From Blood & Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,141

Lord Mazeen stood. “I…failed you…as a man. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” I cried. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His dulling eyes fixed on me. “Please.”

“I forgive you.” I rocked forward, dropping my forehead to his. “I forgive you. I do. I forgive you.”

Vikter shuddered.

“Please don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I can’t…I can’t do this without you. Please.”

His hand slipped from mine.

I drew in air, but it went nowhere as I lifted my head, looking down at him. I frantically searched his face. His eyes were open, his lips parted, but he didn’t see me. He didn’t see anything anymore.

“Vikter?” I pressed down on his chest, feeling for his heart, for just a beat. That’s all I wanted to feel. Just a heartbeat. Please. “Vikter?”

My name was whispered softly. It was Hawke. He placed his hand over mine. I looked at him and shook my head.

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently lifting my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” I repeated, my breath now coming in short, rapid pants. “No.”

“I do believe our Maiden has also crossed a certain line with her Royal Guards. I don’t think her lessons were at all effective.”

A wave of ice swept from the top of my skull and moved down my spine as Hawke looked up at the Lord. His mouth moved, and I thought he said something, but the world simply fell away. I couldn’t hear Hawke over the buzzing in my ears, over the absolute burning rage pounding through my veins.

Forgive me.

I failed you.

Forgive me.

I failed you.

I was moving, my hand finding metal. I rose from the blood, turned around. I saw Lord Mazeen standing there, barely a speck of blood on him, hardly a strand of hair out of place.

He looked at me.

Forgive me.

He smirked.

I failed you.

“I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon,” he said, nodding at Vikter.

Forgive me.

The sound that tore from me was a volcano of fury and pain that cut so deep, it irrevocably fissured something inside of me.

I was quick, just like Vikter had taught me to be. I swung the sword around. Lord Mazeen was unprepared for the attack, but he moved as fast as any Ascended could, his hand snapping out as if he planned to catch my arm, and I bet he thought he could. The smirk was still there, but rage was faster, stronger, deadlier.

Fury was pure power, and not even the gods could escape it, let alone an Ascended.

I cut through his arm, through tissue, muscle, and then bone. The appendage fell to the floor, useless like the rest of him. The surge of satisfaction was bliss as he howled like a pitiful, wounded animal. He stared at the blood geysering from the stump just above his elbow. His dark eyes went wide. There was shouting and screaming, so much yelling, but I didn’t stop there. I brought the sword down over his left wrist, severing the hand that had held mine down on the Duke’s desk, ripping away the last shred of modesty I had as the Duke brought the cane down on my back.

I failed you.

The Lord stumbled back against the chair, his lips peeling back as a different sound came from them, one that sounded like the wind when the mist came in. Spinning the sword, I swept it in a wide arc. This sword—Vikter’s sword—found its target.

Forgive me.

I sliced Lord Brandole Mazeen’s head from his shoulders.

His body slid to the floor as I raised the sword and brought it down, hacking into his shoulder, his chest. I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t until he was nothing but pieces. Not even when the screams and shouts became all I knew.

An arm came around me from behind, hauling me back as the sword was wrestled from my hands. I caught the scent of pine and woods, and I knew who held me, knew who pulled me back from what was left of the Lord. But I fought—clawing, swinging to be free. The hold was unbreakable.

“Stop,” Hawke said, pressing his cheek to mine. “Gods, stop. Stop.”

Kicking back, I caught him in the shin and then the thigh. I reared, causing him to stumble.

Forgive me.

Hawke crossed his arms around me, lifting me up and then bringing me down so that my legs were trapped under me.

“Stop. Please,” he said. “Poppy—”

I failed you.

The screaming was so loud it hurt my ears, my head, my skin. In a distant, still-functioning part of my brain, I knew I was the one screaming like that, but I