I can’t hear my footsteps. Can’t hear the swords colliding as I parry his next strike. Every single external indicator is gone, and it’s beyond disorienting. I’m trapped in an echo chamber of my own body.
He charges again with murder in his eyes, and I raise my sword with shaky hands.Pull it together. Adapt—adapt or die.Spinning at the last second, I manage to dodge the blow, but without any sound, my movement isn’t quite right.
His boot tip collides with my calf. The knife slices through muscle and collides with bone. I scream. Magnified inside my own body, the pained sound is deafening.
My eyes blur with tears, but I can’t afford to lose another sense.He’s going to win if I can’t pull it together.The thought chills me. It’s enough to drown out the agony.
I’ve never fought without sound, but there is something familiar about the sensation... I spin to dodge his next blow, and the movement triggers my memory. When I first started workingat the Fang, I didn’t know how to dance. I practiced in my apartment constantly, headphones in place to avoid pissing off the neighbors on the other sides of the thin walls.
I couldn’t hear my movements, and I got used to it.Exceptyou weren’t bleeding from a stab wound; you were wine drunk. Even better, things were blurry then, too. I narrow my eyes, the internal argument more visceral thanks to the warped audio.
I can do this.Fighting is nothing but a different kind of dance, right?
My father senses his advantage and presses it, not glancing once at the chaos outside the dueling square. He kicks toward my good leg, and I pivot, letting his boot collide with the metal feathers of my flaming wings.
The blade slides between two feathers and hooks. I keep spinning.
The momentum yanks him off the ground, and I scream again as the pressure rips several feathers out of my wings. It hurts. But this pain is a fraction of what Malach went through. And it’s nothing compared to Mom’s suffering.
He can have as much of my pain as he wants, because this is the last time.
He scrambles, ripping out another hunk of feathers, and the pressure on my back snaps as he falls to the ground.Now. Finish him.Stumbling on my bad leg, I swing my sword at his head. He rolls, and the blade cuts his cheek instead of his throat.
Blood gushes, soaking his beard. It’s not his only injury. My wings did major damage, slicing him in dozens of places, the deepest cuts clustered around the leg he tried to stab me with.
He’s on his back, and this is a fight to the death. I raise my sword and swing again.
His lips form thethatshaword for shield, and a ball of sludge-like magic forms above his body, catching my blade and trapping it there. It pulses angrily. The force throws me backward, and Ilose my grip, hitting the ground hard as my head collides with the stone.
I blink, trying to clear the gray spots from my vision.
S’lach stumbles to his feet, chest heaving. “This is my house,” he roars, blood-stained spittle flying from his lips. “You think you’re entitled to the spine’s magic because you happened to be born? It’s mine. It’s mine because I took it.
“Thethatshawere useless without me, too weak to face reality. Sure, overpopulated lower echelons aren’t an obvious problem when they’re growing food and building furniture, but what about when they get tired of that and look up? This realm is mine, Daughter, and I won’t let you take it from me.”
His eyes gleam with mania, and for once, I don’t see myself when I look at him.
I’ve known he was cruel since I was old enough to understand the meaning of the word, but this. .. this is delusion. He’s silenced his opposition for so long that he believes his own lies.
“They thought I was scum,” he snarls. “Dirt beneath their shoes. When I courted Valenara, I heard everything. The whispers, the laughter they never bothered to hide. I made them pay for it, silencing them, just as I’ll silence you.”
“This duel is over!” I jump at the sound of Gavin’s voice. He crosses the boundary into the square, white-faced, with his fists clenched at his sides. “You’ve broken the Dueling Codex, S’lach, and your assassin tried to killmy son.”
My ears are ringing, but I can hear Gavin clearly now.Our skirmish must have broken my father’s concentration. Silencing the entire courtyard would have required tremendous effort, and he’s not all-powerful, no matter what he wants others to think.
Father shouts back at Gavin. Other voices join the argument. I watch, trying to listen, but it’s hard to focus with my throbbing head. More angels approach, a mix ofdifferent echelons, including several of the staff and a handful of thethatshahe brought with him.
They circle him, drawing their weapons. The tide has turned. Even his sycophants are switching sides. He sneers at me, a cornered animal with an ever-tightening noose around his neck. It’s over and he knows it. My vision blurs, but it’s with tears this time. Maybe I won’t have to deal with him on my own. Maybe someone will finally help me.
He’s surrounded on all sides, but when he looks up, I curse. All sides but one.
Crouching, he launches himself into the air, his mottled wings flapping wildly as he gains altitude.He’s going to get away.Except he’s not trying to leave, he’s flying toward the balcony where we had breakfast yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago.
He kicks in the door and disappears inside. I climb shakily to my feet.
“Your family magic,” Gavin says, looking at me. “He’s trying to get to it. You’ve got to stop him, Celine.”
I retrieve my sword. It’s heavier than it was an hour ago.
