“Where is Talon?”
She strode forward, reaching out to press a palm to my forehead. “He left not too long ago. Rest, dear.”
I gently batted her hand away and tossed the blankets aside. If my dream was indeed a message, I needed to move.
The moment my bare feet touched the stone, a searing pain tore through my ribs just beneath my breastbone. It felt like aphantom blow, the echo of a strike that stole the air from my chest. I doubled over, clutching at the invisible wound as my breath dragged shallow through clenched teeth.
Leona startled, rushing for a cup of water and bringing it over to me. “What is wrong?”
I whimpered, gripping at the collar of my tunic and tugging insistently.
“T-Talon, I think,” I winced. “I think i-it is Talon.”
Recognition flared in her gaze. She raced to her workbench, drawing a single leaf and pressing it against the mirror. Within a heartbeat, a swirling vortex of silver light opened.
She guided the vision through the maze of the hallways and out into the courtyard. The space was eerily empty. Every stall was gone and the vibrant life of the market had been replaced by a chilling silence.
No Veythar were to be seen save for two figures.
Bater and Talon were a blur of dark, lethal movements in the mirror’s eye.
The image from my dream—the glinting, silver knife buried in Talon’s neck—flashed behind my lids with such clarity I could almost feel the cold metal sliding into my own pulse.
I straightened with a wince that brought tears to my eyes and limped toward the doorway. My hand reached for the stone handle but a firm grip clamped onto my shoulder and tugged me back.
“Kaelia, you cannot go out there,” Leona pleaded. “You are unwell. You can barely stand.”
I did not care about the fever or the ache that threatened to buckle my knees. I only cared about him.
“I understand,” I replied, offering a placating smile. “But I need to make sure he is safe.”
Leona’s face twisted with worry, but I hardly took notice. My hand was already pulling on the handle and I was stepping into the hallway without a backwards glance.
Vesuva was a rhythmic friction against the floor beside me, her scales whispering as I broke into a run. I rounded the corner, the hallway opening into the wide antechamber, and my body froze.
Three figures stood at its center, armored in silver and red. Their helms were lowered, their faces obscured, but the weight of their presence was unmistakable.
The High Court.
Their armor caught the lantern light in sickening streaks, the red breastplates looking like fresh blood that would never dry.
And, beyond them, was Talon.
He was on his knees, his body bowed and one hand braced against the floor. His tunic was dark and wet, a spreading stain that made me sick to my stomach. A dagger jutted from beneath his ribs, its hilt forged of a light-drinking metal that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Behind him, a wall of spirits shimmered and strained, a large shield protecting the heart of the city.
The pain shuddered through my midsection again, strong enough to buckle my knees.
It was his wound, but it carved into me all the same.
“Get away from him,” I screeched, stepping forward until I stood in front of Talon, blocking him from their view.
Vesuva hissed in solidarity, her body coiling tight around my legs, her twin eyes burning with hunger.
The guards turned as one, facing me but I was not sure they could see me beneath their red-plumed helms.
Talon’s head lifted with a struggling breath. His eyes were glowing a vibrant cobalt, his face dripping with streaks of sweat.His tattoos burned brighter than I had ever seen them, pulsing violently along his skin, shifting and twisting.