watch the White Fortress burn instead. Yenda the Elder had discussed a jubilee party, and assuming the released prisoners hadn’t already thrown that into complete chaos, it was my intent to make things even worse. It was a hasty plan, but it was all time afforded me—I had to reach Deathbringer.

My warriors watched me in silence—never moving, never speaking, never breathing. “Go,” I told them, staring at the sun through a film of tears. “Only resist those that try to attack you. Drive the rest out of the Fortress. After that, you’ll be free.”

They scattered.

At the top of the stairs, alone now, I heard the sound of muffled shouting from a distance. Signs of opulence were everywhere: thick carpets lined the stone floors while tapestries and coats of arms bearing Clan Avard’s sign hung on the walls. Bright-steel lamps burned bright, shining in multiple colors. There were a number of hallways in different directions, so I made a blind choice and started down one, keeping my eyes trained for a way up to the next level.

“I’m on the first floor,” I said.

I feel you. Be quick, Inga Alenir: moonrise is nearly here.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered under my breath. The Sword saw fit not to answer that, or maybe he didn’t hear me.

Moving quickly on bare feet, I continued to the end of the hallway, passing a number of thick, wooden doors. I turned left. As I passed the next door, I heard the sound of multiple footsteps in the hall ahead of me; on a snap decision, I opened the door, saw a darkened room waiting on the other side, slipped through and closed it again. The marching passed by without stopping; I peeked out and saw the backs of a half-dozen Avardi. As they turned the corner and disappeared, I took the direction they’d been coming from and hurried on.

Passing a pair of double doors, I looked inside and saw some of the chaos I’d wrought. A grand banquet hall had been decorated for the jubilee gathering. Tables and chairs had been set up, food had been served, and I’m sure everyone was having a swell time…right up to the point where a massive flood of angry prisoners had shown up. Most of those tables were flipped over now; food was everywhere, a grand mess that defied description. Several large ice sculptures had been tipped over and shattered, and at least two large banners hanging from the walls were on fire. No one was trying to contain the fire either because—I presumed—no one could be spared from either the fighting my warriors or hunting down the escaped convicts.

Bodies were everywhere: prisoners, Avardi and wealthy guests alike. I’d missed the fighting, but the smell of blood and worse was thick in the air amidst spoiled food and smoke. I thought about raising the bodies to fight for me like the others, but I was in too much of a hurry, and I wasn’t sure just how many corpses I could control so close to the sunset.

“Halt!” shouted a voice behind me. The patrol of Avardi had doubled back and spotted me. “In the Matriarch’s name!”

I didn’t even waste time answering or turning around. I ran for the end of the hall, spotting the opening to a winding staircase up ahead. As the soldiers pursued me, my two huge jailers came crashing in behind me through one of the doorways and started attacking the Avardi with fists, nails and teeth. However maimed, bloody or broken their bodies were, they would fight for me until they had nothing left to fight with. As I left them all behind, I heard screaming and desperate shouts as the men fought for their lives.

I didn’t trouble myself with exploring the second floor, but immediately made for the third. At the top of the stairs I paused, my saber up and ready as I peeked around the corner to see what awaited me. Stopping was the only thing that saved my life: I heard the loud whistling of metal in the air and pulled my head back. A blade missed me by centimeters and bounced off the stone wall hard enough to throw sparks. The man holding the weapon swore and rushed forward, forcing me to move back down several steps to evade his follow-up of a strike. I used a Full Guard, deflecting his blow with both hands on the hilt and backed down another step.

It was another Avardi soldier, and when he saw me crouched low, holding my blade in both hands, he laughed and rushed forward, thrusting his blade forward to skewer me. I did a Sidestep and twisted my body, letting his sword point just miss my ribs; I felt the curved blade slide through the over-sized folds of my coat. At first he seemed thrilled at having wounded me, but I set my feet, curled up a fist and slammed it into his nose.

The man reeled backwards, covering his face with one hand. “Bitch!” he shouted, spitting blood.

I ignored his poor attempt at an insult but took the opening he gave me. I grabbed the wrist of his sword hand, pulling him forward, interfering with his balance; he stumbled, trying to shift his weight, and threw his bloody hand out wide to compensate.

His eyes went wide as he stumbled forward into the point of my sword and impaled himself. More blood sprayed from his mouth as he spat an oath, glaring at me, trying to fight through the pain. All I could do was stare back at him, twisting the sword in his breast. It was a painful wound, so the only merciful thing left for me to do was to split his heart open.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

I took a moment, wiping my face on my sleeve in some vain attempt to clean it. Defying any sort of logic, this one death hit me harder than I expected—maybe it was feeling the man’s blood glistening on my skin; maybe it was the memory of his face, looking at me like I was some kind of monster to be defied in his last moments alive. I wanted to scream, to vent all of my anger and frustrations. I felt like a lump of that spell-steel slag Kale and I had seen on Brands Street, being beaten and bathed in blood. I’d lost count of the deaths I’d witnessed just that one day, and wondered if I’d drown in blood before it was all over.

“Down this way!” I heard someone call, and the sound of more footsteps running towards my staircase. I didn’t have time to fight my way through all of the Matriarch’s remaining forces, and the rest of my warriors—the ones still able to fight, anyway—were too far away to assist me.

“Follow.” I ordered my latest soldier to rise before I started climbing the stairs to the top, careless of how my ripped coat flapped with every step. I felt his extinguished inner light burst into sickly new flame as he pushed to his feet, picked up his saber and rushed right past me—the front of his blue coat was stained black with his own blood.

At the top of the stairwell I saw four more Avardi had almost reached our position, but they slid to a stop when we appeared. It would be difficult to take down four armed men on my own, but then, I wasn’t on my own anymore. My man didn’t have a gun in his belt, but neither did they, so that evened the odds somewhat.

One of the soldiers went wide-eyed when he saw my risen protector. “No! Yegor!”

I didn’t give him time to say anything else. “Get them,” I said, and the fallen Yegor ran forward to attack. Two of Avardi swore and jumped back when he swung his sword, while the third raised his own to meet it, attempting to block the blow. Yegor batted the man’s sword aside with his new strength and promptly decapitated him.

I was right behind him, weapon in hand. While the second man was occupied with protecting himself from Yegor’s brutal strikes, both hands upraised to hold onto his saber, his unprotected belly made the perfect target. He cried out twice, once for each time I stabbed him. Yegor grabbed the man’s blade in his bare hand, careless of the blood or the sword’s sharp edge, which allowed me to slice the soldier’s belly open. Bright pink things spilled out of the wound as he collapsed, screaming. Yegor grabbed the man’s neck tight enough for something to snap then dropped him to the floor to bleed to death.

Of the two remaining defenders, they could either face me down in my bloody, torn coat and the walking corpse I commanded, or live to fight another day. One of them shifted his weapon to a two-handed grip, licked his lips and took a deep breath to summon his courage, then stepped forward to join the fight.

The second turned around and ran.

“If you want to live, you’ll run too,” I told the standing soldier, watching his face, at how his eyes got wider and his breathing quickened. When he didn’t move, I took a step forward. “Last chance.”

“S-stop!” he said. “You won’t touch the First Daughter!” When he swung his sword towards me, I gave him a Half-guard, moving quickly into a Spinning Windmill and a Full Lunge, pushing him back with all my strength. He was larger than I was, but I was too motivated to be stopped now.

“Get out of my way!” I kept moving forward, driving him back, taking advantage of his fear and confusion. I used a second Spinning Windmill. A Rising Strike into a Roundabout. When he brought his sword up to take a swing at me, I took a quick Sidestep and allowed Yegor to bowl the man over, driving him to the floor with both hands wrapped around his neck.

It was a simple tactic, but effective. Sometimes simple really was best.

I left my warrior to choke the life out of his former comrade. The third floor of the Fortress was only a solitary hallway, chambers laid out on either side. All I had to do now was to find where the Yendas were hiding and get my Sword back.

Sure. Easy.

I checked each door quickly, pressing myself to the wall, testing the knob and then pushing it open. The third doorway was locked, which seemed to me a hint that someone on the other side didn’t want to be disturbed.

So I made Yegor break the door down.

As the dead man crashed through the thick wood, splintering it into numerous pieces, I heard the sound of gunfire—it was louder, deeper than a revolver. I couldn’t see what my soldier was facing, but whoever was firing the gun appeared to be a pretty good shot; my soldier couldn’t walk very well when both of his knees were shot out from under him. Peeking around the corner of the door frame, I saw a room large enough to be a great hall of its own. A long table covered in a white tablecloth stretched the length of the chamber. On one side of the room was a wide window looking down at the great hall on the first floor; I could see smoke billowing, black and thick, starting to seep through the panes of glass. On the other side, I could see the sky, the fading sun and ascendant moon shining together.

Time was running out. But it wasn’t all bad: Deathbringer was very close now. I was sure of it.

Yenda the Younger was holding a repeating rifle in her hands, and had fired her latest shot into the prone form of Yegor, who was trying to crawl his way across the carpet, pulling himself along, leaving a bloody trail behind him. The sight of Yenda in her party clothes—a dress of pale blue satin, her hair done up, wearing her silver choker and blue diamond that I recognized from our first meeting—while firing a gun was comically ridiculous. “Why won’t you die?!” she shouted, sounding both angry and offended at the same time.

The question was so illogical that I had to laugh. I didn’t try to hide it either, but leaned my head back against the wall, opening my mouth wide, my shoulders shaking.

“You!” The First Daughter’s voice was the sweetest thing I’d heard in quite awhile, and I relished in her fear and loathing. “How are you still alive?” She fired two shots towards my hiding place; the sound of the bullets ricocheting off the wall behind me were high-pitched and made my ears ring, but I wasn’t afraid—not of her, anyway.

I smiled when I answered: “You think someone could kill me that easily, Yenda? I came all this way to find you.” Yenda didn’t know how many times I’d come close to death and somehow escaped; she didn’t know how her mother intended to lock me up forever. She didn’t even know that the Sword she coveted so dearly had brought me back to life in the first place.

I’d managed to cheat the cheater after all.

“You’ve been nothing but a bother to me ever since—ah! Die already!” Peeking around the corner again, I saw that Yegor had managed to get hold of her dress. She raised her gun and squeezed the trigger but had run out of ammunition, so she slammed the butt-end of her gun down on his hand next, cracking the bones. Next she did the same for his head, smashing it in like an overripe piece of fruit.

Yegor wasn’t going to be much use to me anymore. I let the magic flow free of his broken corpse, and the lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

“You have something I want,” I called, unsure if the woman had more ammunition secreted away somewhere. “Give me back my Sword, Yenda.”

“No! You’re dead! You should’ve stayed dead!” Yenda raised her gun and aimed towards the doorway; I ducked out of sight, but she confirmed my suspicions when I heard the gun click on an empty chamber. When I stepped out from my hiding place, she threw the gun at me, running for the other end of the hall.

I dodged the poorly-thrown missile and kept walking, saber low and ready. “Give me my Sword, Yenda,” I repeated, my voice louder. I could feel every second ticking away inside my head, every one of them announcing that my death was getting ever closer. “Your soldiers are gone. There’s no one left to protect you now. You started this—it’s over. Give Deathbringer to me.”

“I took it. The Sword is mine!” Yenda hurried to the far end of the table. In the light of the fires, I could see now that we weren’t alone: three figures were watching, none of them moving or speaking. At the head of the table, the Matriarch was waiting, still in her embroidered dress, still wearing her tiara. The look on her face was one I would’ve called extremely put out, but her eyes were closed, as though composing herself.

The second seated figure was Kale Isrodel. His uniform was gone. Someone had dressed him in a pale shirt with a dark blue silk scarf and overcoat; I could see sweat beading on his brow. In spite of the fading light, I could also see he had a sizable bruise on the same cheek he’d injured previously, that same eye was now nearly swollen shut. The other one was wide open, and he stared at me like he’d just seen a ghost—the truth wasn’t that far off, really. He was also bound with rope to the chair he was sitting in. I could see dread and even fear on the man’s face, but after recovering from the surprise at seeing me, I also saw what looked like an apology, as well.

Behind Kale stood Ruslan, watching the proceedings with two wide, disbelieving eyes. The red-bearded man had his saber out and resting on Kale’s shoulder, ready to cut the other man’s throat. Kale was here as a threat to me, that much was obvious. If I acted out of turn, he was going to pay the price for that.

“I’m glad you survived,” Kale told me in a quiet voice.

I nodded. “You too. I’m glad you’re alright.” I looked at Ruslan next. “You kill him, I kill you.” After the day I’d had, threatening outright murder didn’t even deserve raising my voice anymore.

The man scowled at me, but he didn’t speak.

On the table in front of the Matriarch I saw two items: a long object wrapped in a shapeless bit of dark silk, and a thin, double-edged blade that was polished to such a gleam that it almost glowed in the flickering light. The sword used a rounded and looped knuckle guard that would protect the whole hand when it was held, similar to what members of the militia carried, but the guard was studded with small silver spikes and white gemstones so that it appeared to be encrusted with ice.

If any such blade deserved the name Frostbite, I supposed it would be that one.

Yenda the Elder finally opened her eyes, looking at me. “You’ve slain my soldiers; released dozens of convicted criminals; ruined my party; scared off my guests; are responsible for who knows how much death and carnage—!” Her voice raised in octave and volume with each of my offenses.

I cut her off: “Well, I’m just a farm girl at heart, Yenda—I spread shit wherever I go.” I didn’t have it in me to laugh again, but I did manage a smile.

I watched the woman fight to contain her temper; it took her a long moment, which I’ll admit I did enjoy a little bit. “You have a legitimate complaint against one of my own,” she said. “Regardless of what I might’ve said to you earlier, for what happened, you have my most sincere apology.”

“Mother—” The First Daughter began to speak in her own defense, but barely managed the one word before her mother slapped the table so hard with the flat of her hand that all of us jumped in surprise.

The Matriarch looked up at me again. “What was taken from you… When I was told about what happened, confirming what you said to me…” She took a slow breath. “The price of that debt is impossible to replace.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak at all, so I didn’t. Something loud crashed amidst the fire in the great hall on the first floor, making Yenda and Ruslan jump; a great plume of black smoke billowed up against the windows and the flames began to rise higher as the conflagration grew in strength.

Yenda the Elder didn’t so much as flinch. “I intend to see this indiscretion handled to the harshest measure possible,” she said. “Will that satisfy you?”

“That depends on what the terms of your offer are,” I said. “And whether they match mine.”

“Mother,” the younger Yenda said, sounding worried.

“What terms would you offer?”

“Mother!”

I met that icy stare and didn’t flinch. “Death,” I whispered. “Nothing less.”

I’ll never forget the look on the First Daughter’s face, her hate and anger momentarily transformed into pure, raw panic. It seemed as if she worried whether the Matriarch would agree; in that moment, I pitied Yenda the Younger, a feeling I’d never considered before, at least not for her. If she thought her own mother would hand her over to me…what sort of mother was she, really?

“I told her, Inga,” Kale said.

“Shut up, Kale,” the First Daughter said.

“I told the Matriarch everything about what happened,” he continued. “I even said I’d testify in court, if I had to. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right—”

Yenda slapped him, full across the mouth. “Shut up!” she screeched.

“Yenda!” Ruslan shouted.

“Enough!” The mother grabbed her daughter’s arm before roughly shoving her away. It wasn’t nearly the response I wanted, but it would have to do.

“I want the blood debt repaid in full,” I said, still conscious of how little time I had left, like I could feel the sun setting, centimeter by centimeter. “My husband is gone; my mother, my friends, everyone—all of them are gone. Any children I might have had were slain before they were ever conceived. All because of her. I don’t care who held the sword or pulled the trigger, none of it would’ve happened except that she ordered it!”

“Mother, enough of this!” Yenda the Younger said, practically spitting in her anger. “You can’t be seriously considering listening to her! Ruslan, don’t let her do this!”

The man opened his mouth, as though to argue, before shutting it again with an uneasy growl. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The mother ignored her daughter’s latest outburst. “I’m an old woman, Inga Alenir; I can bear no more children. I’ve my Clan to consider, the fate and future of my heirs when I am gone. You’re still young—you still have time to start over. Your loss is a tragedy, but…” She sighed, and in that moment, it seemed to me that Yenda spoke with a sort of kind sadness. “There will be others,” she said more softly, as if trying to console me. “Other men, other lovers, other husbands. I’ve had three myself—I don’t recommend it.” When I didn’t answer, the Avard Matriarch straightened in her chair, hands folded on the table in front of her. “Do you intend to press the matter, Inga Alenir?”

I nodded. “Oh, most definitely.”

The old woman sighed. “I was afraid you might. Ruslan, keep ready.” She picked up Frostbite and pushed to her feet. I swallowed a groan when she started walking towards me, but tightened my jaw and backed up a step, raising my saber and setting my feet. It was one thing to face off against an Avardi soldier, trained or not; it was something else to face down another Swordbearer, especially when she had her Sword, and I didn’t.

While the Fortress burned and smoke started to turn the air grey about us, it felt like a farce, some ridiculous play that I’d been drafted into, yet wanted no part of. I kept waiting for someone to make a joke, for the spell to break. But nobody was laughing.

Yenda raised her weapon, blade upright, in some kind of salute I’d never seen before. She then took a defensive posture and walked towards me, eyes locked onto mine. She was a taller woman than me, even with the slight stoop in her back and shoulders.

Licking my lips, I took a breath and raised my saber, fighting back against the surge of impatience and anger that bubbled at the back of my throat. The woman had the audacity to capture me, question me, torture me, and now she was going to insist I fight her on top of all of everything else. The sun was almost down. I was so mad I wanted to spit in her eye, or to claw both of them out, maybe.

I did not have time for this.

The first clash of swords was a tentative one, a feather-light swing of her blade against mine. Yenda the Elder was testing my speed, my reaction time; her face was a tight mask of focus while her blue eyes burned through me, bright and intense, as if she could burn me to ash if she concentrated hard enough. Her next swing was hard enough that it would’ve split my skull if I hadn’t brought up a Half-guard to block the blow, and it still made my fingers hum from the impact of it.

I retaliated with a Half-lunge, thrusting my blade towards her; she blocked the blow and sent me backpedaling quickly, requiring a Backstep with a Spinning Windmill to knock her follow-up attacks to either side. Yenda the Elder had age and experience on her side, and was likely stronger than me, but at that particular moment I just didn’t care anymore—the woman was going to have to cut me to pieces before I gave up.

But I was outmatched, and I knew it the moment that Frostbite slipped through my defenses. She had me to rights and nearly ended it by running me through, same as Yegor had tried on the stairs, but Yenda was faster and better than Yegor could’ve ever hoped to be. My Sidestep was barely fast enough, and it still got me another hole in my coat to match the first, not to mention a frantic lunge backwards as I batted her blade away. As I watched the light of the fire shine across her face and in her eyes, I tightened my grip on my saber and refused to let fear or lack of skill get the better of me.

Maybe Yenda sensed something. Maybe she saw the determination on my face, the anger coming off of me in waves. Maybe she just saw the pathetic state I was in—half-naked, dressed in a torn, over-sized coat with a borrowed saber and nothing left to lose. Our fight lasted all of a minute and I was aching from wrist to shoulder by the time she backed away, again raising her Sword in a defensive posture.

“We can still figure things out, Inga,” she said to me.

“I’m not here to ‘figure things out,’ Yenda,” I answered through clenched teeth. “Get out of my way.”

“No!” The old woman took a step forward like she wanted to continue fighting me, but stopped herself. She lowered her head, eyes shut tight for a second; when she looked back up again, her cold eyes were glistening, cheeks touched with tears. “I failed her…do you understand that? After everything that’s happened—everything she’s done—I failed my child, my own flesh and blood, but she’s still mine. You said you don’t have children, so you have no idea what that feels like!” In spite of my anger, my single-minded drive and focus that had brought me hundreds of kilometers and through so much pain and death, the tears of the Matriarch were so sudden and unexpected that it was hard not to look away from them. The old woman seemed to be pleading with me for understanding, and for a split second, I tried. I might’ve been a fool, but some part of me still tried, all the same.

Then I remembered the clinging fingers of my dead loved ones, the way it felt as I crawled out from under a pile of corpses in a burning barn. Any sympathy I might’ve had for the Avard family, either mother or daughter, was dead and buried. “Maybe your child should’ve thought of that before she ordered a massacre.”

“And you use one massacre to justify another?” Those cold eyes were judging me, daring me to argue.

Oh, I dared. “The only ones who died today were those who would’ve killed me first, Matriarch. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted nothing more in my life than to be left alone.” Time was slipping away from me, but at that moment, I no longer cared. Somebody was going to hear what I had to say. “If your precious ‘flesh and blood’ had done that, I’d have lived my entire life with that Sword in a box: never thinking about it, never caring about it. She stole that life from me…and I’ll be a snow-blasted fool before she takes one more thing from me, or from anyone else, ever again.”

The old woman bowed her head again, taking a long breath. “All my life, I’ve believed that Sword to be an evil thing,” she said, speaking softly. “Anyone who holds it comes only to death and ruin…and then, my child had to be the one to find it.” She raised her head again, staring me down. “What’s been stolen from you will be returned if you agree to my terms and leave my territory. Now. Today. Will you?”

“Return what’s mine first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Mother?” The First Daughter frowned. She grabbed the object in cloth off the table, hugging it close to her chest—that thing was my Sword, I was sure of it. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I love you,” the mother said, keeping her eyes on me. “What mother doesn’t love her children? And if I have to save your life by any means necessary, I will.”

“‘Save me?’ The best way to save me is by killing her!” the daughter countered, pointing at me.

“Give me my Sword!” I shouted, my patience completely run out. I wanted to charge the woman and beat her head into the table until it broke—whether the table or her head gave out first, I didn’t much care.

“It’s not yours anymore!” Yenda the Younger shouted back at me. “It never should’ve been yours to begin with!”

Yenda the Elder looked very tired to my eyes, something I understood more than I cared to admit. The old woman’s shoulders quivered and shook as she lowered Frostbite to the ground again, setting it point-first into the carpet at her feet, resting on it like an invalid on a cane. “I propose this: that my daughter is detained, her duties and right as First Daughter will be revoked—”

“Mother!”

Ruslan’s mouth fell open.

“—and that a portion of my territory no less than one hundred thousand hectares be given to you and your Clan as a permanent holdings, now and forever, in order that your family line might restored to their rightful place. I will also ensure that a tenth of my entire treasury will be granted to you, for your own well-being, and for the sake of your descendants.”

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“Trying to save your life!” the Matriarch said. She turned to look at her daughter with sad, hopeful eyes. “It won’t bring back what you lost,” she said to me, “but it might offer you some comfort, somehow.”

I didn’t react to her offer. I didn’t say anything at all. Yenda Avard was, literally, trying to buy me off. I started to get angry at the thought of some wealthy landowner bribing me into pretending that money and land were more important than all that was taken from me, but I never even got the chance to reject the offer. With a wild shriek of “No!” Yenda the Younger hefted the silk-wrapped item in both hands and charged at her mother—the wrappings fell away, and I could see Deathbringer at long last.

“Stop!” Kale tried to stand up in spite of his bonds, pulling at them as he struggled.

“Yenda!” Ruslan dropped his saber and tried to climb over the table in a vain attempt at stopping his sister.

But they were both too late: I watched as the black blade erupted from Yenda the Elder’s back, blood staining her lovely dress and the carpet at her feet. The older Yenda never raised her hands or Sword to defend herself—I wonder if the thought of her own daughter attacking her ever crossed the Matriarch’s mind at all. The old woman gave a surprised, gasping cry, dropping her weapon and raising both hands, reaching for her daughter’s shoulders. She pulled at the other Yenda’s clothes for just a moment; from my vantage point, I could see a confused look on her face, as though wondering how she’d been stabbed at all. Then she sank to the ground and lay still.

In my mind, I felt the golden light of Yenda the Elder’s life force flicker once, and go out.

At the same time, a change came over the First Daughter: she went rigid, her mouth open, her whole body trembling, eyes half-lidded for just a moment, yet it felt so much longer somehow. When she flicked her heavy lashes and opened her eyes again, I could see that something about Yenda had changed. “Oh yes,” she said, her voice thick and rich with some internal ecstasy. “So that’s what it feels like. Delicious.”

Yenda Avard—now the only one left alive—bent down to grab Deathbringer’s hilt in both hands, planted her foot on her dead mother’s chest and wrenched with both shoulders to rip it free. After tossing my bloody Spellsword onto the table, the new Matriarch of Clan Avard picked up Frostbite next, clenching her fist tight around the hilt, a look of victory on her face. Yenda stepped over her mother’s body and faced me, taking care not to drag her dress through the blood. “Negotiations are concluded,” she said to me in a cold, angry voice, raising her new Sword. “Now I’m going to finish what I started—personally.”