Page 132 of A Dagger in the Ivy

My heart lurches. “What?”

“When we went looking for the camp Dante told us about, we got separated. Your uncle went missing. We would have been here sooner, but we were trying to find him.” She fends off another beast with a grunt. “Mylo sent us to help you while he searches for him.”

The words hit me like a blow to the chest: my uncle is missing. Panic grips me, tightening around my heart like a vise. I can’t lose him, not now, not after everything. The thought of him out there, alone, vulnerable, twists my insides with fear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not here, not now. A carnoraxis lunges at me, and I force myself to stay focused, to keep fighting. My uncle is strong, I tell myself, trying to believe it. He has to be okay. He has to. But the fear lingers, gnawing at the edges of my mind as I swing my blade.

“We’ve got company!” Isaac yells, shifting his position so that he’s aiming toward the wood.

My eyes widen when I take in the sight of the charging pack of wolves. They emerge from the woods with eyes that glint like gold in the moonlight. Their sleek bodies move with fluid grace, muscles rippling beneath their fur as they bound toward us.

“No!” I scream to Isaac. “Don’t shoot them. They’re on our side.”

Isaac sends me an incredulous look.

“They fight for us!”

A great grey wolf leads the charge, its fur bristling as it leaps into the fray. The carnoraxis, already faltering, now face this new threat with evident confusion. The wolves tear into them with a savagery that matches the beasts’ own, their powerful jaws clamping down on throats and limbs with lethal precision. The battlefield, already chaotic, becomes a blur of motion and sound as wolves and soldiers fight side by side.

Isaac’s jaw drops, his head shaking. “I never thought I’d see the fucking day.” But his thoughts are cut short when a flailing carnoraxis pounces near him. Isaac aims and shoots, taking the beast out immediately.

I wince when a high-pitched whistle nearly shatters my eardrum. The creature is on me in a flash, faster than I can react. My sword clatters to the ground, and before I can reach for it, the carnoraxis snatches my dagger, its claws clamping down on the blade despite the fact that it’s slicing into its flesh. It doesn’t even flinch—only tightens its grip until the dagger is ripped from my hand.

I stumble back, my heart pounding, and I can feel that familiar tingling start to spread through my body—an electric hum that pulses in time with my racing heart.

Desperate, I grab a nearby torch and thrust it between me and the carnoraxis, but the creature doesn’t slow down. It’s coming for me with a relentless hunger, eyes locked on to mine, claws slashing. Instinctively, I raise my free hand, the tingling now surging, and without thinking, I push.

A force explodes from my palm, a shockwave of energy that propels the air in front of it. The torch’s flame leaps forward, as if caught in a powerful gust, expanding to four times its size, and it slams into the carnoraxis. The creature howls as the fire engulfs it, its shrieks splitting the night air. It thrashes wildly, but the flames only grow, devouring it until it collapses in a burning heap at my feet.

I stand there, breathless, my hand still raised, the tingling slowly fading.

But I have no time to contemplate what just happened. A cry cuts through the chaos, sharp and desperate. My head snaps toward the castle just in time to see a kingsguard plummet from a high window, his scream swallowed by the darkness before his body hits the ground with a sickeningthud. My blood runs cold. The realization slams into me—that wasn’t an attack from a carnoraxis. Torbin is closing in on the king.

I glance back at my squad, the battle raging around us. Wolves and soldiers fight fiercely against the carnoraxis, but this is bigger than any of us. I have to make a choice, and I know what it must be.

“Hold the line!” I shout, my voice barely carrying over the roar of the battle. “Do not let them breach the castle!” I can only hope they can hold out without me.

My heart pounds as I retrieve my dagger and race toward the castle, a wave of dread crashing over me with every step. The king may have turned a blind eye to the truth, but he doesn’t deserve to die at Torbin’s hands. Politics and power plays fade away, leaving only one truth: innocent or guilty, he is still the king, and I have to save him.

CHapter

Forty-Nine

Dante spots me, our eyes locking for a moment. He must be thinking what I’m thinking. There’s an urgency in his pace as he follows suit, racing for the castle doors with me. We make haste, rushing up the stairs in the direction from where I saw the guard fall.

We burst into the king’s private lounge, the door slamming open so hard, it rattles on its hinges. My breath catches at the sight before me—Torbin, towering over his father, wearing a makeshift crown crafted from the antlers of the midnight buck he shot. It sits on his head like a grotesque mockery of royalty, its twisted points catching the light from the open balcony, where the chaos of the battle below drifts in with the night air.

Torbin stands tall, his sabre pointed directly at the king and his eyes wild with fury. “You’ve mistreated me and Mother for the last time, old man! You think you’re so untouchable—so righteous!” He’s snarling, spittle flying from his mouth, his voice vibrating with years of pent-up rage.

My dagger is palmed and ready, but before I can act, Torbin lunges. The king dodges the blade, but Torbin continues to drive forward,shoving the king backward into the drink bar. Glass shatters, liquor spills across the polished floor, and the king crumples, clutching his side where blood begins to seep through his fingers. He looks up at his son, the color drained from his face and evident pain in his eyes—both physical and emotional—but Torbin’s wrath leaves no room for pity.

Torbin clenches his teeth and swings his arm back, his sabre positioned to slice the king’s neck.

“No!” I scream, heart pounding in my throat as I hurl my dagger at Torbin with all my might.

The blade slices through the air and strikes Torbin squarely in the chest. He staggers back, a look of shock momentarily crossing his face as he grips the hilt of the dagger buried in him. Blood spills down his tunic, but his expression hardens almost immediately. With a snarl, he rips the dagger out, and fresh blood pours from the wound, dark and viscous.

Torbin throws the dagger aside, his gaze now locked on the king. His jaw is clenched, and his lips are twisted into a snarl. He advances with what looks like murderous intent, his sabre poised to deliver the killing blow. But before he can reach the king, Dante steps in, his falchion raised to block the strike.

Theclangof metal hitting metal echoes through the room.

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