Page 52 of Claws of Death

Scraping his fingers over his beard, Erina turns back to me, a false smile on his lips. “I’m waiting, dove.”

Dove.My stomach threatens to turn at the mere thought of what Erina has planned for my future, how he’s using the people I love against me.

“Your friends here will make a great addition to my court if you come willingly. I’ll allow them to live—without their magic, of course—and they shall resume their service as your servants. The two females had been delightful handmaidens if I recall correctly.” He doesn’t even look at them now, so sure of himself and his claim. “And the male can become a foot soldier in my army. We’ll soon bolster their ranks with the likes of him.”

“Themales,” I correct, “won’t ever lift a finger to fight on your side.”

That costs Erina a laugh. “Maybe not the one behind me, but that one—” He points at Herinor, who’s still standing like he doesn’t know if he should abandon me or stand by my side. “The male will cut off his own hand before he helps you. He’ll kill himself before ensuring your freedom.”

He’s not wrong. Herinor will die if he tries to help me directly, and then there is little he can do once he’s dead.

“I will not?—”

“It’s all right,” I stop Herinor before he can attempt a lie. We both know lies are beyond his capabilities, and we both know where the deal with Ephegos leaves him.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Silas’s hand twitch. His head is still lowered, but a new tension has entered his shoulders even as he’s leaning on the Flame soldiers to hold him.

He’s faking. And so is Clio. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but they are ready to attack from where they stand.

“Forty against five is madness,”I say to Kaira, who must know what they’re up to.

My sister shakes her head, resolve streaming through our bond.

“Last chance, Wolayna.” Erina lifts a hand, and I hold my breath, steeling myself for the onslaught of fire that will surely come … and blink with surprise when half of the Flames march off toward the estate.

No.

No!

Myron is there. He’s fighting a few Flames on his own and will be here soon. He’ll come for us, back up Herinor,Silas, Clio, and Kaira. He’ll draw his blade at my side, and together, we’ll send Erina to an early grave?—

The Flames are rounding Herinor and me, not heeding us a look, but I can sense the attention of the others as they keep aiming at us. One wrong movement and we’re history.

“Don’t worry, dove.” Erina comes even closer. Either he doesn’t have a sense of self-preservation, or he delights in walking a thin line at the edge of what’s healthy for him.

A few more paces and he’ll be within reach. If I leap, I could surprise him and cut open his throat.

The Flames have almost reached the corner; a few more steps and they’ll be out of sight—and so will we. If I’m quick?—

It happens so fast I can barely comprehend it.

Clio disappears from her captor’s grasp, popping up behind the last row of Flames and snapping a soldier’s neck. At the same moment, Silas grabs for the swords of the two Flames holding him up, nothing more than a flash of dark black hair and leathers. They aren’t fast enough to prevent him from cutting into their sides just below their ribs, and they lose balance, cursing and toppling to the ground where they soak the grass crimson.

Chaos breaks loose as Kaira joins them, stealing a fireball from one of the Flames. She might not be able to create her own fire, but apparently, she can hijack that of another. With a jerk of her hand, she sends the fire sailing into the Flame next to her.

Arrows are flying from a nearby tree—Royad. Thank the Guardians, he didn’t leave us to our fate.

As if on a signal, Herinor unfreezes, but he doesn’t go for Erina’s throat. It’s me who darts for the Tavrasian king, dagger raised and aiming for the side of his neck.

Wide-eyed, Erina stares at me, frozen in shock or anticipation of death, I don’t care. All I care about is that no one stops me as I drive my blade through skin, cartilage, tendons, and bone.

At least, that’s what I expect when my blade slices into him, but there is no resistance. I don’t collide with the Tavrasian King, don’t land on top of him with a scream of victory on my tongue. No, I land face-first in the grass, tasting earth and blood as my lip splits open at the impact. Someone screams my name, and I want to answer, but the breath is knocked out of me yet again as a heavy weight lands on top of me, smashing me face-first into the grass.

I writhe beneath the knees pushing into my spin, bucking to throw off the attacker until I’m able to lift my head enough to spot brown gloves that belong to Flame armor instead of Erina’s manicured fingers. “Ayna!” Clio’s voice shrills across the clearing, but it’s a cry for help rather than one of war.

Somewhere in the turmoil of flying fireballs and glinting swords, Clio needs my help.

Terror grasps me in a vise as I spot Silas at the edge of the battle, leathers ripped open on his thigh, revealing a gashing wound. He’s unstable on his legs, but he keeps fighting with hatchet and magic, keeping the two Flames coming for him again and again at bay. I don’t have time to look for Herinor and Kaira; the Flame on my back pushes his knee down on my neck so hard I think itmight snap.

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