Page 106 of Heart of the Summer Queen

With a deep breath, I break into a sprint and hurl myself over the gap with everything I have.

For a heart-stopping moment, I fear that I haven’t jumped with enough power. That I’ll land inches short of the ledge.

But then my feet hit solid ground. I release my held breath.

The relief lasts just a split second. I look up to see Isidore raising her hands, magic coalescing. The murderous glint in her eyes chills every bone within me.

She means to strike the final blow.

Rage clouds my vision. Subtlety and stealth vanish. All I see is a fatal blast hurtling toward Elaric’s lifeless form.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitation within me as I charge, sword first.

I’m only a yard away as a spear launches from Isidore’s hands. Oblivious in her murderous rage, her focus stays solely on Elaric.

I lunge forward.

My blade sinks deep into her back before she realizes I’m there.

This time, she does not turn. Does not defend herself. My sword sinks through all the way.

Inky blood spills everywhere. On my blade, on my hands. It even splatters onto my cheeks.

Only when my sword has found its mark, the crystals in the hilt thrumming with power, does Isidore whirl with an agonized shriek.

The force of her movement wrenches the blade from my slick, bloodied grip.

She lunges, talons swiping. I dodge left, but unneeded. She crashes to her knees, white satin dress flooding with dark blood.

My strike pierced her heart. The sword now protrudes hideously from her chest.

“You—” She chokes, struggling to speak.

A hacking cough of blood cuts her off. She opens her mouth, and I brace myself, waiting for her to launch another blast at me.

But then her body pitches forward. The tip of my blade clinks against the cobblestones. Her fingers twitch, grasping at nothing.

I stand tense, panting, waiting for her to rise.

She does not.

My pulse hammers as realization sinks in.

It’s over.

Isidore is dead.

I stand there stunned, hardly believing Isidore lies dead at my feet. Part of me expects her to rise again and shatter the illusion. But ice recedes, the tree opposite me returning to bark and leaf. The color in the market stall banners slowly reappears, and the clothes of those gathered around me also brighten.

Isidore’s curse upon this land is fading.

Elaric . . .

I swivel around, remembering the blood tracing his forehead, the attack hurtling for him.

My worst fear is realized. I succeeded in killing Isidore, but it was already too late.

“Elaric!”

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