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I swallow the pain down and nod weakly.

I can’t stop thinking about the first time I met Serana—her wild smile and unearthly beauty, the way she screamed at me tojust tell him what you really think, Nia.

I kiss her cold, freckled cheek, my heart aching. “Goodbye, my warrior friend.”

When I look up again, Talan’s there, watching me. Sympathy and sadness shine in his eyes. He offers his hand, and I take it.

I stand, collect my daggers, and wipe my enemy’s blood off the blades. “Let’s finish this.”

CHAPTER 54

We’re nearly at the top of Shalott Tower now.

Every step drags, the grief for Serana pulling at me with brutal, unrelenting weight, like the earth itself wants to drag me down with her.

I shove the sorrow aside, forcing my focus back to the door ahead, the door to Shalott Tower’s turret.

Nivene throws it open, and for a moment, sunlight floods in, blinding me.

When my eyes adjust, my breath catches. Twenty knights stand on the battlements here, guarding the anti-dragon gun. And Wrythe stands among them.

Their eyes turn to us, and they unsheathe their swords.

It doesn’t take long for the melee to start. Nivene, Talan, and Raphael erupt into violence—swords clashing, blades carving. I carefully hang back, cradling the bag of vials. Iwantto join the fray, but keeping this bag safe is more important than anything.

This time, Talan unleashes his nightmare magic as he fights. I feel it skimming, dark and cold over my skin, and watch as one of the knights leaps to his death from the turret.

The sound of shouts and clashing metal fills the air. Men scream and claw at their faces, trapped in the waking nightmare Talan has woven around them.

Through the chaos, I spot Wrythe standing by the gun. Our eyes lock, his hatred mirroring mine.

“The Kingslayer’s daughter,” he roars, pointing at me. “Mordred’s child. You know the prophecy. Kill her!”

Carefully, I set down the vials and stand again, readying my daggers. Magic surges in my blood, cold and ancient as the lake, a slumbering power awakening. I throw one of my knives at a charging knight, and it sinks into his throat.

Another knight swings at me with his sword, but I duck. And while I’m down, I thrust my hand out and touch his ankle, slamming my magical energy into his mind.

Cecil is scared. He never wanted a civil war in Avalon Tower, but Wrythe was in charge, and Cecil was raised in Camelot.

You didn’t say no to the Pendragons. Not if you wanted a career.

He’d always thought the Pendragons were a little old-fashioned, clinging to ancient codes and ceremony. But he never thought they were idiots. And yet, here he was, standing over an Avalon Steel Knight, about to kill her because they told him to.

He could say no. He could let her live. But disobeying the Pendragons? Getting cast out of Avalon Tower? His parents would never forgive him. The shame would follow his family forever. So, if Wrythe says to kill a fellow knight, he’ll shut his mouth and do it.

I pour more fear into his mind. Absolute, abject terror.

Look out behind you, he’s going to kill you!I shriek in his mind.

He whirls, panicked, and slashes at a nearby knight, bringing his sword down in the other knight’s skull. I grab my secondknife and leap to my feet, sinking my blade into Cecil’s throat. He really should have listened to his instincts.

He falls to the ground, and I steal his sword. I turn to I see Wrythe marching toward me, his face a mask of loathing.

He raises his sword. “I’ll kill you myself.”

I grip the hilt of my sword, my eyes locked on Wrythe.

He swings, thrusts, ripostes. I’m not as skilled with the sword as I am with a dagger, and Wrythe, it turns out, is very good. He’s swift, brutal, practiced.