CHAPTER 17

The Real Villains

Archer tried to fight. Sefia knew he tried. But from the second she let the door open, allowing the candidates to flood into the room, he began to sweat. He began to shake. After the first three boys, he’d emptied his chambers and hit nothing.

Again and again, she shoved the candidates back. Breaking bones. Wrenching limbs from their sockets. Deflecting bullets meant for Archer.

But after the first grenade took out the door, there were too many for her to wrestle back out of the cabin. She had to get Archer out of there, but the candidates had pinned her behind the bullet-pitted sofa she’d been using as a barricade. When she knocked one boy down, another took his place, pressing forward inch by inch. They were relentless.

They were like him.

Fighters.

Killers.

They were like the bloodletters a dozen times over— organized, deadly.

Standing, she shoved the wardrobe at the open doorway, crushing a body against the wall. The candidates quickly assembled behind it, using it for cover as they bombarded her with gunfire.

She piled on a liquor cabinet—the bottles smashing, spilling pungent liquid onto the floor—a leather settee, anything to halt the candidates’ advance, to give her enough time to get to Archer.

The doorway was almost blocked again. Lifting her arms, she heaved the table Archer had been using for cover over the last gap and held it fast with her magic.

He was curled tightly on the floor, hands over his head.

She dashed out from behind the sofa, but a whoosh of air stopped her in her tracks—she smelled gun smoke—and Tanin appeared between her and Archer.

Sefia’s mind churned. Tanin, here? Why? With one hand still holding the barricade over the door, she watched the woman warily.

Tanin grimaced, touching her ribs. Blood stained her palm, her silk shirt. She was injured.

A disadvantage.

But was it enough of a disadvantage for Sefia to get to Archer and teleport him away without losing her hold on the door? The candidates were banging on the barricade—she could feel them pounding against her magic.

Tanin’s gaze darted across the floor. “You don’t have the Book to hide behind this time,” she whispered.

“I’m done with hiding.” Sefia glanced at Archer. She was only seven steps away. Could she make it past Tanin without letting the candidates in?

“Your whole life, all you’ve done is hide.” Tanin smiled. “From us. From me. What did you think you were doing, running to your precious Hav—”

Sefia attacked, palming the air with her free hand. Tanin tried to deflect, but her injury must have made her slow, because Sefia’s magic caught her in the shoulder. She stumbled.

Sefia was already drawing a knife from its sheath at her waist. It was already singing through the air.

Regaining her balance, Tanin narrowed her eyes. She flicked her wrist, sending the blade point-first into the floorboards at her feet, and put her hands together, summoning a wave of force.

Wide-eyed, Sefia saw the sofa come rushing at her, huge and heavy. She leapt aside, rolling, as Tanin hurled a broken lantern at her. She felt her ribs bruise.

She hit the floor, winded, as Tanin’s magic caught her again, flinging her back.

Her grip on the barricade loosened. The wardrobe splintered.

Wrenching a leg from the table, Sefia sent it flying at Tanin.

The woman brushed it aside easily, but the momentary distraction gave Sefia enough time to stand, firming up her hold on the door.

Grimly, Tanin grabbed Sefia’s knife from the floor and reached for the windows at the rear of the cabin. She flung the blade. She flexed her fingers. The glass shattered, shards soaring toward Archer, where he lay curled on the floor.

Sefia didn’t have enough hands. The knife, the glass, the candidates. Which would she stop?

She chose the glass. She chose to save Archer.

Whipping her free hand through the air, she sent the points of glass quivering into the wall.

The knife sank into the arm holding the door. Crying out, she dropped her hand. In the barricade, the table split. The wardrobe cracked. Bullets whizzed into the room, sending both her and Tanin under cover.

With the blade still in her arm, Sefia shoved the sofa at the door, plugging the holes in the barricade, and ripped the glass shards from the wall.

Tanin was getting up.

But Tanin was too slow. The glass struck her in the back. She let out a cry.

Pulling the knife from her arm, Sefia leapt across the room and knocked Tanin to the floor.

Her foot was on Tanin’s neck.

Her blade was in her hand.

This close, she could not miss.

And Kelanna would be rid of another Guardian.

That’s it. In a flash, Sefia understood what she had to do, how to use the power of the Scribes to beat every enemy she had—the war, the Alliance, the Guard, fate, the future, the Book.

But while she hesitated, Tanin thrust upward with the heel of her hand. Magic like a battering ram slammed into Sefia’s chin. Her head went back. For a second, her vision went dark.

That second was enough for her power to falter. The barricade shattered. More liquor bottles came crashing to the floor as gunshots burst into the cabin.

Staggering to her feet, Sefia shook her head and summoned her magic. She ran to Archer’s side. He was hot. His breath was coming too fast. It was like he couldn’t get enough air.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, putting his arms around her neck. He buried his head against her, hands holding her tight. “You’re safe.”

Tanin groaned, trying to get up, with spikes of glass sticking out of her back as the candidates rushed into the cabin. Sefia and Archer teleported to the Current of Faith, where the battle for Haven was roaring around them. There was the smell of smoke and gunpowder, salty air and blood.

“Sefia?” In her arms, Archer was clutching the worry stone, rubbing his thumb across its smooth facets over and over, his face streaked with tears.

Ignoring her bruised ribs and wounded arm, Sefia clutched him tightly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I know what to do. I know how we can save you.”

Even with the power of the Scribes, they couldn’t fight the Red War as it raged across the Central Sea on Oxscinian shores.

Nor could they fight the combined strength of the Alliance, with its three kingdoms’ worth of ships and soldiers.

But the Guard that controlled the Alliance was only ten people—Librarians, Politicians, Administrators, Soldiers, Assassins. If they stopped those ten people, the Guard would be finished. The Alliance would dissolve. The Red War would end.

And without a war to win, Archer would not fulfill his destiny.

Archer would live.

He’d said it two and a half months ago, to that cotton-headed ninny Haldon Lac.

The Guardians were the real villains. The Guard was the real target. Not fate, not the future, not the war. The Guard.