Page 151 of Fate's Wicked Oath

In my logical mind, I was aware that the Fate of the realm was at stake. Countless innocent lives across Fenrir, Lothgaim, Marona, and beyond were suspended in this moment. My freedom—everythingI’d worked toward over the past twenty-four years—would be determined by the winner of this standoff, too. Yet it all seemed paltry compared to Faren bleeding out on the marble floor.

Then again, what future would we have, if the realm was thrust into chaos?

Posed with such an impossible choice, a selfish fury heated my blood. Fate had continually forced me into self-sacrifice, but no more. I refused to allow Heris to control me with my family as collateral. I refused let Faren die. I refused to let the realm fall into ruin. Fuck accepting anything less thaneverythingI wanted.

It was time I take Fate into my own hands.

None of them saw me coming.

Caught up in their argument, no one noticed my hurried approach or the sparking of my sword. I brought it down on Brom, first, cutting into the crook of his shoulder, right along the neckline of his breastplate. He went down, and Warner stumbled forward—right into Castor. His crossbow discharged, sailing past Oderin and nicking one of the Lothgaimian Mighty in the arm. Phina aimed her crossbow and shot true, skewering Castor’s groin. Archer and his knights sprang into action, attacking the former Morta, allowing the ledgermasters to scramble out of harm’s way.

I set my sights on my satchel, weaving between flailing arms and swinging steel. When I was near enough, I threw myself forward on my hands and knees, grabbing the strap and slinging it over my shoulder. Then I whirled—and was shoved sideways by an errant elbow in the melee, causing me to stumble directly into Heris.

The Ledger of the Sovereign slipped from his grip. Enraged, Heris screamed, snatched an arrow from his quiver, and made to stab me in the face with it. But without any of his cronies to defend him or the hierarchy, he didn’t scare me. Not anymore.

Windthorn was a blazing extension of my arm, familiar and weighty in my deft grip. I’d slain many monsters with this weapon, but never the one that counted. I’d never had the chance—not as a girl, when I needed his safety, nor as a woman caught between his threats and promises—but I had my chance now, and I wouldn’t waste it.

Heris’s eye widened with shock as I swung, clipping him in his black breastplate. He staggered backward and tripped over the Ledger; I used the opportunity to kick the book away from him, sending it sliding across the floor in Archer’s direction. Then I leveled Windthorn at Heris’s throat, right below his faded Oath tattoo.

On his ass with his back against the wall, the man who’d ruled so much of my life looked small and feeble. I’d always wondered why Heris had stayed in the Valiant in spite of his sentence ending. Why he’d invested his time into rescuing an eleven-year-old girl from death and controlling her for twenty-four years.

Now I knew the truth: he’d had his sights set on more than just riches or revenge. He’d sought Fenrir itself. And he’dshaped meinto a weapon to wield for his own gain. A blade capable of stealing the sovereignty, so long as there was enough chaos and destruction to keep the castle guards and Mighty Knights distracted while I did.

Ever the egotistical bastard, Heris stared up at me andsmiledin that way he always had, a dominant, self-satisfied expression that’d kept me in line since I was a child. “Mariana, my secret weapon,” he cooed, his voice distorted and muffled through my injured hearing. “We can still win this. We can take it for ourselves.”

“You meanyourself,” I said, angling my sword’s tip against his windpipe.

“I meanus,” he countered. “All of us.”

What would he have done upon taking the throne? With his army of former Morta, I imagined he would’ve had the same ruthless, power-hungry ambitions as Lord Haron. It infuriated me to think that these selfish, remorseless men were willing to make so many suffer for their own gain.

I shook my head and spat. “You never would’ve let me go, would you?” I snarled. “You would’ve kept me at your disposal like a dagger at your hip.”

“You’re a weapon,” Heris said simply. “What good is a weapon if it isn’t used?”

Used. I had once viewed the Valiant rebellion as my only chance to escape Lord Haron’s sentence and disappear into the countryside, but it was clear now that that had never been a possibility. Heris would’ve wielded his leverage over me in exactly the way Lord Haron had. For so long, I had hoped that Heris would one day succeed and set me free; his lies had been the only thing for me to believe in.

Until Faren.

He had taught me how to hope for something far better than my own narrow imaginings. He had challenged me to fight formore.

“Tell me, Mariana, what would you have done with your freedom,hmm?” Heris taunted. “Would freedom offer you the purpose and protection that I do?”

Behind me, Oderin and Warner were overtaking Heris’s last remaining fighters. More Valiant were streaming into the Great Hall, but without a leader, they wouldn’t stay united for long.

Windthorn’s flames lapped against Heris’s chin, singeing his skin. He winced but did not cower. “Mariana,” he chided. “Who saved you from a darker Fate? Who kept you safe and raised you to be strong? Have I not given you so much? Have I not taught you so much? You owe me—”

I pressed the blade under his jaw, a red bead of blood welling under the steel. “I owe younothing.”

His expression went slack, and for the first time in my life, I saw true fear on Heris’s face.

I relished it.

“I’ll give you credit for one thing, Heris,” I said, taking in the monster that’d loomed larger in my life than any Morta, the abominable man who’d haunted my every step for twenty-four years. “You taught me how to be ruthless.” Then I leaned into Windthorn with all my might, driving the blade through Heris’s jugular.

For a fraction of a second, the weight of what I’d just done kept me rooted in place—then I dropped my sword with a clatter andranfor Faren, fearing that I was too late, fearing the worst.

When I reached him, I pressed my fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. His skin was clammy and cold, but my magic found it: a faint beat that gave me the smallest spark of lingering hope. He was breathing shallowly, with long moments between each rise and fall. There wasn’t much time left.