“I will relish killing you,” I murmur, eyes glimmering.
My blade plummets towards her. In a blur of motion, her hand rises to fend off the blow and with a sickening squelch, the blade slips through her palm. She snarls and my eyes widen as she forces her palm upwards, forcing the dagger through completely. Maaz pushes me back, her slender arms surprisingly strong.
Blood drains from the wound, streams of it coating her wrist and running down her forearms. Scowling, I wrench the dagger free of her palm, blood arcing through the air. I whirl as she cradles her wounded palm to her chest. Her pale blue eyes narrow coldly.
“I’ll remember this,” she growls.
I twirl the blade in my hand, spinning it between my fingers. “You won’t remember anything.”
Without warning, I fling the dagger towards her, straight between her eyes. Maaz raises her injured hand, her bloodied palm facing me. Wordlessly, she stops the dagger in mid-air. I glower as she shatters the blade into tiny, dust-sized fragments.
She smirks, her eyes following the particles as they float away. I’m on top of her before she knows it, my shoulders slamming into her chest. She topples backwards onto her back. I straddle her waist, my hands wrapping around her slim throat. I can feel her blood pulsing beneath my grip. She takes a ragged breath and claws at my face, her nails drawing blood.
I growl, squeezing tighter. Maaz’s face goes blue, her eyes bulging. A drop of my blood trickles from my chin and splatters on her cheek, stark against the pale porcelain of her skin. She trembles, her clawing growing weaker and weaker. I grin ferally, eyes gleaming.
Suddenly, I’m blown backwards by a violent burst of energy. I somersault through the air, knees bouncing painfully off the floor. Swiftly, I roll into a crouch, fists bared for an attack. Maaz clambers to her feet, a hand at her throat. She wheezes, her shoulder shaking. She’s spent, I realize with a smirk.
“This isn’t over,” she rasps, a hand on her deadwood broom. “It’s far from over. Your day of reckoning will come.”
Before I can respond or leap to my feet to chase her, she’s mounted her broom and launched herself through one of the stained-glass windows in the throne room. Glass shatters, tinkling like bells as it strikes the marble floor. All that’s left of Maaz is her blood pooling on the floor. I pant, staring at the shattered window.
“Altair,” Verity whispers behind me.
My blood runs cold as I pivot and sprint towards her. I cover the distance in two long strides, skidding to my knees beside her. She’s paler than before, as white as paper. Even her rosy lips have lost their color. I grind my teeth, finding her hand blindly and clutching it. She squeezes my hand, so lightly I hardly feel it.
“The healers are coming,” I murmur, brushing her light brown hair back.
“It’s too late,” she says softly, pinching her face.
“Not for us.” I force a reassuring smile. “I’m taking the dagger out. It will hurt.”
She chuckles breathlessly. “I don’t feel anything anymore.”
“Good.” I nod.
I pray that she forgives me. Without warning, I wrench the silver blade from her belly, blood spurting from the wound. She cries out sharply, her face twisted in pain. I drop the blade and press my hands to the wound. Her warm blood slips through my fingers.
I hear shouting in the distance, my soldiers returning from Desmarais. The door slams open and Navi runs through, her eyes wide. I turn to her and grimace. “She’s dying,” I say, voice cracking.
Navi’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the scene, before she closes the distance between us. She tears off the sash at her waist and shoves me aside. Her sash is soon wet with blood, but the flow seems to be ebbing. Whether from her efforts or because Verity is almost dead, I don’t know.
“Soldiers were right behind me, there will be healers among them,” she says confidently.
The chattering grows louder, followed by thumping footsteps. In an instant, the throne room is flooded with soldiers. One of them kneels beside us, studying Verity’s wounds. I watch, breath coming in short gasps, as he lifts the sash.
“Can she be saved?” I ask. My fingers wrap around Verity’s ankle. I need to touch her, to feel her.
“Perhaps,” he murmurs. “You must go, I need more healers.”
“I won’t,” I snap. “I stay with her.”
The healer turns his brown eyes to me. “Go, my King.”
“How dare you,” I hiss, leaning towards him threateningly.
Navi’s hand closes around my arm and she drags me to my feet. I slap her hand away, trembling. She looks at me with disinterest. “Let the healers work. You won’t help if you hover over her.”
I inhale sharply, trying to control my breathing. “I know. I know,” I say shakily. I turn to the healer. “Do whatever you must. Anything.”
He nods seriously and then focuses on Verity as a cluster of healers join him. I glance back once more as Navi leads me from the dais. Verity is unconscious, her chest rising and falling shallowly. I pray to the gods for the first time in a thousand years. I pray that Verity will live.
Navi ushers me towards the broken window. “What happened here?” She asks, hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Maaz came to collect early,” I say stiffly, staring towards the healers gathered around Verity’s prone form. “When Verity broke the curse, she attacked me. Verity pushed me aside. I tried to stop her, but she escaped.”
Navi looses a long breath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I failed in my duty.”
“Nonsense,” I murmur. “We each prepared ourselves differently for the end. I don’t fault you for that.”
“And the curse is broken,” Navi says softly, following my gaze towards Verity. “How
