Before she could make a choice, the knife flew, hissing through the air—a sharp, gleaming thing aimed straight at Roa’s chest.
Except it never hit.
Or rather: it never hit Roa.
The back of Dax’s blue shirt blurred before her. She heard the sound of the blade sinking into flesh, then the harsh grunt of pain.
He staggered back into Roa. The knife in her own hand fell to the earth as she reached to steady him.
“Dax?”
Her heart beat too loud in her ears.
Slowly, she turned him to her. Warm brown eyes looked down into hers. Roa’s gaze flickered from his face to the hilt embedded in his left shoulder. The blood was already soaking through his shirt.
“No...” she whispered, her voice shaking. “What have you done?”
And then, an angry snarl trembled on the air as Safire burst through the circle of soldats, her eyes blazing, defending the king and queen with her slashing, shining blades.
Roa should have picked up a weapon and joined her.
But there was so much blood...
So much ofDax’sblood.
“Go,” said a familiar voice. Roa looked to find Lirabel suddenly beside them: her bow slung, her feet planted, an arrow drawn and nocked. “Get Roa out of here.”
Me?thought Roa, staring at the knife in the king’s chest.He’s the injured one.
But Dax’s hand was already sliding into hers, gripping it tight. He tugged Roa through the unkempt grove, away from the clash of metal on metal.
And then she was running, hand in hand with the wounded king.
Twenty-Five
Dax led her back through the palace’s inner courtyards, through its galleries and arcades, down its shadowy corridors. He didn’t stop until halfway down a hall awash in candlelight where he pushed aside a floor-to-ceiling tapestry.
Roa stood motionless, staring at the dark passageway beyond.
“In,” he said.
Roa stepped into the cold passage and a moment later, the tapestry fell back in place, plunging them into darkness.
Dax didn’t need a lantern. He knew the way by heart, guiding Roa through dust and stone, then up. They climbed a narrow staircase, then stumbled down another pitch-dark corridor. Dax halted, fumbling in the darkness. Roa was just about to ask him what was wrong when there was a softsnick.
Dax pushed. The wall swung out. Dusky sunlight spilled in.
When Roa stepped through, she found herself in the king’s chambers.
The canopied bed, the ornate brass lamps on the walls, thebalcony facing the garden... they were all a mirror image of hers.
She spun back to stare at the false wall. Stucco, sea blue, just like the rest of the room, it blended in perfectly.
There was no time to marvel. Because just then, Dax let out a growl of pain. Roa spun. He was trying to pull out the knife.
“No. Stop.” She pried his fingers from the hilt, then helped him down to the floor, leaning him against the plaster.
The blade of the knife was embedded on the left side, in the soft spot just below the edge of his collarbone, missing both his heart and his lung. Lucky, that. But his shirt was soaked with blood, and it was difficult for Roa to tell how much, exactly. That knife needed to come out, but once it did, he would lose even more.
