Chapter 25 #3
The shock of his elimination caused my magical hold on Imogen to slip.
My Blood powers were weakening—as small as these attacks had been, they added up, and my head was spinning from the sustained effort of fighting while using magic.
When a second Imogen appeared in my peripheral vision, my instinctive flinch shattered the last fraction of control I had over her body, and she lunged to retrieve her sword.
I imagined pain lancing over her body like lightning, and she grimaced.
She was strong, though, pushing forward despite my efforts, and a moment later she had knocked my sword aside with a vicious blow.
She followed it with a kick to the center of my chest that sent me flying.
The breath rushed out of me as my back hit the ballroom floor, and the pain of a fractured rib stabbed through me.
The room went dark and silent.
Every candle had been extinguished at once, and the only illumination came from the moonlight that filtered through a new crack in the ceiling. The crowd was gone. Cobwebs draped over the light fixtures and furnishings, and the air smelled of dust and decay.
Imogen stood before me in silver armor and a purple half cloak, the crown of state on her brow. “This is how it ends,” she said.
Behind her, the tables of food were covered with mounds of flies, glittering like black jewels.
The insects crawled over shapes at the edges of the room, too, a living carpet that shimmered and parted briefly to reveal a bloody, familiar face.
Lara, I realized with a sick surge of horror.
That was Lara lying in a broken heap, eyes blank and mouth open on an eternal scream, and next to her was a corpse with familiar copper hair, and face-down in a spreading pool of blood was one who had held me in his arms on the dance floor less than an hour ago.
“You will lose everything,” Imogen said. Her lavender eyes shone like some nocturnal creature’s. “You will be sacrificed on the altar of power, and you will watch everyone you love die.”
“No,” I whispered. My chest hurt unbearably, the pain worsening by the moment.
A dark crimson tide crept towards me. I wondered if it was deep enough to drown in.
“It’s not too late,” Imogen said, sounding sad. “I will still welcome you with open arms. And unlike those you call friends, I do not betray my allies.”
“They won’t betr—” I choked out, but I couldn’t manage more than that. Something snapped in my chest, and I coughed up frothy liquid.
Imogen smiled gently. “Oh, Kenna. They already have.”
The light came back all at once, so bright it stung my eyes. Imogen’s boot was on my chest, grinding down on my broken ribs, and her sword was leveled at my throat.
I wheezed, blood bubbling at my lips from where my rib had punctured my lung.
“You did so well,” Imogen whispered.
Then she cut my throat—the lightest, most delicate slice, just enough to break the skin.
The crowd cheered.
Imogen had won.
Wine was poured, the music started again, and faeries began dancing, their silk slippers tracking the blood of their leaders across the floor.
Imogen left without a backwards glance, reclaiming her spot on the throne.
She sat with the sword balanced across her knees and a smile curling her lips as she accepted the praise of her sycophants.
Lara and Kallen reached my side at the same time, eyeing each other warily before helping me to my feet. “You were incredible,” Lara gushed, pulling me into a hug. When I made a pained noise, she released me, “Sorry, do you need medicine?”
I shook my head, pressing a hand to my breastbone.
My ribs were already healing. “I’ll be fine,” I wheezed.
At least the ordeal was over, but what would the ramifications be?
The Fae were already spinning onward into the next dance, the next plot, the next alliance or betrayal.
“Can you go talk to people, listen in? Find out what this might have changed?”
Lara eyed me worriedly. “You need to rest.”
My knees were shaking with fatigue and the terror that hadn’t caught up to me fully yet. “But Blood House can’t rest.”
Her jaw firmed. She looked at Kallen. “You had better take care of her,” she said, a threat in her voice. Then she floated away, all beauty and smiles as she joined a group of gossiping ladies.
Kallen’s eyes were worried as he guided me away from the dance floor. “She’s right,” he murmured as he helped me sit by the wall. “You performed extraordinarily well.”
I grimaced. It didn’t feel like it, since I’d mostly relied on my opponents eliminating one another. My martial skills weren’t anywhere near theirs; I had only survived as long as I had because my magic gave me an advantage in combat. “Shouldn’t you be with Hector?”
“Hector already left,” he said, sitting beside me. “He had no desire to watch Imogen gloat.”
Shards, what a mess. Drustan, Hector, and I had all been eliminated, and Imogen was preening on her throne, having vanquished everyone. “At least Torin didn’t win.”
“That was satisfying.”
I nodded agreement, then regretted it when my head spun and my stomach threatened to revolt. I sagged back in the chair. “I feel sick.”
“Battle does that when you’re not used to it. Sometimes even when you are used to it.”
I started to tell him I didn’t want to get used to it, but the words didn’t come out.
Even now, I was imagining being the one standing over Imogen, slitting her throat as everyone cheered.
The truth was, I didn’t want to get used to losing .
“It’s the magic, too,” I settled on. “Using it still exhausts me.”
“That will get better with time, but even Hector was tired after shifting into shadow so many times. Our power takes its due.”
Imogen didn’t look tired. She looked vibrant and merry, laughing as she accepted a cup of wine. She was related to Osric, though, however distant the connection. Maybe she drew from a deeper well than the rest of us.
She was alone on the dais now. Torin was storming towards the exit, Rowena trailing behind him. An Illusion nymph, nude body partially shielded by layers of shifting rainbow mist, stepped into his path carrying a tray. He cuffed her so hard she collapsed, glasses shattering and wine spraying.
I wanted to get up to help her, but my head was still spinning. “That bastard,” I spat.
Una was in the crowd nearby. Her expression darkened, and she hurried over to join a few servants in helping the nymph up.
“You’ve made a real enemy of Torin,” Kallen said.
I grimaced. “Just what I need.”
“It’s a good thing. He’s a high-profile enemy to have.”
“And that’s good?” My brows rose incredulously.
“Everyone knows to take you seriously now. You started the battle by attacking one of the strongest fighters on the floor, one who is not well loved even within his own house.” He smiled slightly. “And then you won.”
“Barely.”
“Barely still counts.”
I sighed. “I wish I’d made it hurt more.”
“There will be time for that.”
Only Drustan and Oriana were still present in the wake of their defeat, undoubtedly playing politics to recover any ground they’d lost. The thought of doing the same made my headache worsen, and I grimaced.
“Let me bring you water,” Kallen said, starting to rise.
I shook my head. “Don’t coddle me.”
He hesitated, then settled back into the chair. “It’s not coddling. It’s practical.”
Maybe it was. But it felt weak to want anything, even if my throat was dry, and I didn’t like the idea of being alone. “What happened tonight will change things.”
“Yes,” Kallen said. “But not entirely in Imogen’s favor.” He moved his hand as if to touch mine, then curled his fingers and rested the fist on his thigh instead. “You showed them, Kenna.”
My throat had healed almost immediately, but I still felt the tingling echo of that injury. I rubbed my hand over the invisible line, thinking that Imogen had shown me something tonight, too. That cut had been a promise, the same way the vision she’d forced on me had been a promise.
This is how it ends.
Imogen was a liar, the way all faeries were liars. But now I remembered her other promise, and the words stuck in my brain like thorns.
Oh, Kenna. They already have.