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The gallery.From what better vantage point might one shoot a crossbow?
Kel ran. For the first time in his life he ran not toward Conor, but after something else. He shot up the twisting marble steps, exploding out onto the gallery, only to find it empty of musicians. There were instruments here, lying scattered about, and chairs that had been overturned—by those who had fled, Kel guessed—but the gallery was empty.
Kel was about to turn and go back downstairs when he saw the window.
An ordinary sash window at the end of the room, it was open, its curtain fluttering in the breeze. Only Kel knew, from years of familiarity with the gallery, that this window did not look out on empty air. It led to the roof.
A second later, he was climbing through it. His boots hit the roof tiles and he nearly slipped. It was no darker out here than it had been in the gallery—the moon was bright, a white moon that cast a brilliant glow over the curve of the roof, illuminating the scattered palaces of Marivent. And outlining the figure standing in shadow at the roof’s edge, gazing out over the city.
At its feet, a crossbow lay, abandoned.
Kel shouted, scrambling down the tiles. He was not sure, later, what he had shouted exactly. Something like:Who are you? Who paid you to do this?Something pointless, anyway.
The assassin did not move or seem to hear Kel. A slim figure, and tall, they seemed fitted into some kind of tight black uniform,flexible as a second skin. And yet Kel could not tell if the stranger was male or female, old or young, Castellani or foreign. Only that whoever it was seemed to have no fear of heights.
As he crept closer, the dark assassin turned toward him, slowly. Kel almost yelled aloud. The stranger had no face, or none he could observe. Only a smooth and featureless dark expanse. The black uniform, whatever material it was, covered everything entirely.
And yet, somehow, he felt strongly that the stranger was smiling.
“Sword Catcher.” The voice was a low hiss. “Királar.You ruined my plans, you know. But do not be afraid. Tonight is not your night to die.”
“How reassuring,” said Kel. “And yet, you’ll forgive me if I don’t find you entirely trustworthy.”
He took another step forward. He could not tell if the figure was watching him. It had no eyes, only pools of darker shadow amid the pale shadow that was its face.
“You stand upon the threshold of history, Sword Catcher,” said the figure. “For this is the beginning of the fall of House Aurelian.”
“And are you the architect of that fall?” Kel demanded, desperation and fury hot in his veins. “Will you buy their destruction with a child’s blood?”
The figure chuckled. “The fall is all around you,” it said. “Tread carefully.”
And with unbelievable speed, the assassin caught up their crossbow and sprang. Not toward Kel, but off the roof’s edge. The dark figure seemed to hang for a moment against the moon before hurtling silently toward the ground.
Kel raced to the edge of the roof, nausea roiling his stomach as he looked down, expecting to see a body crumpled on the flagstones, dark blood pooling around it.
But there was nothing. Only the empty courtyard, the ordinary shadows, the sough of wind in the branches of the cypress trees. He moved closer to the roof’s edge—
You ruined my plans, Sword Catcher.
There must have been another crossbow bolt, one meant for Conor.Death before marriage to Sarthe.Cursing himself, Kel bolted back the way he had come.
—
He had only been gone a few minutes, maybe less than that. But by the time Kel returned to the Shining Gallery, everything had changed, because of Vienne.
He found out later that, a moment after Luisa’s death, Vienne had leaped onto the high table, flinging herself at a Castelguard; they went down together, and when they rose, she had his sword in her hand.
She tore through the ring of Castelguards and lunged, her body making one long line with the sword, as if it were part of her. It sliced through the nearest Skull’s throat; his head spun from his body. Blood spurted from the stump of his throat as he sank slowly to his knees, listing like a drowning ship. He hit the ground just as Vienne leaped from the dais and charged into the fray, heedless of the blood that soaked her silver slippers.
It was then that Kel came back into the gallery, racing down the stairs, his bloodstained sword in his hand. He looked first for Conor, and saw him with Jolivet. Conor’s gold coat was slashed nearly to ribbons, the white lynx-fur lining stained scarlet with blood.
But it was not his blood, not his injury. He had found a sword somewhere, and still held it. Its blade was red-black. And he was staring, as everyone in the room was staring, at Vienne d’Este.
Never before had Kel seen one of the Black Guard fight. Vienne’s sword blazed in her hand like lightning bursting from the palm of Aigon. She leaped and spun, cutting down Skull after Skull, leaving a trail of blood and innards behind her.
She was the north wind, the Wind of War. She was a comet formed of cold steel. She was Lady Death, with a blade that danced.
There seemed nothing for anyone elsetodo. Indeed, as Vienne fought, the Castelguards were ushering the rest of the nobility outside, through the broken doors. The room was swiftly emptying.Kel saw the Queen escorted out, with Mayesh; Lady Gremont, white-faced with shock, walked between two guards. Falconet and many of the others refused to be escorted, but instead stalked out, heads held high, as if insulted at the suggestion that this was a matter for the Castelguard now and not for them.
