Page 117 of Crown of the Courtesan

The garden drowns in clanging metal and obscenity-shouting. I’m caught in the middle of the violent frenzy, watching in horror as spilling guts and torn bodies litter the darkening dirt.

From the house, girlish screams tumble through the air like arrows.

My heart stops.

A soldier grabs me by the hair, wrapping his arm around my middle.

Stampeding from the lawn’s far side, Drakka raises his ax and brings it down on the man restraining me, burying it into his skull with a crunch. I fall to the ground, but not before two soldiers bring their blades across Drakka’s throat simultaneously, slicing his head from his neck.

His face contorted with twisted emotion, Thrak runs from the grove, his screams drowned in the battle noise. He leaps over a fence and somersaults before hurtling back and cutting an exposed underarm of the enemy. Blood spurts, covering Thrak in ribbons of ruby.

The one who killed Drakka stares with an oily leer before he sprints after me. A raging sea of fire and wild energy burns hot under my skin, threatening to burst. My breath comes in shallow gasps as my fists clench.

Still fighting off three—now four men—Rett falters while disappearing as one warrior slams him onto his back.

My vision blurs, and my mind overflows. Every emotion I’ve ever shoved deep inside my soul explodes out.

I feel it all—the pain of what I’ve been through, the pain of those who came before, and the pain of those who suffer now.

Tissue and skin explode.

Covered in dripping blood, I leave the pile of bones without a second glance.

I don’t know if it’s this place—or if my mother’s and grandmother’s memories are sending me power…

But I won’t allow them to take these girls.

Nearby, Rett is back on his feet, fighting Metalla’s men. Calmly, I walk up from behind him and pull Rett’s Achlys Dagger from the sheath on his belt. Surprised, he whips around, but I duck under his swinging sword.

The small blade in my hand plunges into the enemy’s gut and twists before I pull it out. He crumples instantly, like a pile of old laundry forgotten in the yard. I drop the weapon.

The dead body explodes.

Kill kill kill—come the whispers.

“Tabitha, what power is this?” Rett’s terrified voice rings, muffled and distant, as he looks at the blood and bones covering the grass.

Covering me.

Dripping down my face.

But I have no more words. My vision turns dark around the edges.

Screams. Screams. More screams.

But everything will be all right.

One foot in front of the other.

One foot.

Two feet.

Into the house.

An enemy soldier waves his gore-crusted broadsword. He locks hazel eyes with mine. I whisper, “No.”

Explosion of blood and tissue.