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Weylind wielded his magic along with the others. His raw, plant growing magic formed a green shield around the fire, preventing it from spreading to the rest of Ellonahshinel. He had his back to the crowd, fully focused on containing the fire.

Next to him, Rharreth also had his back to them as he blasted the fire inside of Weylind’s bubble of power with his own ice magic. The fire burned the ice off nearly as quickly as Rharreth froze it, but the sizzling and hiss suggested that his efforts were slowly putting out the fire inch by inch.

Leyleira stood off to the side, directing the fire suppression efforts, while Rheva knelt by what looked like one of the kitchen servants. The servant coughed, red burns covering the back of his hand and flowing up his arms, both sleeves burned away.

All four of them were gathered here in front of Ellonahshinel. Perfect targets.

Edmund cast about, searching the nearby faces. Palace servants and guards rushed about, and it was hard to get a good look at anyone in the chaos.

The guard in front of him started, eyes widening. “You are a human!” He swung his spear toward Edmund’s chest. “Halt! Surrender!”

Jalissa released Edmund’s hand, stepping in front of him, pushing the spear aside as she did. “No, this is Prince Edmund of Escarland. He is not one of the humans you are looking for.”

“Amirah!” The guard’s jaw dropped, his spear going slack in his hands.

Edmund ignored the guard. The spies must be here somewhere. Was the sharpshooter perched in a tree even now, taking aim at Weylind’s back?

Or would the spies commit this assassination close up despite the risk? With so much chaos, they could disappear into the crowd quickly. After failing to kill Essie and Farrendel, they would want to be extra sure of their targets this time.

There. A different wig, this one black. But the same too-human stride carrying the man toward Weylind’s back. The same too-broad shoulders, now wearing an elven guard leather tunic emblazoned with a green tree. The same revolver now being pulled out from under the tunic where it had been concealed.

There wasn’t time to call a warning. Just time to react.

Edmund shoved past the flabbergasted guard in front of him and Jalissa. He raced forward and tackled the Mongavarian spy before he had gotten the gun all the way up.

The two of them crashed to the spongy forest floor. With the landing so soft, it left neither of them stunned the way such a tackle would have on the streets of Aldon.

The spy rolled out of Edmund’s grasp, coming up to his knees. As he raised the gun again, Edmund lunged between the man and Weylind. With one hand, he reached for the gun. He had to get a grip on it. He must keep it from firing or point it toward the ground.

With his other hand, he grasped his derringer and pulled it from its concealed holster along his forearm.

His fingers closed around the spy’s wrist, even as the man’s finger tightened on the trigger. As their eyes met, a gunshot boomed in the space between them.

Something punched into Edmund’s stomach, and only his grip on the spy’s wrist kept him from falling backwards. Gasping, he shoved the spy’s arm toward the ground, trying to keep him from getting off a second shot.

As pain slammed through Edmund, so sharp he could barely breathe, he raised the derringer, pointing it at the spy’s chest. “Drop your gun.”

The spy’s eyes widened. Instead of letting go, he reached his free hand toward Edmund’s derringer.

Edmund squeezed the trigger. Even at point-blank range, his hand had wavered, and red bloomed at the spy’s shoulder instead of his chest.

Still, it knocked the spy back, sending both of them to the ground again thanks to their shared grip on the revolver.

Edmund dropped the derringer, having used up its one shot, and clutched the revolver with both hands, preventing the cylinder from rotating and the hammer from cocking back. Blackness danced at the edges of his vision, but he hung onto the gun. If he let go, the spy would shoot again.

And that second shot might hit someone other than Edmund. He had to protect Jalissa and her family if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Jalissa screamed as Edmund collapsed, red blood blossoming on both the front and back of his shirt.

Weylind was turning, his magic still holding back the fire. The guards were hurrying forward too, but they hesitated, most likely unsure if they should help the bleeding human or the elf wearing their uniform but wielding a gun.

Somehow, Edmund kept a grip on the spy’s gun, even as the spy stood and tried to rip the gun free, one arm held stiffly at his side, blood staining his shirt.

No. He would not get in another shot.

Jalissa raced forward, drawing on her magic. She crashed to her knees next to Edmund and pressed her hands to the ground.