Chapter Thirty-Four
A small army of Sylks and Gores surround us as Trudy’s laughter splits the air.
“ Oh, dear ,” Trudy says, her face drawn in mock sympathy. “It looks like you’re outnumbered.”
“Well, then,” I say, giving my daggers another twirl. “Why don’t we make this a fair fight?”
I glance over my shoulder as Margaret, Charlie, Mother, and Jack stand, shaking free of their severed binds just as more weapons drop from the grates above them. Pixies buzz around their shoulders, no longer stifling their bioluminescent glow.
Lewis drops from the grate nearest Margaret, landing in a wide stance, one hand bracing his fall, a dagger between his teeth.
“Show-off,” Charlie mutters.
After Lord Bludgrave and Lady Isabelle have been freed, the pixies set to Annie, Albert, and Elsie’s binds, gnawing at them with their sharp, rodent-like teeth.
“Annie,” Will says the instant she’s freed, “would you mind giving us a bit of fresh air?”
She grins knowingly, stretching her hands out in either direction. The doors of both the north and south walls are thrown open in a gust of unnatural wind, and a pack of snarling wolves prowl through the open doorways on either side.
In saunters Killian, his hand resting atop the head of a massive black wolf. “I heard there was a party going on,” the admiral says smoothly. “My friends and I thought we’d drop in for a bite.”
Smirking, I look, finally, at Trudy. Her expression is schooled into something akin to admiration.
“ Impressive ,” says the Sylk. “It’s a shame you’re the only one the Guild asked that I let live.”
As the others fall into rank, fanning out behind me, I step forward, my sights set on Trudy and Trudy alone. “Tell the Guild of Shadows that no one lets me do anything.”
At that, Mother raises a longsword into the air, and with a roar, launches into battle.
Chaos unfolds around me as my family fights alongside the Castors, though Trudy and I remain unmoving. For a moment, everything fades beneath the din of clashing metal and Gore laughter. To my left, Lewis uses Charlie’s back to launch himself into the air, landing on a Gore’s shoulders and plunging his dagger into its skull. To my right, Margaret, Jack, and Henry form a protective shield around the children as Dorothy circles them, long black claws protruding from her severed digits. Working his way toward Titus, Killian unloads bullets from a Howler in either fist, banishing Sylks from the corpses they possessed, their dark, shapeless forms whisking away with bloodcurdling wails. Nearby, Lady Isabelle seizes control of a headless corpse just as it leaps for Mother—locked in combat with two Gores—and brings it crashing to the ground, its bones snapping as she closes her fist, crumpling its body into a ball of flesh with a gruesome crunch.
“Aster.” A gritty, distorted voice penetrates the ringing in my ears.
I search the ballroom for the origins of the voice, but in the chaos, I can’t identify the source.
“ Am I interrupting something? ” Trudy asks, blood sloshing underfoot as she takes a step toward me. She cocks her head. “You look ill, Aster. Maybe you should… lie down .”
Compelled by the magic in her voice, I fall face-first to the ground against my will. I gulp down blood as it fills my nostrils, drowning me with every breath I take. I try to fight against the compulsion, but it weighs on me, pushing me down with inexplicable force.
So I stop fighting. I let go. I let myself drown. Because I know something the Sylk doesn’t.
There is water in the blood.
And water has never been my enemy.