Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,27

to end up in Vlari's heart. This is an assassin.

I don't think I've ever known true rage until now. I believed I did a time or two, but the pure, undiluted hatred and fury poisoning my heart blinds all needs but one. I have to kill this scum. I have to make him suffer. I have to send his soul to the deepest of hells.

I kick and punch, screaming the vilest insults. His blade slices my arm, then my leg, and finds its way into my shoulder, but I don't feel any of it.

The assassin curses and attempts to step out of my reach, lunging to his left, toward Vlari's bed. Now that he understands I'm not easy prey, he's trying to carry out his mission and get away.

I think not.

His spell has started to dissipate, or perhaps my eyes have become accustomed to complete darkness, because I see a blur of movement. I lunge toward it, knocking him down with my body, and I pin him under me. The man thrashes to escape, but I'm heavier and just as well trained as he—this close, he has no chance of getting out from under me. Or so I think. Then he manages to kick upright. I wince as another blade gets lodged in my back. His boots are fitted with knives, too. He kicks a second, then a third time to get me off him. I try to keep him pinned, but when his knife hits the side of my ribs, he manages to weasel out, then jumps out of the way.

A low growl resounds in the darkness, and the assassin curses—I hear him kick and thrash. “Get off me, beast!”

The wyrfox. I mentally praise it for giving away the assassin’s location. Thanking the laws of decorum for dictating that I should present myself to the queen armed, I unsheathe the sword at the end of my baldric, and launch, blind though I am. My sword crashes against metal—the iron cuffs at his wrists. I punch at eye level, my right fist hitting the target.

With a grunt, my target retreats. It’s too late. Silent as he is, and despite the darkness, I’m too practiced in the art of violence to let him fool me. I swing. My blade slams against his with enough force to hurt. I shift my weight and kick low, where I imagine his arm is. Bingo. The assassin loses his footing, tumbling either backward or forward—with enough fracas to give away his location again.

I see a light from the corner of my eye. Someone's opened the door, holding a torch. The uproar finally alerted the useless guards. It's not much light, but it's enough to see what's going on.

For me, and for the assassin.

We both assess the situation in one glance. He’s far too close. Vlari’s bed is right next to him. I’m standing on the other side of the fireplace, several paces away. The four guards rushing in have barely left the door. They might as well be miles away.

In a split second, the assassin comes to the same conclusion as I did. He’s not getting out of this room alive—but he can still carry out his mission.

As I pounce, Myst in one hand, my sword in the other, the assassin lifts a dagger in his fist, and plunges it down toward Vlari. Her heart, her throat. I can't tell. I can only stare. I can only despair.

In the instant it takes for his swift, agile fae hand to slash the air on its way down, I see her, the very first time we met. She was already turned toward the door when I entered the classroom. She scrutinized me, having recognized me as a threat right then.

That’s when I knew her for what she was, not what she pretended to be. No one else knew that I was dangerous on my first day—they soon learned, after I proved it, but Vlari? She didn’t need any demonstration of power.

The others smirked and whispered, mistaking me for prey.

Vlari? She smiled. Not at me. Not with me. She smiled, because she thought they were fools to cross me.

She turned back right away, so she never knew, but I smiled back.

That’s all it took. Right then, I knew I’d be here one day. Protecting her, no matter the cost.

And I failed. I failed. I failed in the worst possible way. She was mine to protect, and I didn’t do it. Not for ten years. Not in the last