I will not hurt her. This is only meant to scare her into giving me what I came for the first time. The rose does belong to Isabeau, after all. Troll or not, wicked or not, I am out of options. I am out of time.
Under cover of night we creep into the Fourth’s palace. We waited until we could be sure everyone had gone to bed. Gage doubles as lookout and backup ten paces behind. Guardians stand at every doorpost and column. The ones remaining, anyway. The earthquake left things a disaster. Columns split in half and steps caved in, the palace looks more like ancient ruins now than architectural genius. It’s obvious some cleanup has been done, but there is still much work to do. I hate to revel in the tragedy, but it does leave us an advantage due to the fortunate fact that ruins contain a lot of holes.
When we reach the hall housing the countess’s bedchamber, I pause at the corner and peer through the dark. Gage stops, too, so quiet I wouldn’t know he was there unless I, well, knew. The roof bears wide gaps that could almost be mistaken for skylights if they were not so oddly shaped. My gaze lifts to the brilliant night sky and my pulse silences. One of the better Third Reflection anthems comes to mind. A song by—what was the band’s name?—Switchfoot? I never got around to learning the chords to “Stars” on guitar. Perhaps when this is all over, it’s one El and I can sing. Maybe on a night like this. A night when we’re together again and the only thing we need to worry about is the chill in the air.
“When I look at the stars . . . I feel like myself.”
Never were words more true.
El would be proud if she knew I was thinking in lyrics the way she does. I don’t believe she’s aware I know that detail about her. She’s never shared it with me, but I observe so much more than she lets on. Music is El’s oxygen. I’ve always held a love for it as well, but for her it’s different. I wish she were here now, but she’s nowhere near. Because I still haven’t completed my task.
I still have a job to do.
The countess’s chamber doors hang off their hinges. Two Guardians stand like fence posts on either side of the frame, as alert as if it were high noon. I have to laugh at the fact swords are their weapons of choice. They’ll be no match for me and Jonathan.
Blade at the ready, I sidestep down the hall. Jonathan follows, staying back and close to the hall’s opposite wall. At about the halfway point the Guardians notice us, unsheathe their weapons, and wait. We keep our pace steady, waiting for the last possible moment to attack. We’ve had enough practice together, and our movements remain in sync.
At ten feet out I glance back and to the right. Jonathan and I exchange nods. Three, two, one, charge. The Guardian on the right thrusts and I deflect, turn 360 degrees, and do the same with the left Guardian.
My partner steps in at the precise moment both Guardians thrust their weapons. He hits the left Guardian upside the head with the flat of his blade while I duck, countering my sword against the right Guardian’s kneecaps. Wailing, he collapses to the floor. I grip my hilt tighter and rise from my crouch.
Amateurs.
The remaining Guardian backs against the wall, rubbing his injured head, sword arm shaking. He can no doubt see this match is already won. Still, he stands his ground, parrying right, ready for one of us to make our next move. I’ve got to hand it to him. I admire a man who will stay and fight in the name of the one he’s sworn to protect. Such a man is one I’d trust with my own life.
But not today.
I jerk my chin toward Jonathan. He closes in on the Guardian, who lowers his weapon half an inch. No question who will win this standoff. I don’t see what my partner does next because I slip from the hall into the countess’s bedchamber.
Perhaps this will be easier than I anticipated.
Her bed lies at the room’s center. Chunks of ceiling act as obstacles, but I dodge them without issue. When I’m at her bedside I pause, watch her chest rise and fall, rise and fall. My vision blurs and unwarranted rage fills me. I narrow my gaze. She’s fooled me once. I’ll not tolerate her doing so again.
Remain calm. Keep your head. I am only here to scare her. I will not harm her.
“Unless she gives you no choice.”
No. It’s not a choice. I refuse.
“We shall see.”
I climb onto the bed. When I’m straight above her, she wakes. Her eyes and mouth widen at the same time. I cover her mouth to stifle a scream, though even if more Guardians showed up, I doubt we would have much trouble taking them.
“Listen carefully,” I whisper in her ear. “I am going to remove my hand in a moment. The only thing, the only thing that is to come out of your mouth is the location of the true Midnight Rose.”
She nods, eyes frantic. Her gaze shifts right.
I follow it and squint into the night. There, at the chamber’s other end, on a table domed in glass, is the rose. Of course she would keep it near. If she values it as much as Isabeau seems to, she’d want it close. I move to get up, lifting my hand—
The countess jerks her head up and bites down.
My teeth clench.
“Do it! You have a right to defend yourself. You are justified in this.”
No.
The countess’s eyes change. She’s shifting into her Siren state.
“Do it now. Before it’s too late. If she speaks with her Siren voice, you’ll be done for. You’ll never find the rose. Never achieve what you’ve worked so hard for.”
What choice do I have? The voice is right.
Free hand trembling, I raise it in the air. I pause. But then the countess opens her mouth and my hand comes down.
The blow is hard.
The blow is deadly.
The countess does not wake.