around here?” Sorasa said, wiping her dagger clean. The red ending of the
knight’s life disappeared with a few quick drags. She glanced down the long passage of branching
rooms, antechambers of sorts for the Queen and her council.
Corayne looked through her, as if the assassin were nothing at all.
“That door won’t hold,” she murmured, stepping back. Already someone was banging on the other side.
Many someones. It jumped on its hinges, straining against the bar. “She’s with him. The Queen is with
him.”
“Thank you. I also have eyes,” Sorasa bit out. “Can you run, Elder?”
His left side was painted crimson. He only grimaced. There was blood in his beard too, turning the
golden hair red. “It’s nothing,” he said, and batted Trelland away. “The Vedera heal quickly.”
“Don’t—” Sorasa began, lunging for him.
But the godsforsaken imbecile of an immortal was well past stopping. He drew out the knife in a single
motion and tossed it away, smearing blood across the floor. More sprang from the wound in his ribs,
gushing like a fountain, and he faltered, hissing, dropping to a knee.
“Oh,” he gasped as he fell.
Corayne caught him, slipping in the puddle of immortal blood. “For Spindles’ sake!”
The copper tang was sharp on Sorasa’s tongue as she pushed the Elder to the floor.
“I can’t imagine living for a thousand years and still being so stupid,” she said, tearing his tunic at the
wound. “It’s almost an accomplishment.”
“Five hundred,” Dom hissed through gritted teeth, as if it made any difference.
“Immortal or not, you are still very capable of bleeding to death.”
Somehow, he seemed surprised by the possibility.
Sorasa ignored him so she wouldn’t kill him herself. Instead she ripped and ripped his clothing, grabbing
for anything that could be a bandage. Trelland offered his rags and she crammed them into the gaping
hole, his ribs glossy white between hard red muscles. At least Dom didn’t flinch as she plugged him up
like a bucket with a leak.
“Any more brilliant ideas, Elder?”
He was on his feet quicker than she would have thought possible, standing over her in his tattered
clothes, chest bare to the torchlight of the hall. His skin was like his bones, gleaming and pale.
“Run,” he rattled.
“We won’t make it back the way we came in. And the kitchen bridge, the Bridge of Valor, the garrison
docks . . .” Sorasa faltered, ticking off every path, every escape route she knew. Each one shuttered
before her eyes. “I can get myself out of here, but not the rest of you.”
“Well, that’s helpful,” Corayne snapped.
The door banged again as something large and heavy collided with the wood. Probably a table being
used as a battering ram. It wouldn’t be long until the door fell, or Erida’s guards approached from the
other side. They had minutes, maybe.
Seconds.
Trelland crossed to the windows, looking out into manicured gardens. Torches leapt up all over as
guards were roused and dispatched. A maze stood beyond the green lawns, shadowed in its spirals, a
labyrinthine design of hedges. The palace cathedral sneered over it, proud and daunting, a grand
wonder. Its columns arched like a rib cage. The squire’s face tightened.
“We should try Syrekom,” he said in a low voice.
“The cathedral?” Sorasa scoffed. The knight’s blood and Dom’s dried on her face and hands, crusting
over. There was no difference between them, mortal and immortal. They tasted the same. “Claiming
sanctuary only works in the stories, Squire. This isn’t one of them.”
A few knights were in the gardens, their torches bobbing, but none entered the maze. Sorasa tried to
remember Syrekom Cathedral beyond it, a monster of gray marble and glass, a crown jewel of Ascal,
built to honor their greatest and most terrible god.
“Syrekom,” Trelland said again, firmer this time.
His hand twitched, reaching for a sword that was not there. He had no armor, not even a knife that
Sorasa could see. Only his trousers and torn coat, a bit short at the wrists. He was still growing, a boy
even now, after all he’d seen. But he does not sound like a boy now.
“I’ll take us through the maze and then . . .” His gaze hooked on Dom’s blood. “I hope you can all swim.”
Sorasa eyed Dom. His breath came in short, beleaguered gasps. He glared back at her.
“I learned to swim before your bloodline began,” he growled, setting off with a stormy glare and a furious
pace. She almost expected him to walk straight through a wall. Instead he kicked a door open, leaving
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