Ripping my blade before me, I drew on that link. On him. On the hole left by his loss and the nobody I'd become in his absence.
A sheet of ice ripped from the blade and arced across the kitchen, meeting the radiant blade halfway. The impact shattered both spells.
Realizing he faced a mage, the assassin turned tail and ran.
My vision turned red. He was a coward. How had a coward bested my brother?
I cleaved my sword through open air again, but the spell that shot forth emerged bright red. Ice, the color of blood, crashed into the assassin's back, knocking him down.
Giving me enough time to reach him.
Flipping my sword, I raised the blade—prepared to bring it down on the man's defenseless back.
Something struck my back—hard. I hit the floor and rolled over myself, losing my grip on the blade. It clattered across the hall, landing a few paces away.
What had hit me?
The assassin darted to his feet as I rose to my hands and knees. Our eyes met for the briefest moment.
A smirk danced on his lips, and something shone in his eyes, but I could not read it. Then he crashed into the window.
Glass shards spilled across the hall as he broke through and vanished into the growing storm.
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed my blade and rushed to the broken window. Rain fell like sheets from the heavens, and lightning flashing in the sky lit the snow two stories below.
But the assassin was already gone.
I had not clashed blades with him, had not seen his swordplay. Had he been the same man?
"Are you alright?" Ferris' voice startled me.
Whirling around, I tightened my grip on my blade.
Steel hair, emerald eyes . . . Ferris was one of the Stormborn who called Aenir home.
A wind spell must have struck my back. Ferris had thrown me from my prize.
Shoving him against the wall, I pressed my blade to his throat. "You're with him," I hissed.
"What?" He breathed, eyes fixed on my blade.
"You stopped me."
"You were going to get yourself killed!"
A snarl spread across my lips as I studied his face. His eyes hardened.
"Why would I help the assassin trying to killmy father?"
Father? My eyes scanned his face, the high cheekbones and sharp nose.
The king shared the same features.
I couldn't read people. All my life, I'd never understood others, how to read their body language or understand the ticks of dishonesty.
Was he lying?
It didn't matter. Even I knew slaughtering the Aenir prince was a royally stupid idea.
