And then—
Her voice.
“Don’t touch him!”
It cracked through the air like lightning.
Wyn.
The instant she stepped into the open, the pendant in my pocket flared. White-hot against my thigh, as if it knew before I did she was in danger.
Riven’s head turned toward her.
“No…” The word scraped out of my throat, ragged and useless. “Please…”
She barreled toward him, dagger drawn.
He didn’t move.
She swung wildly, and he slipped aside like smoke.
She came again, clumsy and desperate, and he caught her wrist, twisting hard before flinging her down.
She hit the ground with a sickening crack, skidding across scorched stone.
“Princess,” he said, almost pitying. “What are you trying to prove?”
She stood, blood streaking from her temple, dazed but upright. Her chest rose and fell too fast; her arms trembled.
“That I’m not afraid of you,” she said with a shaky voice.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t rise.
But I saw her.
I saw the shimmer in her eyes.
A pulse of gold curled faintly over her skin, like embers breathing.
Riven hadn’t noticed.
He raised his sword.
But then something changed on her face. Determination.
Wynessa
I couldn’t feel my legs.
The dirt clung to my skin, and my heartbeat drowned out everything else. My temple throbbed from where I had struck the ground. Blood ran down my cheek in a steady line, warm and pulsing with each terrified beat of my heart.
Erindor lay behind Riven, still bruised, and his chest barely moving.
Gideon wasn’t getting up. Alaric had fallen. Jasira was somewhere out of reach, and I didn’t know if she was alive or bleeding out in the dark. I wanted to call out. I wanted to cry.
Instead, I stood.
I didn’t remember how.
