With Cassius’s wolf riding her shadow, she had no fear of failure, after all.
She had no fear at all.
What matter, a few moments more?
Mia glanced to Drusilla, an unspoken promise in her eyes. And with a snarl, she turned toward the waiting Revered Father.
“Whoreson,” she spat.
“Mia, don’t…” Järnheim raised her blade in Solis’s face. “Let me.”
“LET ME,” Tric said.
“No.” Corvere descended, eyes on the Shahiid. “This bastard’s mine.”
Drusilla took one step backward. Then another. She knew Solis might cut the girl down. He was a grandmaster, after all. The Lady of Blades could hear the Church bells ringing—an alarm calling all their remaining Hands and acolytes down to battle. But Mouser was already dead, along with the best of the Mountain’s remaining assassins. Corvere had just slaughtered a few dozen of the faithful without a scratch. And truth told, though Drusilla was the most accomplished killer in the Red Church, her best turns of murder were behind her.
She heard retreating footsteps. Turning, she saw Scaeva’s guard fleeing through the doorway and into the Mountain—true to form, the imperator had abandoned his only son as soon as his own skin was at risk. And here where the suns never shone, the Lady of Blades was damned if she’d be left behind to face his murderous daughter alone.
And so, just like Scaeva, Drusilla turned and ran.
CHAPTER 32
IS
The ash tasted like a benediction.
Mia stood on the stairs, listening to Drusilla’s fleeing footsteps, the Church bells pealing their alarm. She could smell charred meat, blood and guts and shit, all of it a sweet perfume. Her eyes burned in the rising smoke and her skin was wet and sticky red and Scaeva was already beating feet back into the Mountain. Any normal girl might have been afraid he’d make good his escape in that moment. Any normal girl might have been afraid all she’d worked for might come to nothing. But not this girl.
What is the difference between courage and stupidity?
Who would you be, how would you act, gentlefriend, if you were truly unafraid?
Mia looked to Ashlinn and Tric, dark eyes alight.
“Go help Sid and ’Singer,” she commanded them. “Cleave to the plan. Get to the speaker’s chambers and cut off their escape.”
Ash glanced at Solis. “Mia, are—”
“There’s no time to argue, just go!”
The pair glanced at each other, bitter opposites in all but their shared love for her. Mia could see the fear in their eyes—the fear she simply couldn’t share with Eclipse in her shadow. But finally they obeyed, Ash barreling up the stairwell with Tric close on her heels, following Sid and Bladesinger toward the speaker’s chambers. Naev was extinguishing the fires that had started after the explosion. Butcher was standing guard over her brother.
But Mia had eyes only for the Revered Father.
Her swords were heavy in her hands, red with gore. She took two steps down toward him, his blind eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was charred, his skin pinked by her blast. But his blades were steady in his grip. His muscles gleamed, his shoulders broad as bridges, his biceps as big as her head. His lips curled with disdain as he spoke.
“So you do have the courage to face me. Color me astounded.”
Mia glanced toward her brother, back up the stairs.
“I could kill you where you stand, Solis,” she said simply. “I could bid the shadows rip you limb from limb. I could fix it so our swords never even touched.”
Mia stepped closer and raised one dripping blade.
“But I want them to touch. Because when first we fought, I was only a novice. And when we faced each other in Godsgrave, I wasn’t my best. But now? No shadows. No tricks. Blade to blade. Because you helped murder a man I loved like a father. And I’m going to kill you for that, you sonofabitch.”
Whatever the Shahiid was about to say was cut off as Mia lunged. Her blade was pale quicksilver, her form blinding. The man stepped aside and struck back, blade whistling past Mia’s throat. She twisted, long black hair streaming behind her, stabbing at his belly. Eclipse swirled around them, between them, snarling and growling. And there, on the bloodied steps of the Red Church, their battle joined in truth.
Most fights to the death end within moments, gentlefriends. It’s a little-known fact—particularly among those of you fond of reading about sword duels, rather than actually dueling with swords. But in truth, it only takes a single mistake to spell