Page 96 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

They aren’t protected from me.

I ease my pace, creeping up on the nearest sentry, whose attention is, understandably, on the battle ahead.

My vampyric speed is so quick that he doesn’t have a chance.

I ram him up against the side of the Tower, my hand around his throat, his feet kicking the air, but I don’t rip his head off just yet.

With a quick slice of my fingernails, I cut through the armor on both of his arms to expose his skin.

He wears the mark of Hadrian.

If he weren’t a follower, I would give him a chance. Oh, well. He made his choice.

Sweat pours down his face, but he attempts to spit at me. Fails. His mouth moves as he tries to speak, but I’m gripping him too tightly.

I ease up my hold, but not so much that he’ll get enough air to shout for help.

“Speak your last words,” I say.

He rasps, barely above a whisper, “Long live Hadrian, the Eternal Heir⁠—”

Crack.

I feel it more than hear it, the man’s end drowned out by another explosion.

Without hesitation, I bite his broken neck, gulping down his dying blood. A practical move on my part, since I need the energy, but I can’t delay to take my fill.

Quietly, I make my way to the next sentry and then the next, taking them out one by one, on the lookout for Hadrian as I get closer to the catapults.

I’m not surprised when I don’t see him. Maybe he’s hiding in one of the Iron Towers, but I doubt he’d put himself in any kind of danger. Particularly when the Frost King is near. Not that I’d label Hadrian a coward, but he’s cunning. He’ll be wary of Stellen’s Lethian Voice. As he should be.

Approaching the nearest catapult, I eye the boxes of ammunition near to them, some boxes containing smaller canisters that the airborne but masked eagle riders are using to throw at their enemies. At least they have the sense to also mask their birds.

I reach the first catapult.

Now, the real fun will begin.

I draw on my vampyric speed as I silently draw my axe, leap into the air, and shoot across to the weapon.

I’m peripherally aware of the increased chaos around and ahead of me. The warriors in formations guarding the catapult while it fired are suddenly forced to defend an attack from behind, which they clearly didn’t expect.

My focus is unwavering: The small latch at the side of the shield at the catapult’s base, where Victor ensured the fastening would be weak.

It will still take enormous force to break it.

He told me every piece of this catapult had to be carved following the wood’s grain and using its natural variations. An enormous feat to construct five catapults in the short time he was given, but then, when I found him, he was so exhausted, he was barely upright.

Ignoring the warriors converging on me, I crash down on the mechanism, using my acute eyesight to aim my axe’s blade perfectly.

Snap.

This time, I hear it.

The metal spring Victor hid within the latch releases and the shield flies wide, ricocheting so fast across the air that it takes out two of the warriors running toward me.

The canisters are now exposed.

Without pause, I smash the back of my axe down onto the nearest ceramic orb, spilling its oily contents.