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A few figures materialize as the smoke dissipates. I see a flash of pink hair, then red, both on their feet, helping others on the ground. I let out a shaky breath and nearly trip as I take a step to the side, my heel catching on the fabric of another gown.
Shit. Anya had been standing right next to us.
I kneel, bracing myself, but her golden eyes stare up at me, her chin trembling as she mouths words I can’t hear. Shards of silver and glass are lodged into her face, her neck, her chest.
I reach a hand for her, helping her into a seated position, then climb shakily to my feet, searching the room for the origin of the explosion.
What happened? Is another one coming? Is whoever set it off still here? Was this Westcott? Was Reid the target?
I clench and unclench my fists, debating between trying to help and not wanting to leave Reid. Not when he’s this hurt and unconscious.
Anya’s hand brushes my arm from behind, and she sways in her heels. “Go.” She nods, glancing from me to Reid. “I’ll find Feddei, and we’ll both stay with him.”
I push through the smoke, surveying the rest of the room. Enough other Marionettes are up and moving to help the injured that it lessens the fist squeezing around my heart.
“Secure the perimeter!” shouts a voice somewhere in the distance, followed by pounding footsteps. “No one goes in or out.”
I stumble to a halt as I reach the throne room doors, one side blown off its hinges. Even through the haze of the smoke, the display on the wall is all too clear.
The blood rains onto the floor in a never-ending flow, King Vasiliev’s eyes open and unseeing, nearly the exact expression King Locklear wore. But there’s a second head on a spike directly next to him—his son, Prince Alexei.
And standing in front of them with a vacant look in his eyes and blood dripping from both hands is Nathan.
I slap a hand over my mouth as a figure materializes out of the shadows beside him.
V grins. “You’re welcome.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Amid the chaosof the explosion and the nearby Marionettes tackling Nathan to the ground, no one notices me slip into a supply closet, yanking an invisible person behind me as I go.
And that damn smug look on V’s face only grows as I close the door behind us and flick on the overhead light. My hands are shaking, and my mind is only half in this closet with her, the rest of my awareness checking in the bond, making sure Reid is okay.
“What the hell did you do?” I whisper.
She frowns. “What we agreed on—”
“This is not what we agreed on!”
“I said I would help you. And that’s exactly what I did. We both know you wouldn’t have the balls to get rid of them. But it needed to be done. So I think the words you’re looking for arethank you.”
“How is slaughtering the Vasilievs possibly helping me?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Come on, Valerie, keep up with me. Who were the people who made the deal for Reid and Anya to marry? Queen Carrington and King Vasiliev.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Who were most invested to enforce that betrothal?” She wiggles her two fingers now representing the dead monarchs. “You’d have a much better chance of negotiating with Anya than her father.”
“And the prince?”
“Well, Anya wouldn’t have any power if her brother took the throne, now would she? And considering the company Prince Alexei used to keep, I figured it was safe to assume he needed to go. Not to mention, if his friends shared their theories about your necromancy with anyone, it was probably him.” She gives me a knowing look, and I shiver despite myself.
The Russians who had been after Reid—and had their fun with me—were friends with Prince Alexei. No one decent makes friends like that.
“So now you have Reid on the throne, and Anya on the throne. If they can come to some agreement without marrying, there’s no one above them they need to convince. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t believe for a second her only motive was to stop Reid’s marriage for me.
“Except now you have this entire estate even more panicked than it already was. They were so sure nothing could breach security. What if Auclair decides we need to relocate?”
“That would be inconvenient,” she admits. “But as much as I hate to admit it, I think he’s smarter than that. The Vasiliev deaths look similar to the attack on Locklear, but not identical. Once his Marionettes examine the bodies and question Nathan, he’ll realize the attacks aren’t the same.”
