a summersdeep eve. A poisoned knife was hurled at her chest and she simply disappeared, the blade plunging into another Hand’s belly and sending him tumbling. Mia Stepped between the shadows, reappearing behind the knife thrower and cutting him down. She sliced another’s legs out from under him, sending him to the stone in a spray of red, flickering aside as a blade cut the air where she’d stood and taking the swordsman’s arms off at the elbows. And all the while she was looking toward Drusilla. Toward the imperator behind her. Her face was spattered with crimson. Her eyes cold and empty. As if all this blood, all this carnage, all this death, were a simple prelude to the murder to come.
Looking into Mia’s eyes, Drusilla knew full well who that murder belonged to.
The eastern stairs were now empty of all but corpses, and in a flickering step, the girl was suddenly standing on the steps below Drusilla. Her comrades were rushing up the stairs behind her toward the still-stunned Solis, Sidonius and Bladesinger dashing past him and through the eastern doorway. Mia leveled her blade toward Scaeva’s face, gore dripping from its razored edge.
“Father!” she roared.
Looking over her shoulder, Drusilla saw the imperator blanch. His eyes flickered from his dark daughter to his only son, silhouetted against the Mountain’s entrance. Mia buried her longblade in another Hand’s belly, sent the woman tumbling over the railing in a tangle of entrails. She started stalking up the stairs, flickering aside and cutting down another Hand with barely a glance. Lips pressed thin. Eyes fixed only on Scaeva.
“Corvere!”
The bellow rang through the stables. Down the stairs behind her, the Revered Father picked himself up from where the explosion had felled him. His leathers were smoldering, the wisps of beard that had survived Järnheim’s tombstone bomb in Godsgrave had been burned away completely. His blind eyes were alight with rage as he leveled his swords at the deadboy and Järnheim to keep them at bay.
“Corvere!” he roared again. “Face me!”
The girl didn’t even deign to glance back. Content to let her comrades cut Solis down, she kept walking up the western stair, black gaze locked with her father’s. Her gladiatii were already inside the Mountain, the deadboy and Järnheim fanning out about the Revered Father, readying to cut him down and charge up the eastern stairs after Sidonius and Bladesinger. From there, they could spill out into the Mountain’s labyrinthine heart, reach the speaker’s chambers by any one of a dozen paths, and cut off their escape at Adonai’s door.
The shadows hung about Mia’s shoulders like dark wings as she drew closer. Her shadowwolf stalked before her, black fangs bared. Only Drusilla, Aalea, and Spiderkiller stood between the girl and her father now. The Shahiid of Truths drew two curved and poisoned knives from her golden belt. The Lady of Blades reached for the daggers in her sleeves, old fingers closing about the hilts. But Aalea spoke softly, her tongue sharper than any weapon in their arsenal.
“Solis killed Darius, Mia.”
The girl’s black eyes flickered from her father to the Shahiid of Masks. Her steps faltered, her jaw tensed. Drusilla’s belly thrilled as she saw Aalea’s words cut into Corvere’s heart. The girl finally glanced back toward Solis, outnumbered by her fellows on the stair behind.
“He was the one who captured the Kingmaker and Antonius in their encampment,” Aalea whispered. “He was the one who handed them over to dance on the hangman’s rope for the mob’s amusement. It was Solis, Mia.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed. Solis lashed out at Tric and Ashlinn, keeping the pair at bay. Scaeva was slowly retreating up the stairs, surrounded by his men. The imperator was almost close enough for Corvere to touch. Only a few dozen men stood between her and her prize. But there was a reason Aalea had been named Shahiid of Masks in the Red Church, and it hadn’t been her skill in the boudoir. Even here, with Corvere’s prey in sight, Aalea knew the precise words to manipulate her, beguile her, make her falter. If only for a moment.
If only for a breath.
“Face me, you cowardly little bitch!” Solis roared.
“He killed the man you called Father, Mia,” Aalea whispered.
The girl’s grip tightened on her blade. Her quarry was only a heartbeat away. But still, Drusilla could see that infamous temper, the rage that had sustained this girl beyond all limits of endurance, beyond all who stood in her way. Watching as that spark burst