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He didn’t see the blade until she’d plunged it into his middle and yanked it back again.
He fell to the floor.
It didn’t even seem to hurt. That probably wasn’t a good sign. He stared at the wound in his stomach as it pulsed blood.
It looked like a fountain of wine. He almost wanted to laugh.
His killer did not meet him in the eyes. “It’s over,” she whispered, as if she were the one who had been fighting for her life. “It’s all over now.”
Juliana hurtled through the gardens, not thinking, hardly breathing, the pendant thumping at her chest like another separate, desperate heartbeat.
There was something wrong with it. The heat continued to rise, but the thrum was weaker than before, lighter than a bumblebee against glass.
She didn’t want to think about why.Couldn’tthink about why.
She fled into Spring, running straight into a path of a young woman dressed in dark clothing. She was dripping wet, and holding a dagger stained with blood.
Juliana froze. The girl froze, too.
The pendant throbbed painfully. Hawthorn was somewhere behind her.
“Where is he?” Juliana hissed, unsheathing her sword.
The girl trembled. “Please,” she said. “Just let me go. You’re one of us. Youknowthis is for the best—“
“He hasn’t done anything!”
“Neither have we.”
Juliana moved towards her. The girl jerked across her path, holding up the dagger. She was no skilled assassin. Just a girl, mortal and alone.
So am I,Juliana thought.
She had killed before. She’d kill again. Always in the name of defence.
It was different from fear.
“Where. Is. He?”
“It’s too late,” the girl whispered.
But it wasn’t. Juliana could feel him. And the girl knew he was still alive, too. Otherwise she wouldn’t be trying to stop her.
“Please—” the girl said.
Juliana’s gaze darkened. The girl held up her dagger, leaving herself wide open—
Juliana ran her through, moving past her before she could even fall.
Two more bodies littered the path, torn with roots, the ground cracked like a pie crust. One of the bodies had been strangled to death, the other had a huge gaping hole in his chest.
Juliana paused briefly, examining the face. Part of it had peeled away in the fight. Beneath was a mortal man, wearing a mask of wax, ears too. Juliana remembered her father mentioning that she could pass for fae at a glance, and no one would stop to question her words.
These mortals had used a similar tactic.
Fool, fool, foolish girl.
“Hawthorn!” she called out. “Where are you?”
