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Fear!
Yes, I know,he snarled at his own mind, and then he drew breath and screamed for the kahyalar.
Everything happened at once: He flung himself out of bed, yanking open the drawer of the nightstand. His fingers wrapped around cold metal. Someone, a strange voice, cursed and a weight crashed into him from the side, shoving him flat on his back and dragging a pillow over his face.
He heard the front door to his chambers burst open, pounding footsteps.
He ripped the blade of the dagger from its sheath; even through the muffling weight of the pillow, he heard the ring of his kahya’s blade too. His wrist was pinned.
“Kahyalar!” Evemer bellowed. “Awake, awake!”
Kadou thrashed, clawing with his free hand, kicking at anything he could reach. He twisted his pinned hand free and slashed wildly with the dagger—the person on top of him cried out in pain and released the pressure on the pillow. He flung it free, hot blood on his hand and then dripping on his face, and slashed with the dagger again. The first swipe had caught them across the face. The second thudded into their neck.
There was a thunder of footsteps. He could hear Tadek now too, screaming his name, and Melek shouting for backup, and Evemer across the room, grunting with effort—another cry.
Another person on top of Kadou as the first fell away, this one with something white in their hand that they clapped across Kadou’s nose and mouth—cloth? He wrenched his face away, rolling out of bed and out of their reach before they could get a grip on him, and then he was on his feet, stumbling out into the main room.
Fear,his brain said, helpfully.
Actually, yes,he replied.Useful now. Thank you.
His head swam—he’d gotten a whiff of whatever sweet-smelling alchemical compound had been on that cloth, but the motions of defense were written into his muscles.
Retreat to Octem’s first position.
He needed light. The kahyalar would need light. How many assailants were there? Where were they?
There was an oil lamp on the table in front of the divan. He stabbed at the person rushing him, catching them in the palm—the handle of the dagger, already slick with blood, slipped out of his hand as they wrenched back.Damn.He dove backward, scrambling for the oil lamp, and flung it into the fireplace nearby. It shattered on the back wall; the thick oil poured over the banked embers and flames flickered to life.
There were—several? Several people. One already dead on the floor by his bed. One right in front of him, still with his dagger pierced through their hand. They tackled him bodily, bearing him to the floor, getting their injured arm across his neck and pressing down—well, all the better that it was that one. He took his dagger back with a twisting wrench; they howled in pain. He shoved the blade between their ribs and pushed them off.
Abruptly, it was over, or nearly so—all his kahyalar were in the room now, all drenched in blood.
Nasira, one of the secondaries, pulled her sword out of someone’s gut and let the body fall to the floor.
Melek was shaken and ashy, clutching çir upper arm, where a thick stream of blood was streaming down çir sleeve—uniform, Kadou noticed vaguely. Çe must have just been switching shifts.
Tadek was there, in nightclothes and likewise bloodied, leaning against the wall and panting, one hand on his hip and his blade held loosely in the other, looking down at a body at his feet.
And Evemer stood silent in the middle of . . . carnage, really, that was the only word for it.
Evemer dropped his sword. Before it had finished clattering on the floor, he had crossed the room and was turning Kadou toward the light, his eyes searing across Kadou’s body, looking for injuries. Nasira was there a heartbeat after. “I’m all right,” Kadou said—his voice was hoarse; his throat ached. The world swam again in front of him; he staggered. Evemer and Nasira caught him in their arms and lowered him to the divan. “Some kind of drug on a cloth,” he rasped. “Didn’t breathe much of it. I’m all right.”
“Bar the door,” Nasira snapped over her shoulder. “Barricade it. Both of them.”
Before they could do so, Eozena burst into the room, blade drawn and chest heaving, eyes wild. She took in the room at a glance and sheathed her sword, throwing herself to her knees by Kadou and shoving Evemer aside. “Highness—Highness.”
“I’m fine, I’m all right,” he said, clutching at her hands just as she clutched at his. “Is Zeliha—”
She went very still. “These people, were they trying to kill you?”
“Kidnap, I think,” he choked out. “ButZeliha—”
“Get him dressed,” Eozena snarled at his kahyalar. “Clothes, shoes, cloak. Now.”
He’d never been dressed so fast in his life—they didn’t even bother replacing his nightclothes with a proper underlayer, just shoved his arms into a warm, quilted kaftan, stuffed his feet into shoes, and flung a cloak over his shoulders.
Perhaps it was the drug still making him hazy, but he only got flashes of the next few minutes: Strong hands on him as he was hauled out the door. The slap of cool air from an open window they passed in the hall. Stumbling on a path in the garden, the scent of night-blooming jasmine. Pricks of lantern light in the distance where the watch stood on the walls and at the gate. Watery moonlight shining off of the kahyalar’s blades. Eozena speaking in a low urgent voice. Going indoors, the familiar smell of Zeliha’s chambers.
