Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,227

do you think that could possibly do,” Duva crooned, “against this?”

Whips of dark power unfurled from the princess’s palms.

No. He groaned the word, screamed it at his body, at the wounds pushing in, the agony dragging him under. Duva lifted her arm to strike—

And Yrene threw the sword. A straight throw, unskilled and wild.

But Duva ducked—

Yrene ran.

Swift as a doe, she turned and ran, sprinting into the labyrinth of corpses and treasure.

And like a hound on a scent, Duva snarled and gave chase.

She had no plan. She had nothing.

No options. Nothing whatsoever.

Chaol’s spine—

Gone. All that work … shattered.

Yrene ran through the piles of gold, searching, searching—

Duva’s shadows blasted around her, sending shards of gold flying into the air. Gilding every breath Yrene took.

She snatched a short-sword off a chest overflowing with treasure as she ran, the blade whirring through the air.

If she could trap her, get Duva down for long enough—

A lash of power shattered the stone sarcophagus before her. Chunks of rock soared.

Yrene heard the thud before she felt the impact.

Then her head bleated with pain, and the world tilted.

She fought to stay upright with every heartbeat, every bit of focus she’d ever mastered.

Yrene did not let her feet falter. She kept moving, buying them any sort of time. Rounding a statue, she—

Duva stood before her.

Yrene careened into her, that short-sword so close to the princess’s gut, to that womb—

She splayed her hands, dropping the weapon. Duva held firm, arms snatching around Yrene’s neck and middle. Pinning her.

The princess hissed, hauling her back toward that avenue, “This body does not like so much running.”

Yrene thrashed, but Duva held firm. Too strong—for someone her size, she was too strong.

“I want you to see this. Want you both to see this,” Duva jeered in her ear.

Chaol had crawled halfway across the path. Crawled, trailing blood, his legs unresponsive. To help her.

He stilled, blood sliding from his mouth as Duva stepped onto the walkway, pressing Yrene against her.

“Shall I make you watch me kill him, or make him watch me put that ring on you?”

And even with that arm shoved against her throat, Yrene snarled, “Don’t you touch him.”

Blood on his gritted teeth, Chaol’s arms strained and buckled as he tried to rise.

“It’s too bad I don’t have two rings,” Duva mused to Chaol. “I’m sure your friends would pay handsomely for you.” A grunt. “But I suppose your death will be equally devastating.”

Duva loosened her arm from Yrene’s middle to point at him—

Yrene moved.

She stomped down on the princess’s foot. Right on the instep.

And as the princess lurched, Yrene slammed her palm into the woman’s elbow, freeing the arm across her throat.

So Yrene could whirl and drive her elbow straight into Duva’s face.

Duva dropped like a stone, blood spurting.

Yrene lunged for the dagger at Chaol’s side. The blade whined as she whipped it free of its sheath and threw herself atop the stunned princess, straddling her.

Aimed that blade high, to plunge into the woman’s neck, to sever that head. Bit by bit.

“Don’t,” Chaol rasped, the word full of blood.

Duva had destroyed it—destroyed everything.

From the blood coming out of his mouth, up his throat …

Yrene wept, the dagger poised over the princess’s neck.

He was dying. Duva had ripped open something within him.

Duva’s brows began to twitch and furrow as she stirred.

Now.

She had to do it now. Drive this blade in. End it.

End it, and perhaps she could save him. Stop that lethal internal bleeding. But his spine, his spine—

A life. She had sworn an oath never to take a life.

And with this woman before her, the second life in her womb …

The dagger lowered. She’d do it. She’d do it, and—

“Yrene,” Chaol breathed, and the word was so full of pain, so quiet …

It was too late.

Her magic could feel it, his death. She had never told him of that terrible gift—that healers knew when death sat near. Silba, lady of gentle deaths.

The death she would give Duva and her child would not be that sort of death.

Chaol’s death would not be that sort of death.

But she …

But she …

The princess looked so young, even as she stirred. And the life in her womb …

The life before her …

Yrene dropped the knife to the floor.

Its clattering echoed over gold and stone and bones.

Chaol closed his eyes in what she could have sworn was relief.

A light hand touched her shoulder.

She knew that touch. Hafiza.

But as Yrene looked, as she turned and sobbed—

Two others stood behind the Healer on High, holding her upright. Letting