Page 182 of A Warrior's Fate

“Answer me,” she commanded, increasing the pressure, firm enough that she felt flesh shuddering from the force.

But again, nothing.

Isla let out a breath, and her hands began trembling. It was all catching up to her. She’d nearly died. Again.

Again and again, she and Kai faced death and chaos and—

Isla met their eyes.

They’d been warning her. Them. Could an ally really be the murderer?

“Did you really kill them?” she choked out.

A rise and fall of a chest, a beating heart within. They breathed. Their head lifted and fell.

A yes.

Isla swallowed. “Why not Kai?”

There was a pause.

Before she could show her temper again, the killer lifted a hand. It was so smeared in dirt and grime, so twisted and scarred as if it’d been broken over and over and not properly healed that it made Isla sick.

Distracted her enough that she allowed them to run their touch along the blade. Blood pooled on their fingertips. They dropped their hand and slightly inclined their head to Isla’s left arm. Cautiously, Isla lifted it for them, and their touch was as cold as ice, as death, as they drew along the skin of her forearm, down to her hand. Warrior. Io. Charon. Deimos. A fifth symbol that she didn’t recognize.

The figure dropped their arm, and Isla prepared to slit their throat as they reached into their cloak.

But from it, they pulled a jewel of deepest onyx, a perfect fit for the heart of Isla’s open palm they’d placed it in.

She didn’t even need to ask to know.

The last piece of the diadem.

“Why?” Isla asked, lifting her eyes to theirs.

She allowed the killer to touch her forehead, then followed their twisted fingers as they pointed to the bak—and themselves.

Isla shook her head. “What are you saying?”

They reached over and touched the symbol of Deimos on her forearm. A horrible, guttural sound came from behind the mask, and Isla heard it again, although barely comprehendible. “Traitor.”

Isla gulped.

Deimos. Traitor.

Did that mean her—the new luna—or something else?

Straightforward answers didn’t seem possible, but Isla chanced a question again. “Who are you?”

No answer.

Isla forced another query, “Why did you try to kill me?”

She could’ve sworn something like hurt flashed behind their eyes, and a scent began filtering through the room.

Theirs.

Familiar, but Isla couldn’t pinpoint from where.

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