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The short hallway that served the bedrooms was completely dark except for the faint light that spilled in from the atrium, where wall sconces provided a chalky illumination. Nothing was moving in his immediate line of sight, so he edged forward until he could view the entire open space of the bottom level. It was completely empty except for the wrought iron table, where Finley had apparently played solitary card games until she fell asleep. Brandon smiled to see her forehead resting on the cold table, her face turned toward the wall.
Frowned as he noticed the liquid dripping between the woven metal slats.
His mouth had just gathered to form the syllables of her name when another faint sound drew his attention upward. The balconies of the top two stories were wreathed in shadows, but surely that was a darker shape flitting along the second level. Coming to a halt beside one of the closed doors. Bending over with a sense of purpose. There was no one in the house tonight except Villette and the three guards, and Brandon was pretty sure Finley was dead.
That meant Linnet was picking the lock on Villette’s room.
He flew across the slick tile floor, not bothering with stealth or silence. “Villette!” he shouted. “Villette!Watch out!”
Above him, he heard the splintering sound of a doorframe breaking and a faint cry of alarm. He leapt madly up the stairs, galvanized by terror, and raced down the balcony so fast that his feet skidded along the smooth tile. The sounds from Villette’s room grew louder—a scream, a thud, another shout. Linnet might have broken in, but Villette was putting up a fight.
He charged through the shattered door, straight toward the tangle of bodies that were barely visible in the curtained room. Villette was wearing a white nightdress, so he concentrated on the darker mass that had to be Linnet in her navy blue uniform. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her away, trying to kick her feet out from under her at the same time.
She surprised him by releasing Villette and allowing herself to fall backward on him so heavily that she almost brought both of them to the floor. He let go, scrambling sideways, and she twisted around to face him. She lifted a hand in a wild strike, and he felt her blade scrape once against his shoulder, once against his ribs, drawing blood both times. She couldn’t see him any more clearly than he could see her or he would probably be dead already.
She swung again and he dropped low, flinging himself at her legs, and this time he brought her crashing down. He heard her grunt as she struck the bedframe, but the collision wasn’t enough to deter her. She kicked free of his hold, then shoved her boots violently in his face as he tried to pin her down. He probably only had twenty or thirty pounds on her—not enough to help him win the fight by mass alone. She kicked him again and rolled away, leaping to her feet. He was off the floor just as fast. They circled each other in the dark.
“Villette! Can you get us some light?” he called.
Linnet surprised him by speaking. “If you can see me, I can see you.”
He didn’t bother answering, just watched her shadow for cues. Villette was behind him now, which meant Linnet would have to kill him before she could attack Villette again. She probably had multiple weapons, but if he could get the knife out of her hand, he could at least improve his odds. He feinted to see if she would strike at him again, and when she did, he grabbed her arm and twisted hard. She yelped and responded with a vicious kick, aiming for his groin but connecting with his thigh. She hadn’t dropped the knife, so he clamped his other hand around her forearm and savagely snapped down on the bone. He felt it crack beneath his fingers as she swept her leg out and knocked him off his feet.
He slammed to the floor and rolled to his knees as Linnet leapt across him, trying to reach Villette. He thrust his hand upward, a hard palm against her ribcage, spinning her off course. She crashed against another piece of furniture and he heard chairs and table legs squeal across the floor, but she never lost her balance. He jumped to his feet as she launched herself forward again, and he felt the impact of their bodies across every surface of his own.
Just then the room flared with a thin, cool light, and he could finally see what he was doing. He was chest to chest with Linnet, nose to nose; her normally serene features were contorted with passion. For a moment, he was simply bewildered. “What iswrongwith you?” he whispered.
“She has to die,” she panted, and tried to shove herself away from him.
Brandon swept his arms up and crushed her against him, exploiting his slight size advantage and the brute strength in his arms. She struggled fiercely, but her broken wrist was trapped between their bodies and he could tell that the pain was sapping her strength. He could feel her trying to free her good arm, and he guessed she’d switched her knife to that hand, so he tightened his hold so much he thought his own ribs might fracture. She grunted in pain and butted her head against his forehead with such force that his arms loosened and he stumbled.
With a yell, Linnet sprang past him, knife already extended. Brandon whirled around just in time to see her stagger backward, hit by a copper water pitcher Villette flung straight at her face. It was enough for Brandon. He pounced, his dagger hand arcing through the air, and cut her across the throat with two quick slashes. For a moment, she teetered on her toes, her expression showing surprise and her mouth working soundlessly. Her good hand came up to cover the wounds, then her face smoothed out and she seemed to sigh. A second later, she crumpled gracelessly to the floor.
Brandon stood over her, breathing heavily, his knife still at the ready in case this was a trick. But the blood was flowing so freely and so fast that within a minute he knew it was over.
Not until then did he turn to appraise Villette. She was standing motionless, staring down at the guard, another weapon in her right hand—this time a decorative metal paperweight that looked like it might weigh five pounds. Her expression was part fury and part resolve, and he thought, if he hadn’t arrived in time, she might have been able to fight Linnet off all on her own. He wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her in a much more tender hold than the one he had used on Linnet, but she radiated such menace that he thought she might not be safe to touch.
“She’s dead,” he said.
Villette lifted her gaze to his face. “She wanted to kill me.”
“Yes. I don’t know why.”
Villette shook her head. “Michalo always said—I didn’t believe him—but—”
“She had the look of a fanatic,” Brandon said. “She wanted you dead for the very reasons the temple wanted you alive.”
Now she wavered; she put her left hand to her face as if she was too weary to think. That was when Brandon noticed that whatever light she had managed to conjure in this dark room seemed to be spilling between her closed fingers. Its chilly glow threw her cheekbones into stark relief. “My blood,” she said.
“Yes,” he repeated. He came close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his embrace. “She must be one of those—what did you call them?—Reversionists. Securing a post here must have been a goal they’d been after for a long time.”
She rubbed her cheek against the bare skin of his chest. She didn’t seem to mind that she was getting his blood on her face, her clothes. “Why wait until tonight? She’s been here for a couple of weeks.”
He kissed her hair. “What news did the high divine bring today?”
She lifted her head. “The very worst. Their tests confirmed that I am now fertile, and they plan to marry me off by the end of the week.”
Brandon nodded; it was what he had suspected. “Linnet must have gotten the same news, because she had a mysterious visitor this afternoon. As long as you couldn’t have a child, you weren’t a danger, so they let you live. But once your blood was clean, they wanted to get rid of you before you could produce an heir.”
