“Yes, I know.”
The boy screeches, then he’s gone like a ferret in a hole, leaving everyone in the room bewildered.
I immediately chase after.
My mother’s voice stops me. “Sephania!”
I spin—
Catch my sword belt with both hands as she tosses it, and strap it on.
“Sounds like you’ll be needing those,” she says.
With a brisk nod, I hurry out of the chamber, down a hall, and rush into the central eating room from the south entrance. It’s a vast chamber, the largest in the Firehold, and acts as an antechamber to every other room in the labyrinth.
Immediately as I enter, two blurring bodies fly into view from the north entrance to the room, the opposite side of me.
Theclangand spark of steel rattles me to the bone.
There’s fifty feet and nearly thirty bodies between me, Lukain, and Skar. They’re moving so fast it takes people a moment to even realize what’s going on.
Then a table breaks as one of them flies through it, sending wood chips splintering and cascading into the sky.
The eating chamber becomes pure pandemonium. Everyone leaps up, many of the Grimsons screaming and scattering to get out of the violent tumult. I lose sight of my mates—
Lukain stands from the broken table. He swipes blood off his lip with his forearm, throws his arm aside, and comes out holding his father’s silver saber.
Fuck!Silver. Saber. The same that can end a vampire with a single nick.
“Lukain, no!” I yell.
Vallan and Garroway hear my voice and get to me from the eastern entrance. Garroway looks scared, as if he’s worried that his fathers are fighting, and Vallan looks grim and sturdy as usual.
“This doesn’t bode well,” the undead oak tree says.
Past Vall and Garro, blades flash. The colliding of their swords is so well-placed, so efficient, I hardly hear the clattering of their edges until they’ve kicked apart and put some distance between them.
Skar fights in his fencer’s stance, knees unbent, arm held straight out. He’s using a typical sword of hard steel with a short crossguard, like he’s been doing since giving the silver saber back to Lukain as a present . . . by stabbing it into his chest with Skar’s journal attached.
Lukain uses that saber, and I know that’s where the true danger lies. Even though Skar shows no hint of fear orfrustration, and it’s Lukain who seems like a feral animal right now, I know what kind of danger that Silverknight sword poses. I’ve seen what it can do.
Skar plays defense. Lukain charges in again, going high, leaping over a low sweep from Skar. The dhampir strikes out with a knee in midair, catching Skar’s arm.
Skar uses his body’s momentum to spin, slashing in a wide arc with his sword in a backhand slice once he’s finished his rotation.
Lukain bats the sword aside with a loud clang, and then their blades are whirring and nipping and sniping again.
Thwack—skit—ting—
Sparks.
“Put the silver down, Lukain!” I yell, rushing toward the mayhem.
Garro reaches for me. “Seph, no! Don’t get in the middle of them!”
I pull my arm out of his hold, snarling, “I know what’s going on, Garro, and you don’t. I have to stop this before they kill each other!”
Vallan grumbles, “Maybe it’s for the best they do.”