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Shadows rushed from me like a wave retreating into the ocean. I stood illuminated in the dim light. Hieronymus spun my sword and traced a burning figure eight in the air. I fucking hated theatrics.
The floor shuddered. I glanced at my feet.
Hieronymus closed the distance between us in a few long strides. One more step, and he could strike. If he swung high enough, I could catch the blade with my hands. Painful, but it might deflect the blow. I edged along the wall and searched for an impromptu weapon.
“Pity.” Hieronymus lifted my sword. “It would have been a pleasure to kill you slowly.”
A boot ever so softly scraped the floorboards.
Hieronymus turned to look, though he only made it halfway.
Wendel stepped from the darkness like an avenging angel. He drove his dagger into the technomancer’s eye. Savagely, he twisted the blade before wrenching it out.
Hieronymus screamed. Wendel kicked him in the back and knocked him down, then crushed his sword hand beneath his boot. The sword clattered on the floor, flames sputtering out, and I lunged to grab it.
Hieronymus clawed his way forward. Wendel grabbed a fistful of his beard, wrenching his head up, and slit his neck. He left him to drown in his own blood.
My body shook uncontrollably. “Is he dead?”
Wendel’s gaze locked with mine, his eyes bleak and soulless. He wiped his dagger on the man’s robes, pocketed the blade, and took both of my hands.
He bared my wrists, every movement careful, though I couldn’t stop myself from flinching at the memory of pain. His fingers traced my scars delicately, and the emotionless mask of his face cracked.
He dragged me closer and held me like he never wanted to let me go.
When my hand found the nape of his neck, he shuddered beneath my touch. I escaped his embrace, though I couldn’t stop staring at the blood on his hands. The corpse’s foot twitched in the corner of my vision.
Downstairs, a quaking thump shook the building.
“Konstantin.” My stomach plunged. “We have to help him.”
40
Iskirted the splintered floorboards and crept downstairs.
In the dimness of the factory, the assassins clung to the shadows. Konstantin, in the Eisenkrieger, wasn’t nearly so subtle. He swung a massive arm and swatted an assassin. The man flew clear across the room, slammed against the wall, and crumpled on the floor.
Konstantin powered the Eisenkrieger into a sprint. He swung at another assassin, who rolled out of the way. The machine punched the wall with bone-shattering force.
I counted the bodies. Six assassins.
But six more of them had Konstantin cornered. Worse, he was limping. The pneumatics in the Eisenkrieger’s leg had been damaged by a blade. If the assassins crippled the other leg, it wouldn’t take much to drag the machine down and pry him from the cockpit like crabmeat.
Time for a distraction.
My fingers closed around Chun Yi’s hilt. Sharkskin pressed its pattern into my skin. Sword blazing, I leapt from the stairs and charged the assassins.
The nearest assassin barely had time to turn before I feinted and swung at his face. He dodged. I veered and slashed hisarm instead. Chun Yi gouged flesh and carved bone like a knife through butter. The assassin screamed and clutched his half-severed arm.
“Ardis!” Konstantin called out. “Thank heavens.”
I flashed him a smile. “Here to help.”
He limped forward a few steps, the floor shuddering under the Eisenkrieger’s weight, then swung his arm and smacked the assassin I had just wounded. The man flew through the air and slammed on the bricks.
Five more assassins to go.
A flash of steel sliced the darkness—a throwing knife. I dove to the bricks, tucked into a roll, and slid behind a machine. The knife ricocheted off the iron above my head. I flattened myself to the floor. My fingers grazed the arm of a dead assassin who had been tossed aside like a broken doll.
