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Ridha.
Her name was a wound Dom could never heal. Just the thought of her made his vision haze.
Taristan’s smirk widened and Dom’s stomach churned.
“No,diedisn’t the proper word,” he said, filled with cruel glee. “Murdered, more like it. I killed her. Put a dagger right here, letting the immortal ages bleed out of her.”
With his free hand, he touched the flesh between his ribs. Dom remembered all too well the sight of a blade shearing through metal armor, skin, and Ridha’s still-beating heart.
“And then—”
Rage seized Dom with both hands and the world blurred. He did not feel the floorboards beneath his boots nor the rush of air against his face. The sword swung seemingly of its own accord, following a path worn by long centuries of training.
Smoke and shadow coiled around Taristan as he moved to dodge the blow. To Dom, he was no longer a mortal man, merely the pet of a demon,but the demon himself. His white hands were claws of bone, his black eyes two hollows. There was no mortal heart in him, not even the one Dom heard beating in his chest.
Taristan was a monster and nothing else.
Their blades met with glancing blows, one edge sliding off the other. Vulnerable though he was, Taristan still carried the strength of What Waits in him. He more than held his own against an immortal, the fall of his sword like a bolt of lightning. Dom turned and parried, using his momentum to deflect. The blade caught the edge of Dom’s arm anyway, slicing through the gold-plated steel as a knife cuts through butter.
Taristan smiled as the ruined vambrace fell away, the steel plate and shredded buckles clattering to the ground.
Dom ignored it. He disliked fighting in armor, let alone the armor of a dead man.
He set his jaw and whirled, faster than Taristan. Dom still had some advantage and used it well, striking with a flurry of shrieking blows. Taristan barely weathered them all, breathing hard as their steel screamed, but he refused to move from the doorway.
Dom saw the advantage there too.
At the temple and in Gidastern, Taristan fought for himself. Nothing else, not even Ronin. He wove and leaned, outmaneuvering his enemies. The lack of regard made him more dangerous than anyone else.
But he can’t do that here, Dom realized.Not without leaving the Queen.
Snarling, Dom barreled forward, forgetting the dance of swords to collide with Taristan. The shock of it was shield enough and Taristan wheeled backward, driven by sheer force. They tumbled together into the Queen’s bedroom, destroying everything in their wake. Their swords fell to the floor, sliding over the rich carpets.
The flames followed.
Dom pulled back a gauntleted fist and struck. Steel knuckles found the side of Taristan’s jaw. He howled, spitting blood, and crashed to the floor.
Dom followed, crushing Taristan beneath him, pinning him with every inch of his strength. Bone smacked against wood as Taristan’s skull snapped back against the floor. His eyes rolled.
Dom wasted no time and rocked back on his knees, curling a fist to swing.
Somewhere in the room, Erida screamed; a broken, hollow sound. Born not of fear but frustration, enraged.
Dom whirled just in time to catch a porcelain vase with his face. It shattered, water and thorny roses spilling over him. The Queen of Galland stood in a simple nightdress, her pale skin flushing red, her blue eyes bright as the fire.
It was the only opportunity Taristan needed. He grasped Dom’s neck and pulled him back down. Close enough to slam his skull against Dom’s brow.
Stars exploded behind the immortal’s eyes. His head spun and he rolled sideways in a daze, fighting the urge to vomit. As his vision angled, Erida ran past him, scrambling for her prince’s sword.
Taristan leapt up, bleeding from a cut over one eye. It ran dark red, a bloody tear coursing down his face. Erida of Galland rejoined him and raised her chin, staring down her nose at Dom. Wordless, she held out a sword and pressed it back into Taristan’s hands.
“Kill him,” she said, all venom.
On the floor, Dom fought through the haze. He heard the hiss of steel slicing air and forced himself to roll, narrowly avoiding a slash of Taristan’s sword. On his back, Dom kicked a leg aimlessly and connected with his chest. The prince sprawled backward, giving Dom enough time to retrievehis sword. Gasping, Dom gripped the bed and climbed to his feet.
Half his armor was broken, the golden plates dangling off his body. On his chest, the roaring lion split down the middle.
Dom barely noticed the embers swirling between them, spiraling on the curls of smoke. He stared across the opulent bedroom, facing down Taristan and the Queen. Both of them stared back, statues against the roiling flames. Erida stood behind her prince, one hand on his wrist, as if to hold him back. Or keep him close.
