Page 162 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

She couldn't lose anyone else, especially not Torin. Her heart almost folded in on itself.

It was time to end this.

She powered forward, fighting a scream on her lips.

The Supreme wasn’t even looking at her anymore, underestimating her again.

But Emara wouldn’t let Deleine take another person from her, not when she and Torin were meant to face this world together.

She ran faster than ever before, the steel in her hands feeling heavy and indestructible. Just then, four hunting knives whizzed past her head from behind her. She ducked, still running, rapidly realising that they were not meant for her, but the only remaining guard left protecting the Supreme.

Silas.

Each blade stabbed into the guard, and he fell to his knees. She turned, and a second later, it clicked that one knife had come from each hunter—Kellen, Artem, Marcus, and Gideon.

And they were clearing a pathway for her that led straight to the Supreme.

Torin couldn’t breathe.

And it wasn’t because the Supreme threatened to smother him with more air than his lungs could endure. No, her power had stopped choking him the minute his brethren landed four knives into her guard’s body.

He had crashed to the ground, a poisoned scream in his throat.

Torin didn’t care. He was too busy watching Emara.

The whole world had stilled, and it was like time had slowed to the brink of stopping altogether. Torin watched her take off, knowing this was her window of opportunity. Her muscles powered her legs, and she swung her arms back and forth like he had shown her, a sword in her hand—both hands, actually. He could see strain in her muscles, but she was still slick in her movement, carrying it well. Her lack of training was irrelevant as she ran towards Deleine Orinmore, ready to strike. He couldn’t move or even breathe as he watched her take her chance. The Supreme, too, looked like she was in disbelief.

From what Torin could make out, Deleine was bleeding from her nose and ears.

That was never good.

She had used too much power.

The all-mighty witch stumbled back, flinging out any sort of magic she could muster in her desperate state of shock. Fire, water, and air made efforts to take Emara out, but nothing stopped the empress.

His breathing hitched again.

Torin had never seen someone so elegant, someone with such exquisite beauty, holding a sword with the full intent of using it. She was breath-taking. His lips parted, as he realised it was something that his heart had needed to see—her stunning face so intensely focused on what she was about to do. Her hair was like a flag of vibrant, dark silk behind her. Her delicate nightdress was covered in blood, both hers and of others, and her eyebrows were down in determination.

She was remarkable.

His heart skipped several beats as Emara bounded up the steps towards the Supreme, bringing the sword across her body with decent accuracy and precision. He scrambled forwards on his knees, trying to stand, anticipating a fatal blow. He felt sick. He wished he could take this death blow from her innocent hands, hands that weren’t made to bear something so heavy, but she stopped.

He almost choked.

“Maybe my mother was never going to take anything from you,” she said, her voice full of promise. “But I will.”

She plunged upwards, pushing the sword right through the abdomen of the Grand High Witch, who still looked like she had never seen a woman with a sword before. The dark flames of the candelabras died on the wick instantly and a thick, grey smoke swirled into the air as the Supreme screamed in agony. She fell to the ground, but Emara didn’t move, her back still facing Torin.

He wanted to go to her, he wanted to pull her away from the witch, dying on the floor like her traitorous guards.

But he was so stunned and in awe of her that he couldn’t move.

She had been unyielding and fearless.

She had been an Empress of Steel.

His heart burst with pride as he looked at her. So many pieces of his heart knitted together. It was wrong of him to be in such awe of someone who had just rammed a sword through a living person, but he felt a sordid relief and satisfaction at what she had done. He would have done the same, and would continue to do the same. He would kill for her, anyone that ever tried to harm a hair on her head. A tightness in his chest eased a little to know she would do the same. She would protect herself. She would fight.

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