Kit blinked. For a second, it had looked like?—
Her eyes went to the now very dead cultist on the floor at Thibault’s feet, and she shook her head. She must have been mistaken.
There was little time to analyze what she thought she had seen anyway. Not as the two remaining cultists realized what had just happened, realized they now had a threat at their back. And realized they were very, very outnumbered.
The first man took one look at his fallen comrade and bolted straight past Kit and out the door.
The other took longer to decide. Looked from the cadre of knights guarding the king to Kit, Nox, and Sephone behind him, then to the living storm that was Dentarius Jaen. Finally, he looked to Thibault and Hargrave, both of whom had moved farther into the room, and with his palms raised in surrender, he shuffled toward the door...and ran.
Dentarius dropped his hands, and the whipping wind subsided. Kit exhaled—a breath of relief.
“Sent some of them running, did you?” Tristan quipped as he came up beside her, taking in the destruction of the throne room. “Don’tworry, I got one.” He lifted his bloodied sword to show off the smear of blood on the point. “The other was too fast though, sorry.”
Nox cast a disinterested look at the doors. “I shall return shortly.”
“Retreating cultists are not our main concern,” Kit said, but the nocterrian had already stepped into the shadows. She rolled her eyes, turning back to Tristan. “How many more do you think are in the palace?”
Tristan shook his head, the bravado he’d managed to muster quickly fading. “I don’t know. I don’t know. There were so many at first. So many ofusat first. They turned. Friends. Fellow knights. Men I knew for years.”
“What are you saying?” The king had finally gotten to his feet, one hand gripping his fallen throne as he navigated around the dead guards on unsteady feet. He waved his hand at the bodies, and the remaining guards immediately set about moving their fallen comrades. “Are you insinuating that my palace wasinfiltratedby these wicked people?”
“I am not insinuating anything, Your Majesty,” Tristan said with a quick bow. “I am informing. The attack tonight came from inside your walls.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Kit muttered.
“Impossible!” cried King Callum. “My men are loyal. My people—this is not—” He sucked in a deep breath, then turned to Kit, Sephone, and Dentarius. “You. This is allyourfault.”
Kit blinked into the silence, unsure of how to respond.
Sephone seemed to have no such qualms. “Excuse me?Whatis all our fault?”
“This!” King Callum’s voice leapt an octave, his hysteria apparent. “I welcome you into my city, into myhome, and this is how you thank me? By bringing this monstrousness here? My palace is ruined! My city is ruined!”
“Your Majesty, please, they are not to blame.” Thibault took a few steps toward the king.
Kit’s brows shot up in surprise. Of all the humans whom she was confident had indeed warmed to the Arcanians’ presence in Kingshelm over the past few weeks, she had not thought Thibault one of them. The man had seemed uncomfortable at best, disdainful at worst, whenever she’d noticed him around.
Still, as Thibault continued moving toward King Callum, he had nothing but compliments on his tongue. “They have only done what you asked of them. They have been kind to the citizens of Kingshelm, sowing goodwill amongst your people as requested. They have patiently waited for your permission, for your orders. And they have done more than their duty required, performing every task, with little to no complaint. It has been truly amazing to watch.”
The king looked somewhat chagrined as Thibault stopped and bent a knee before him.
“So, no, the Arcanians are not to blame for all that has happened here tonight,” Thibault said, bowing his head. “You are.”
There was a flash of steel. A curdled yelp. A spray of blood.
The king staggered backward, his hands clutching his neck.
“Your Majesty!” cried Barcroff.
Tristan and Dentarius were already in motion, dashing to King Callum’s side. Tristan caught the king just before his head hit the marble. Magic swirled around Dentarius’ raised hands before he shoved them onto the wound in Callum’s neck.
Kit couldn’t move. Shock had her paralyzed as she looked at the blood on the floor. At the blood dripping from the dagger in Thibault’s hand, his shoulders heaving as he kept his back turned. It was as though half of her was here, in the throne room. And the other half was back in the Celestial Sanctum, where a different blade had just cut through another person’s flesh—her own.
“Thibault! Why?” Hargrave was a blur of motion rushing his friend—no, not his friend. Thesanguinagicultist who had just tried to assassinate his king. He grabbed Thibault’s wrist and twisted the bloody dagger from his hand, cinching his arm behind his back, holding him in place. “How could you?”
“I am sorry, my friend,” Thibault said, and Kit thought she saw genuine sadness there. She didn’t quite understand it. Not until she saw the glint of a red crystal blade forming in his free hand.
“No!” Kit screamed, but all she could do was watch as Thibault drove the blade up behind him, piercing Hargrave’s side.
