"No. I'm, uh . . . " I trailed off, unsure what to say.
"Saints." Mare retracted her hand. "You're bleeding. Here. I can . . . Let me." She reached forward again, this time brushing my wrist.
Her fingers met my skin, and everything . . . stopped.
The cacophonous thunder fled my ears, and the unrelenting wind paused. A fresh drop of blood rolled down my arm and froze, as though time itself had stood still.
Everywhere I looked, pure darkness surrounded me. Deep, oppressive. Like the night when the twin moons had died, and the last starlight had faded, and you were far from home.
Water lapped against my feet, the only thing grounding me in the void.
A crack of thunder broke the reverie, and my blood fell to the ground. Mare staggered back, gripping her hand.
First Ferris, now this woman. What were these strange visions?
Wind blasted into my eyes, stinging them. Turning my back to the sudden gale, I whirled around and saw Prince Laiserian struggling to keep hold of Cierthine as the black blade pulsed and surged. The tempest swept into the blade, and the wind abruptly ceased.
As though he'd thrown it, the blade ripped itself from Laiserian's hands. It whirled, head over hilt, back toward us. With a thunderous boom, it slammed into the road an inch from Mare's feet, breaking the stone and severing the street.
The rain ceased, the skies cleared. Like an arm sweeping the clutter off a desk, the storm wiped away, and a calm night sky returned. Smoke rose into the air from the fires burning in the distance.
"Solathair's breath," Laiserian breathed. "It's already chosen."
Mare stared at the sword at her feet, stunned.
Shouts erupted from the men all at once, overlapping. I could barely understand them, but I knew what they said.
The Paragon weapons had never chosen a woman.
Not in a thousand years.
"Enough," the governor snapped. "We don't have time for this. Confiscate the damned sword. We can worry about its new master later." He turned to the soldier beside him. "Go to the barracks. Ensure they're safe. We'll hold our meeting there."
Laiserian rushed to Mare's side, taking the sword in one hand and grabbing her with the other.
I retreated from the crowd, back to Ferris' side.
The younger prince stared past me. Turning, I noticed something odd.
A white heron perched in the middle of the southern street, beady eyes planted on my face. Though the storm had abated, it felt like raindrops, cold, caressing my skin.
Whispering a warning.
My feet moved before I understood why. Before I reached it, the heron took to the sky, spreading its long, elegant wings. And as I raised my eyes to follow it, I saw him.
A cloaked shadow at the end of the street, tucked into the corner of an inn's patio—the perfect spot to watch the king without being seen.
If I let him escape, I might never find him again. Drawing my blade, I took a breath.
The assassin leaped the porch and fled west. I gave chase, vaulting the low fence and chasing him across the snow-covered yard. He ducked between two buildings and turned onto the next street.
I squeezed after him and raised my blade to lob another spell at him.
Golden threads ripped through the air, wrapping around my wrist and ankles. Gasping, I tripped, landing hard on my knees. The threads binding my wrist yanked, and I dropped my sword.
Radiant light composed the cords binding me—a Solheart's spell.
A hand clamped on my shoulder as a man knelt beside me. "I don't think women are allowed to run around without their husbands, let alone carry weapons."
