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Shards, think. Think!

They didn’t want him dead. That was a safe assumption. After all, Vaughn had already had plenty of opportunities to gain the upper hand. He could’ve struck without warning at any point, but he hadn’t attacked, hadn’t even drawn his weapon. Instead, he had set a trap, putting his men in the perfect position to jump out and disarm him as soon as he stepped into range.

Which meant they wanted him alive. For what reason—he couldn’t be sure. But that did give him a slight advantage.

“Come, Skylen,” Vaughn said, holding out his hands in a gesture of friendship. “Let’s talk. You must have questions—questions that I can answer.”

“Why don’t we start with why you’re really here? It’s not to help me, that’s for sure.”

“We want the girl, of course.”

Skye snarled, body shaking with rage.

Another step. Another glance—it was a good glamour, practically invisible. But not completely. He could still see a shimmer in the space beside the dais, where the light shifted and bent as though it were being directed through a prism. And truthfully, if they had expected him not to notice the faint itch of water magic permeating the air, then they must truly believe him to be a novice.

Which was fair. With only twenty-five summers to his name, he was a child in their eyes. How could he match hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years of experience?

The simple answer was that he couldn’t. Not in a direct fight. They had more training, a more complete command of their magic. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t use their assumptions to his advantage. He was young—that was true. But he was still a member of House Ghislain—one of the most powerful houses in the history of the Fey Imperium. He had more raw aether at his command than most fey could ever dream of possessing, and he had been schooled in the art of magic since birth.

A plan began to take shape, and he pulled at his magic, letting his aether curl around the crystals embedded in his armor and clacking together in his pocket. With the dense ambient aether swirling all around them, Vaughn was unlikely to notice this subtle shift.

“I’m sorry, Vaughn.” Skye plastered on his best smirk when Vaughn angled his head, confused. “But I don’t think this is a fair fight.”

Whirling in place, Skye ducked as a sword shrieked overhead. There was no one in front of him, but that water glamour still itched.

Find the water mage. That’s what Ivain had always said. It was easier to fight if you could see what you were facing.

Skye scanned the area—saw the ripple, the subtle shift in the light.

He lunged, immediately slamming into a body. The man barely had time to grunt before Skye had planted his feet and swung his sword in a wide arc.

Blood sprayed, wet and warm, as a head with wild blonde hair rolled across the gleaming marble tile. Asher’s body slumped to the ground as the water glamour evaporated in a hiss of mist and magic.

Carin slowly faded into focus, eyes wide and swiftly filling with tears. She was only a few steps away, her attention riveted on that head as it continued to bounce and roll, leaving a trail of blood across the tile.

Less than a heartbeat of hesitation, but Skye seized it, launching himself forward.

Carin recovered, her own aether pulsing as she let out an enraged scream that bounced off the walls, echoing with a pain that was all-too-familiar. Asher had been a friend, maybe more.

And now he was dead.

Skye swung his sword, but she met his blade with her own, sinking the dagger in her off-hand into his side, then his gut, rage fueling each blow. The pain was sharp, but he didn’t let himselffalter. He’d been expecting that blow, as well as the next, and the next. She was fast, striking with lightning-quick precision.

But Skye was still larger.

And now she was close—close enough for him to end this fight.

Clenching his jaw, Skye dodged the knife, feinting left, then right. Her dagger sliced through nothing but air, throwing her slightly off-balance, and he hooked a foot behind hers, tugging at her ankle and sending her hurtling towards the ground.

Bone crunched, and metal clanged. A second head rolled to join the first.

The altercation was over in seconds, and Skye panted, gritting his teeth against the pain. The air reeked of blood, but he forced back the bile as he stepped over the body and the rapidly spreading pool of crimson still gushing from the neck of the corpse. He raised his sword and fixed his attention back on Vaughn.

One-on-one. He liked those odds a bit better. Granted, Vaughn was stronger, but at least he stood a chance now.

“Well now,” Vaughn drawled, re-sheathing his own sword without any sense of urgency. Skye’s eyes tracked the movement. “It seems I underestimated you.” A glance at the bodies that still twitched, the two heads that lay only a few feet apart, twin expressions of slack-jawed shock distorting their delicate, fey features. “Not that it matters. This is an irritation, but hardly a setback. They were far from important.”

Traitor, traitor, traitor.The word was a chant, pounding in his blood. This man had been in theircity. He had worked with their guards and their people—and they’d had no idea.