Chapter 8

Sapphire

I did not intend to lie to the Priestess. The Commander assured us our invasion would be bloodless. Do no harm. That is always our objective.

Whatever violence happened must have been necessary to secure the surrender.

I have tied the Priestess’s hands, and she is surprisingly composed as we leave through the atrium.

But outside the temple, metal screams on stone. Children wail down the hall. “Let me go,” the Priestess snarls. “I have to help them.” She tries to pull away, but my grip does not relent.

Up ahead, one of our soldiers in Unit Two emerges from a hallway with a human male struggling in her grasp. She strikes him in the side of the head with her elbow and he falls to the floor.

“How dare you!” the Priestess screeches.

I heft her up onto my shoulder and run over as she pounds her fists against my back. “Where is the Commander?” I ask.

The soldier points behind her. “That way, searching out the King.”

The hallway walls are smeared with human blood. Some must have died—but how? Why? Our soldiers seem to have convinced most residents of the castle to stay in their rooms, and are posted in front of each door. The serving staff are trapped in the larder, pounding the door as we pass.

My captive has finally stopped struggling. My wisp settles on her shoulder and pulls back the hairs that have fallen into her eyes.

At the top of a wide marble staircase I find Zylion leaning against his sword, his mask pulled up so it sits on his hair. “I have her.”

Zylion looks weary. He gestures down a long hallway. “The Commander is down there.”

I have to step over the body of what appears to be a royal guard, blood pooled on the floor underneath him. He must have fought back to end up like this.

I notice a dot of crimson on my boot, and a wave of cold washes over me. I hope this human wasn’t ill. We have no immunity to human diseases, should we be exposed. We would be helpless. I will clean it off at my first opportunity.

Inside the room, the King is strapped to a chair. Commander Valya prods him with one finger, the tip bathed in angry red light. Each time the Commander touches him, the King cries out. “I don’t know where they are,” the greasy old man sobs. “They haven’t sent a smoke message in—”

The Commander prods him once more, and the sound the King makes wrenches my stomach. “Where is your daughter?” he snarls. I have never seen him like this.

“I don’t know.” The King rocks forward, and his voice slurs. “She wasn’t with me.” Another prod, and the man lets out a windy gasp before collapsing in his chair. The Commander looks up when he finally notices us standing there.

“Ah—Mahove, Sapphire! You have secured the temple?”

I nod. “Incapacitated all the priestesses, as instructed.” I lean down, roll my captive off my shoulder, and try to help her into a sitting position on the ground. She lies there limply, but her blue eyes are riveted to the Commander in a scathing glare. “I negotiated a peaceful surrender . . .”

The Commander’s gaze whips back to me. “Why would you do that?”

“I thought that was the plan, Commander.”

He snorts. “Plans change. This drunk King was easier to capture than even my wildest hopes. No need for negotiation.” My wisp pulses a dark purple—it is upset. “Have this priestess contact the sworn lords to demand a full surrender. The King’s Magicker claims he cannot do it.” The King coughs and gags.

“I won’t help,” the Priestess says immediately. “I’d rather die.”

The Commander shrugs. “We can make that happen.” Shame fills me like piss in a bucket. “Sapphire, quarantine her with the others.” He returns to his work, and I am dismissed.

Unit One has rounded up the rest of the priestesses in an old cellar. When I step inside the door with my priestess, it’s as if someone has clapped their hands over my ears. The room’s been treated to dampen Magic—no priestesses will be calling for help in here.

I leave my priestess there. My wisp, glowing an angry red, dives into my pouch pocket and refuses to come out.

I find a stone bench in the atrium, under Melidia’s hateful gaze, and allow myself a moment to rest, close my eyes, and inhale the scent of an immense blue flower planted nearby, its long petals like shards of moonlight.

“Something wrong, friend Sapphire?” Ellze’s voice. I open my eyes just as he steps on the flower, snapping the stem in half.

“This—this is not what I expected,” I stammer.

“What did you expect? We are here to do what is asked of us. You are fortunate you got this promotion. You should be happy.”

Responding would be a waste. Rising from the stone bench, I walk past him and leave the Temple.

I know I have this cloak on my back only because Ellze is the Commander’s nephew. And I am not fulfilling his expectations.

Parsifal

Corene’s candle shows me what I probably would’ve been better off not seeing: a ceiling so low we brush our heads, and constellations of cobwebs hanging in every corner and crevice. Dust sits in a heavy white layer on the walls and floor, like fallen ash. A little shiver ripples down my back. I hate dust. I hate cobwebs. And I definitely hate spiders.

The narrow tunnel extends into nothingness in two directions. Through the walls come the muffled sounds of the long ears speaking and of furniture legs squeaking as they’re moved. The elves are searching. They know we were there, but not where we went.

“Corene,” I whisper, kneeling beside her. I shudder knowing how filthy my clothes are getting. “Where does this go? We need to leave before they find us.” Even my whispers could lead them here.

Corene says in a tiny voice, “Dad’s room.”

“Excellent,” I whisper. “Finding the King is a good idea. Which way?”

The clink of silver boots on stone echoes right next to us. We have to go. Corene makes a sound like a trapped animal, and Thelia twitches with irritation. “Corene. Stop squacking and talk.” I don’t know how effective browbeating the Princess will be when she’s this upset.

The muffled voices fade. “They must be moving on,” I whisper. If they haven’t gotten to the King already, they’re on the way.

Thelia grips Corene’s arm. “We have to go now. You can just point.”

Corene grimaces and points to her left. On we go.

Through stone walls come the wails of people, dogs barking, and armor clinking—all garbled. I wonder if this is what the demon plane was like, before Melidia supposedly saved us. We walk in the frigid in-between place for longer than it should take to reach another chamber in North Hall.

Abruptly, Corene stops. “Here.” She holds up the candle, illuminating the faint outline of another door.

Before anyone moves, Thelia says, “Wait. They may have arrived first.”

I press my ear to the wall. “I don’t hear anything.” But the truth is that I don’t want to go out there and maybe die. What if we stay in hiding until the furor calms down?

Thelia pushes the door open enough for some torchlight to spill in and peers through the crack. “It’s clear.” She glances back at me. “Come on, let’s take a look around. You know, for the King.”

I sigh. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“If we live long enough, I’ll give you as many foot massages as you want.”

As we slip out, I glance back at Corene, who’s become a piece of furniture—not moving or speaking. “Be right back,” Thelia tells her.

The King’s chamber is huge. The enormous, velvet-draped platform bed is a mess, sheets halfway off like he was ripped out of it as he slept. He’s gone—grabbed by long ears.

Thelia jogs to the bedroom door and slips her fingers between the door and the frame to pull it open, avoiding the creaky doorknob. It opens without a sound, a trick I’m sure she was taught by her mother. Delia Finegarden may have been a horrible person, but at this moment I’m grateful she raised my cousin.

“What in Melidia’s arsehole are you planning?” I whisper. I thought we were just taking a look around the room.

She mouths, “The armory.” I give her a bewildered look, and she clenches her hands into fists. “So I can get a sword.”

That’s what she’s after—a way to fight back. Against seven-foot-tall murderous elves. What an inspired plan.

Yet, here I am, jogging down the hallway after her in my least comfortable heeled boots, wishing I’d worn absolutely anything else today.

Thelia stops at the third door. The armory.

That’s when the clanking starts on the stairs. Soldiers’ footsteps. Thelia glances behind us. “They’re coming.” She reaches for a door, pushes it open, and shoves me in.

Thelia

Glittering silver everywhere. A feast of blades, each one capable of its own select deeds. My hands itch to grab one. The truly impressive weapons—the halberds and spears—are arranged on elaborate silver stands. I could have anything I want, but first we have to hide. I only hope they don’t look in this room right away.

Along the wall, four suits of armor hang on vaguely human-looking statues. Perfect. I start unlacing a set of plates and point at a statuette dressed in leather. “Put it on, Percy.”

“No way.”

“Just do it.” It’ll be easier than mine—putting this on properly could take whole candle-hours. Thankfully, I’m small enough that I can slide on the chestplate without taking it apart.

Parsifal reluctantly dons the jerkin. “Don’t bother tying it,” I hiss at him.

A door opens across the hallway. They’re looking. I throw on the pauldrons, but the greaves will take forever. I hope the darkness will hide it. I slip the plate helmet over my head and tuck in my hair.

Parsifal’s barely got the leather helm on when I pull him into line with the other statuettes. “Close your eyes,” I hiss. “Don’t move.”

The door creaks open. Eyelids pressed shut, I stand dead still, praying that it’s too dim for them to notice something is off.

Light footsteps enter the armory, then pause, looking around. The elves speak in melodic, rhythmic words utterly unlike what I know as speech. It’s more of a song, with rising and falling pitches. Two voices. Two monsters I might have to gut if they catch us.

I don’t breathe as they pass through the room. Then the footsteps recede, out through the open doorway.

I gasp for air as soon as the door closes. Parsifal yanks his helmet off. “It’s too tight!”

“Maybe your head’s too big.” Still, we survived. The long ears may be bigger than we are, but they can’t see any better in the dark—and they’re definitely not as smart as I feared.

“Hey.” I tap the jerkin strapped across Parsifal’s chest. “Give me that.” I need something to protect my organs. He slides off the chest piece and hands it to me. Even if it doesn’t fit right, it’ll still keep off glancing blows.

And now, my reward: the wall of death. It’ll take time to choose the perfect weapons from such a pristine crop. A weapon is a comrade, a confidante, a partner. It should fit your hand just right, weigh neither too little nor too much, and cut through the air precisely the way you want.

But time is in short supply. I snatch a dagger and a belt, then a shortsword and a sheath—and finally a long, slender, curved scimitar, like the ones my mother’s ancestors used. The people who lived in the scrubland between the Holy Kingdom and the Northern Republic—until the Hindermarks decided the iron buried in those sandy hills belonged to them. Now they’re all dead, except Mother. Not sure if that bodes well for the scimitar, but it’s beautifully light, and I twirl it once before sinking it into a sheath with a lovely fooohh.

Parsifal needs something. I lift a slender saber off the wall and offer him the pommel. “We both know how this will end,” he says, slipping it into his belt. “A missing finger. Maybe a lopped-off prick.”

Even a breath away from being discovered and killed by elves, Parsifal reaches for quips to feel better. I roll my eyes. “You haven’t been taking fencing lessons all these years for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. Those lessons are how I came by this excellent physique, thank you very much.”

We’ve been here too long, but I still can’t resist taking down a hatchet as we leave the room. “Planning to arm the entire castle?” Parsifal asks.

“Planning to kill some damned long ears.” I nod. “Let’s get back to Corene.”

The King’s bedroom is still empty.

“Corene!” Parsifal taps the wall. “Open the door. I don’t know how it works from this side.” Nothing.

I know she’s in there, cowering in the darkness. Feeling sorry for herself. “Corene, let us in. I have swords and you won’t die. I promise. No elves.”

As prepared as I am to fight, my blood’s still filled with wine. Which is probably how I ended up with two swords, two daggers, and a hatchet.

Slowly, the door opens. I’m so done with this creepy passage, but I crouch down and crawl back in anyway. Corene closes the door behind us. “Did you find him?”

Oh, piss. I can’t have her break down, so I temper my voice. “Your dad must have hidden somewhere the long ears wouldn’t find him.” I have to let her believe he escaped. Corene closes her eyes and massages her temple. “But,” I say brightly, “I did get into the armory.” I hook the hatchet onto my belt.

“I see.” She looks over my new personal arsenal.

“Does this secret place go to other parts of the castle?” Parsifal breaks in. “Like South Hall?”

Suddenly I think of Daddy, trapped somewhere. Or worse.

Corene shakes her head. “Wrong level.”

“Are there any other tunnels like this?” he presses.

“Loads. Stuff from the old days. A whole set of pipes run under the castle, though most of those are sealed . . .”

She’s babbling, so I cut her off. “Do you know where they are?”

Corene shrugs. “Bayled and I played in some of them when we were kids, though Mom didn’t like it. We can’t reach them from here.” That’s a great help.

“Where does this passageway end?” asks Parsifal, like he’s speaking to a small child. Corene doesn’t answer but starts to walk, holding the candle out in front.

Soon we reach a flat wall that marks the end. “Here.” She illuminates a latch holding the door closed. We hear chaos in the room beyond.

“What’s on the other side?” I ask.

“No idea. Mom and Dad only said how to get to their room from mine.” Her tone’s defensive. “That’s all they thought I’d need—to hide until the threat passed. I do know how to get to the old sewers, though.”

“Sewers?” I ask.

“Before the Split, when we were friendly with the dwarves, they helped us build a system for disposing of our waste. After the Split, parts of it collapsed.” Corene sounds like she’s reading something from her memory. “That’s where the Pit is now—we dump our waste in a derelict sewage drain.”

“Does it leave the castle?” Parsifal asks. “Can we get out?”

“One of the pipes dumps into the moat.”

Parsifal sits forward, avoiding the jeweled pommel of my shortsword. “How do we get to it?”

Corene’s head swivels slowly toward him. “How do you think?”

I’m instantly nauseated. “Ugh. The Pit?” My handmaid went there for me, until Dad dismissed her because we couldn’t afford the expense. I went myself once or twice, emptying my chamberpot in the pool of feces, but I flegged each time. Now I dump my chamberpot out the window, hoping nobody’s down below.

“Why couldn’t the door have been in the kitchen?” Parsifal moans, just as horrified.

“I’d rather fight and die,” I say.

Parsifal glares at me. “I say we wait. Let everything quiet down out there, then take a look around.”

“You mean, after everyone who would fight back is dead and the rest have surrendered?” An image flashes in my mind of Daddy collapsed on the floor like a puppet. “Coward.”

Parsifal shrugs. “Correct.”

But we need hope, even if it’s false, or we’ll stumble right off the cliff of despair. I know how dangerous that crevasse is. I managed to avoid it for most of my life—believing that when I was finally perfect, Mom would be finished. She would tell me I was ready. Then Morgaun sliced me open, and I went over the edge.

I clench one hand into a fist. Daddy had no part in that. He doesn’t deserve . . . “We have to try,” I growl. “If there is a way to get out of Four Halls, we can’t leave them behind.”

“Shouldn’t we at least wait until it quiets down?” He looks like he hopes that will be never. “No point charging out and dying before we get anywhere near South Hall.”

I hate that it comes from cowardice, but he’s right. I don’t know if I can take on one of those huge creatures.

“When it dies down, I go.” I stare at Parsifal. “With or without you.” He looks away, his face turning red.

As much as I don’t want to fester in the dark, sneaking out under their noses may be our best shot.

Bayled

By morning, the Baron still hasn’t arrived. I emerge from my tent, and Sasel’s downcast face tells me her smoke message went unanswered.

“Don’t send word back to Four Halls,” I tell Sasel. “Not yet.”

Nobody needs this news now. Doubt already swirls around my ability to lead—and that’s not unfounded. I have no experience, like Nul said. The men don’t even respect me.

So I need the one whose respect matters less than his loyalty, if I’m going to do something truly stupid.

I have to kick Harged’s bedroll a few times before he rolls over and groans, “Just a little longer, Ma.”

“I’m not your mother.” I kick once more and Harged lets out a grunt. Maybe this explains the name of his company—he seems to be made of actual stone.

Once he’s conscious, he peers up at me. “What is it, boss? You look upset.”

“Everything’s fine.” I hope I sound stoic but not angry.

“Good.” Harged lumbers to his feet. “It’s far too soon for our general to show weakness. The men would get discouraged. They’re already skeptical of a ward from the Northern Republic leading us into battle.”

I’m too stunned to even be annoyed.

“So young to be leading so many. Some of the men are happy with the hillman becoming King. Everyone knows how they fight off trolls and wolves down in the Klissen.”

I blink, not sure how to respond. “Trolls?”

“Those mountains are riddled with all kinds of ’em. Swamp trolls. Mountain trolls. Sometimes ogres too.”

He goes on about the other differences between swamp trolls, other low-altitude trolls, and ones from the higher places in the world.

“Harged,” I interrupt. “Since you know so much about hunting elusive things, what would you think of going on a little mission with me?”

While the contingent finishes saddling up, I approach Nul se Lan. “What is it, Northerner?” he snaps.

“I’m leaving with Stone Company to find the Baron—and learn whether this was simply a mistake. If it’s not . . .” I leave it unsaid. We hold each other’s gazes. I will not let Lan see the thinness of my resolve.

I station Sasel in one of the three functional watchtowers at the Crossing, so she’ll be ready to send a smoke message to the rest of the army when I find out what’s become of the Baron.

Nul se Lan and the rest of the lords are clear on their orders: resume the march south. The senior officers give me strange looks as we part ways. I think of Thelia and Parsifal’s message, and hope I won’t regret letting Nul se Lan out of my sight. Not that I have a choice—a crime of this magnitude cannot go ignored.

It will only take a few days. Such a small contingent of men should catch up with the rest of the army easily.

And my mission will be more than worthwhile if it turns out the Baron has remained loyal after all, and this is all just a case of a missed smoke message.

“Eyes open, feet firm,” I tell the men of Stone Company, hitting my chest with one closed fist. “Be prepared for anything at the Baron’s fortress.” The donkey with the keg pulls up the rear. One of Harged’s men hands him a full mug of beer.

I gawk. “It’s first thing in the morning!”

“The only cure for the liquor shivers, you know, is more liquor.” Harged takes a long sip and his face brightens like the sun. “There we go. Like new again.” He passes the mug back and each of the twenty men take a gulp. “Ready, fellows?”

“Ready!” they sing back. Another mug is poured and we’re on our way.

Thelia

Hours pass before it’s finally quiet. Corene’s fallen asleep in a corner. I take out my hatchet. “You don’t have to go with me, Percy.”

“As if I won’t.” The firmness in his voice, the stern resolve, takes me by surprise.

I’m relieved. While I don’t trust Parsifal to do much with his saber, his quick mind is valuable. “Fine. We should leave Corene. She’s in no state to run.”

I tap Corene’s shoulder to wake her. “We’re going.”

She wobbles up to a sitting position. “What if you don’t come back?”

“Don’t worry about that.” I can’t muster anything more comforting. I need my head facing forward if we’re going to survive.

I gesture for Parsifal to follow me, and he pats the pommel of his saber. Ready. We pull the lever on the door and it creaks open. I peek through the crack.

It’s a stairway—and not even a hidden side stairway. This door opens onto the main stairs that lead down to the banquet hall. Just great.

“Theels,” Parsifal whispers. “If everything goes wrong, let them take me. Understand? If they get you, we’re bear food.” He looks me straight in the eyes, and there is something strange and fierce and fearless in them. “I’ve never done anything in my life that really mattered, Theels. This is the one thing I can do.”

I want to say something, but I don’t know what. Parsifal’s never spoken to me like this. I want to hit him. I just nod, and we slip out together. Corene pulls the door shut behind us.

Sapphire

Melidia’s gaze burns into us as we stand in a circle in the temple atrium, our sleek cloaks knitting a ring around the Commander. It feels wrong, alien, to have our briefing here, among the priestesses’ brightly-colored plants.

Ferah steps forward. “Commander, I will erect the shield immediately. But the Magic spillage here is far greater than we expected. Stripping it off so many living creatures will take time.”

The Commander nods. “I understand. We must establish a location for the new settlement immediately so we may begin cleaning. Meanwhile, with this much Magic everywhere, we must guard our human charges closely. Report anything strange back to me.” He clears his throat. “Now, my Jaguars, we have encountered one minor complication.”

Ellze is the first to break formation. “What is it, Commander?”

“While I know little about the Holy Kingdom’s politics, the Chief of the Klissen informed me that the King has one child, a daughter. Once the King leaves this mortal plane, she will doubtless take command of the army that we lured southward with the Chief’s message.”

“Our force should encounter them any day now,” Ellze says. He clenches his fists. “We will crush them.” The thrill in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine.

Commander Valya tilts his head up, gazing into Melidia’s hateful face. “Humans are unpredictable, nephew. And thousands of them inhabit this kingdom. The only thing we can be sure of is that they hold their royalty above everything else. Should their King command it, they would surrender at once. But the King is a useless, drunken mess.”

His gaze travels across our assembly. “However, under his instruction, his daughter could command the sworn lords to lay down their arms. Unfortunately, she is missing. And if she escapes our grasp, the sworn lords may choose instead to rise up against us. We must locate the Princess, or this operation could become bloodier than we wanted.”

Bloodier. My Magic heart feels cold. This was supposed to be bloodless.

“Perhaps she escaped already,” I suggest.

“I do not believe she could have made it out undetected. I trust my Jaguars to capture her before daylight.”

He says the word trust with an edge. I cannot help feeling like the Commander’s eyes are on me to make up for the priestess’s refusal to cooperate.

So we must search for the Princess—not that we know what she looks like.

We have scoured the entire wing meant for royalty, but she is gone like a ghost. One at a time, Ellze interrogates the nobles we have confined to their rooms. The Princess could be among them, pretending to be a mere courtier. When no one speaks up in response to his questions, he uses the Commander’s technique of threatening them with one bright finger.

But after dozens of interviews, we learn little. Zylion and the others begin inspecting the rest of the prisoners—looking for young women among them with smooth, clean skin and good teeth.

The sun is coming up outside, turning the sky a subdued orange. I pause to rest, sitting at the top of the stairs and watching through the window as sunlight spills over the city’s high stone walls. Off in the distance I can make out the foggy shapes of green hills.

Their country is beautiful. Not that Viteos isn’t, with trees that touch the sky and glass spires—shaped out of sand and Magic—that refract the sun. The giants have always been jealous of what we have made with the land, rather than quarrying and contorting it.

But the landscape here is different: wide open and green, with more sky than I’ve ever seen. I am far from home.

Outside, a dark figure strides across the castle wall. It is Ferah, arms in the air like she is attempting to raise the dead.

A sheen of thin, blue light wafts up from the ground, like vapor rising off water. The glowing edges stitch themselves together, stretching upward one thread at a time through the conduit of her body. The glowing wall reaches toward the sky.

Her beautiful protective shield will keep the outside out, and everything within—humans, Magic, us—will stay in. It should prevent the spill from spreading any farther, but it also means the concentration of Magic inside the shield will accelerate. We are steeped in it like a thick coat of snow. The sour spicy smell of it floods everything, a tang on the back of your tongue that you can’t swallow.

Voices. I stand up and look for the source. They are human, but they do not echo the way other voices echo here. Spirits, perhaps? Maybe Melidia is playing a trick on me.

Footsteps on the stairs. I race down the hall. Whispers travel across the stone walls. Sun streams in the window, turning the marble staircase bloodred.

Two humans race down the steps, casting shadows a hundred feet long.

I follow, taking the stairs two at a time. At the faint sound of my footsteps, the one with hair down to her waist spins around and I glimpse a long, thin scar burning down her cheek. Her eyes grow wide and angry. The Princess!

She shouts and charges back up the stairs toward me. I have to admit that it takes me by surprise—but I’m faster, stronger, and trained. With one leap, I cover the six steps between us. This will hurt both of us, but I need to disable her to bring her before the Commander and prove my promotion was not a mistake.

Except the Princess takes two sideways steps, out of the path of my tackle, so I fly right past. Curl and roll. I’m grateful for my impenetrable skin as I hit the blunt edges of the steps.

When I reach the bottom level and stop rolling, I leap back to my feet. Both humans stand five steps up, weapons drawn. Ready to fight. It’s almost cute.

The Princess’s companion, a man with a flattened face, charges me first with his saber. I raise an arm to block his swing, but he ducks under it. I have to admire his fast feet. He returns with the blade pointed at my exposed chest and swings. It cuts through my clothes but bounces off the hard bronze skin underneath, leaving only a dent in the surface.

His eyes turn into saucers. “Oh, gobble.” Taking a delicate backward hop up to the step behind him, he points the saber at me again. He thinks I do not notice the Princess charging me from the side, her scimitar drawn.

I dodge by leaping up onto the same step as the boy—and swipe at him with one leg. My boot catches his ankle, sending him sprawling down the steps. He hits each one with a meaty thunk.

“Parsifal!” the Princess shouts. I expect her to go after him, but she turns on me instead. The swing of her scimitar is much faster than I expected.

I jump up one more step. She catches the toe of my boot on her blade, and the fabric tears open. She swipes again. And again. I am forced onto the defensive, backing up one step at a time to avoid the feverish slices of her scimitar, until I am almost to the second level. Someone has trained her well.

Time to end this.

On her next swipe, I seize the blade of the scimitar in my bare hand. The edge manages to slide under the skin of my palm so my purple blood oozes out. The Princess tries to yank her weapon back, but she is not strong enough. I squeeze and twist—and the blade snaps in half. The curved tip flies over the banister, crashing to the marble floor far below.

The Princess’s lips tighten in fury. “I’ll kill you.”

I do not even think to move out of the way before she hurls herself at me. Her body smashes into mine, the point of her shoulder jabbing between my ribs. It doesn’t hurt, but it sends me flying back against the banister, rattling it.

I shove her off me and, finally, reach for my own sword. Do not damage her—just subdue her. At the bottom of the stairs, her companion is getting up off the steps, ready to provide support. I need to disable them, fast.

“You better run,” she shouts at me, just before she reaches over her head and rips another sword off her back. This one is longer, wider, meaner. I will not be able to break it in half. She points the tip at my chest and springs forward.

I deflect her sword with mine, the metal ringing. I reach for the sword pommel, trying to disarm her, but she spins around and hops up the steps so we are level. She holds the sword out to the side with one hand, like she’s about to take a wide, reckless swing at me—when her other hand comes up bearing a dagger.

I hear it fly through the air before I see it. On instinct I twist my head away, but the blade catches my ear, and I feel a tiny piece of flesh come off. The knife flies on and sticks in the wall, a minuscule bit of me attached to it.

I turn back as the Princess’s lips curl up in a feral smile. “Got you.” She looks so proud of herself. My ear will restore itself in a week or two, but she doesn’t know that.

She swings the sword again and I parry. Another swing, a step back. A swing and a step and she has me backed up against the banister. How did she manage to corner me? The only way out from here is up.

Being made for humans, the banister’s not high—it’s easy to jump straight up and land on top. Once I have my footing, I crouch and spring again.

The Princess’s mouth falls open as I sail through the air. I land on the flat edge of her outstretched sword, and my immense weight forces her arms to collapse. Using the blade’s slight buouancy as a lift, I jump again. The sword skitters down the steps and she lets out a curse.

I land on the other side of her, so we stand back to back, and drop to my knees. I swipe one foot backward and my leg connects with hers. With a spin, I catch her as she falls and deliver three small taps to her temple. Light fizzes around my finger, and she crumples into my arms.

“No!” The boy has managed to get to his feet. He races up the steps toward me, saber in his hand again.

I duck out of the way. “Sorry,” I say in his language, hoisting the Princess with one arm. I grab him in my other and headbutt him.

He falls unconscious. The day has barely begun, and all my hopelessness has been swept away. Commander Valya will be thrilled.