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I’ll bet there are more of them than I think.
“Just as well. You and I have much to discuss.” Neilina gestures toward Ybaris’s gate. “Come.”
Would the old Romeria have bowed and followed? Surely.
No more than twenty feet away, through the crowd of horses and riders, I spot Zander, perched tall on his black stallion, his eyes locked on me.
I wink.
Neilina’s jaw hardens. She must have caught that. “Why are Malachi’s demons still alive?” she yells. “Finish them off!”
A ring of steel sounds.
“Stand down!” The bellow sails from my lips, and everyone freezes.
Neilina gapes at me. “How dare you counter my order?” She looks genuinely shocked, as if the very idea is preposterous.
“Because it’s a bad order, given by a bad leader.” And we don’t have time to play this game. I let my voice carry. “Everyone here knows that it was not Islor who killed King Barris. It was you. And everyone also knows that you used your elementals to summon Aoife.”
She stares at me as if I’ve slapped her. “Your accusations amount to high treason, Daughter.”
I’m not your daughter! I want to scream, but that secret is best kept hidden if I want to claim this throne. “Not if they’re true. Both crimes are punishable by death, even for a queen.”
Worry mars Neilina’s face. She is finally seeing this for what it is—a trap. Her chest heaves as she scrambles to find a way out of it. “The Islorians have turned Ybaris’s princess against her own realm.”
“No, I want peace for Ybaris, but it will never have that with you sitting on its throne.” Zander is right.
“You are no longer my blood.” She sneers at me like a cornered animal.
Suddenly, my chest feels like it’s about to cave in, like someone is squeezing a fist around my lungs, keeping them from working. I release my grasp on my affinities as I gasp for the air that Neilina strips from me, vaguely aware of shouts in the distance and Caindra’s roar.
But it’s Lucretia’s words that I hear.
The Daughter of Many does not choose one over the other. Let them merge until they are as one, and you will know power like none other.
With that kind of strength, I must be able to break this hold Neilina has on me.
I fight the panic and reach deep inside to grasp for the threads again. They rise to the call, coiling into a thick silver cord that I send toward Neilina gently, so as not to obliterate everyone behind her.
Her grip on my lungs vanishes, and I’m able to take a deep breath again.
Neilina gasps in horror. “Your eyes … they are silver.”
She just tried to kill me—her daughter as far as she knows!—and she’ll try again once this shock subsides.
Any reservations I might have felt about murder vanish. “Yes. It’s quite the upgrade. You can thank Malachi for that.” I slip the black dagger from its sheath. “But you should be more worried about my blade.” I launch it at her like Jarek taught me and it lands true, sinking deep into her trachea.
She wheezes as she stumbles toward the elemental. Fitting, I should think.
“Kill … her …” she manages to croak.
But the elemental doesn’t move, and neither do the Shadows behind her.
Neilina falls to her knees, clawing at the elemental’s skirt.
The petite female looks from her queen to me, eyes wide with fright—afraid to save Neilina, afraid to let her die.
I won’t leave the weight of that decision on anyone else. I gather a thread of Vin’nyla and launch it at my dear mother, sending her glittering form over the bridge’s edge.
The Ybarisan queen falls without making a sound.
And I’m left to face off against Mordain, who has killed every key caster born in the past two thousand years. I swap one affinity for four and brace myself, waiting to see how this will play out.
The elemental is the first to drop to her knees. “My queen.”
The masked soldiers behind follow, taking a knee, their hilts pressed against their chests. Echoes of the same words reach my ears.
Behind them, Zander and the legionaries stand, swords at their sides, their attention shifting between the casters in front of them and the giant dragon behind me.
I allow myself a deep breath of relief as Zander and I nod at each other. It’s over. At least this part is. I fight the urge to rush for his arms.
As one, the Shadows rise and split into two groups, turning on their heels to form a path. One steps out of formation and approaches me. Zander makes to follow, but a swath of swords instantly appears, blocking his path.
“Allow him through,” I order. “Allow them all through.”
The swords drop instantly, and Zander rides along the makeshift aisle warily. The legionaries trail.
“Your Highness.” The Shadow dips her head. “I am Solange, Second in Mordain’s Guild of Casters and Master of the Shadows.” Her voice is husky. “We are yours to order.”
