2
I leap forward, pure instinct, touching my tongue to the glyph on the nail of my right index finger and putting myself between Renfrow and the oncoming sliver of lethal magic. The attack hits my outspread hand and bounces off.
My hand is the only invulnerable part of me—I couldn’t afford a shield glyph with a wider spread. The protection lasts for several minutes—less if I endure too many impacts to my right hand.
Renfrow forges in front of me, activating his own glyphs and drawing a large knife with a serrated blade. “Get the prince out of here! Side exit!”
I vault over the table, ignoring the screaming, cowering girls, and I drag the prince to his feet.
He looks shaken. “What’s wrong with Praxid? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. Come on.”
I don’t tell him what Praxid said—that the Mollois and the Arbogasts are all dead. That news hasn’t been confirmed yet. It could be false. And until we know for sure, I can’t risk him collapsing under the weight of grief and the ramifications of a coup.
Still, all signs point to a conspiracy. The attack glyphs that produced the slivers of red light should never have been allowed in the Lyre they advance.
Most glyph magic is meant for up-close encounters, influencing one’s own body or the conditions around it, depending on whether a glyph is inward or outward-facing.
At this distance, in the flicker of the colorful lights, it’s tough to tell for sure, but it looks like these soldiers have inward-facing glyphs, which probably means they fight with enhanced speed, strength, and agility.
I can’t take on half a dozen enhanced individuals by myself.
Desperately I glance toward Renfrow, just in time to see him fall. The three men he was fighting converge on him, blades flashing.
I didn’t know Renfrow well, but I feel his death like a knife in my gut.
“Oh fuck,” gasps the prince.
At Vawn’s exclamation, one of the three attackers looks up from Renfrow’s corpse and marches in our direction. He’ll reach us before the helmeted soldiers do.
I drag Vawn backward, toward the great cylindrical display in the center of the dance floor. “Do you have weapons? Any enhancements?” I ask him tersely.
“I… Is Praxid dead?” He blinks at me, his eyes vague with confusion.
He’s in shock, which means he won’t be any help.
I scan the room for any source of aid, but more uniformed figures are pouring through the main entrance, and the club guards are being swiftly dispatched.
The dancing lights from the crystal pillars gleam in the pools of their blood.
Guests cringe and wail in their booths or under their tables.
No one seems ready to defend the prince. I don’t see his companions anywhere.
Renfrow’s attacker is upon us, wielding bloody knives.
I draw my two favorite blades, each shaped like a curved claw, with a hole in the center of each handle so I can spin them around my fingers.
As I set them whirling, my attacker hesitates, distracted by a fighting style he didn’t expect from me.
I seize the advantage, hurtling into his space and whipping my knives through his flesh.
Wrists and biceps first, to disable him, then a quick slash through his throat. Vengeance for Renfrow.
The man falls. In the back of my mind, the shock registers. My first kill. But I have no time to think about it, no chance to indulge in regret if I had any.
I sheath one knife and wipe the man’s blood from the other blade with the pad of my thumb. I smear it over my left and right thumbnails, activating the strength glyphs on their surfaces, feeling the flush of power through my body.
Saliva or pressure, combined with specific intent, is enough to trigger a glyph, but a blood activation lasts longer. In addition to my increased strength, I should have another minute of protection on my right hand as well.
I pick up the dead assassin’s knife and shove it at the prince. “Take this.”
He takes it, but his hands are shaking. “Why was Praxid here? Did he say something to Renfrow? To you?”
“Later.” I sheathe my knives and hunt for an escape route.
Both the exits are out of the question. Maybe there’s a back door through the kitchens?
No time. The attackers from the side exit have been intercepted by house security, but I fear the soldiers will dispatch the guards soon and head straight for us.
I glance up at the domed ceiling and its skylights, then at the magic carpet aquarium beside us. Technically it’s more of an aerie than an aquarium—
Stop overthinking. Just act.
Drawing back my right fist, I ram it into the transparent surface. The crystal cracks, and I punch again, roaring with the effort, throwing every bit of my enhanced strength into the blow. This time the cylinder shatters, chunks of crystal raining down around us.
The enclosure is only partly destroyed, but the new opening is wide enough for the magic carpets to dart out. They whisk over our heads, one after another, like multicolored birds seeking freedom. The chaos of their escape is a temporary storm of fabric and tassels, hiding us from the attackers.
“Lift me,” I shout at the prince.
He has enough presence of mind to jam the knife into his belt, grab me around the waist, and lift me up high enough so I can grab the tassel of a carpet as it whirls overhead.
I yank it down to our level, seize a second tassel, and snap the carpet out flat.
It hovers parallel to the floor, at knee height.
“Get on!” I order the prince.
“I’ve only ridden a carpet once—”
“Get the fuck on.”
He leaps onto the woven surface, cursing, taking up a position on his hands and knees. The uniformed attackers were momentarily delayed, but they’re racing toward us now, faster than humans should be able to run.
“Go, go!” I scream as I leap behind the prince, throwing an arm around his waist.
“Fly,” he orders the carpet, and it lurches into motion just in time. Long nails rake across the edge of the carpet, but they slide off, and it keeps soaring upward. My stomach thrills with the terrifying speed of the ascent, and I tighten my grip on Vawn’s waist.
“Head for the biggest skylight. The one in the middle,” I say. “Get me close enough to punch out the glass. And hurry. If they have any ranged magic left, they’ll be sending it our way. I wonder if the bottom of this carpet is reinforced. Some of them have shielding.”
A voice replies, and at first I think it’s the prince, but although it’s male, it’s far too haughty and peevish, even for him.
“I do have limited shielding on the bottom, and safety handles on the top,” the carpet says. “However, you two didn’t bother to check which side of me you’re sitting on. I regret to inform you that you have me upside down.”
“Like it really fucking matters,” says Vawn.
“It absolutely matters,” the carpet retorts. “Precision is key, particularly in matters of safety and survival.”
It rises higher, bringing me within punching distance of the skylight. I can feel the warning tingle of my invulnerability and strength wearing off, so I yell, “Duck,” to Vawn and slam my fist through the glass. Shards hail around us, and pain spears through the back of my left shoulder.
“Shit, they’re on carpets, too,” the prince warns.
“One minute.” I break a few more pieces out of the skylight frame, clearing our path. “Okay, go!”
The carpet sails out through the opening, rising above the domed roof and twinkling spires of the Lyre & Vice. In the darkness, many of the carpet’s fibers glow, a telltale sign of the unicorn hair used in his fabrication. His center is rich blue, with a red and gold border.
“Where are we headed on this fine evening?” he asks.
“Home,” Vawn says.
“No, we can’t go to the palace.” I glance back, dismayed to see two carpets emerging from the skylight. “Just go anywhere. Run.”
“I can’t very well run, as I do not possess legs or feet,” says the carpet.
“Flee, then! Fly! Fucking go!”
“Swearing doesn’t make me go faster, young lady.” But the carpet streaks away from the Lyre & Vice, toward a broad expanse of dark forest.
There aren’t many clouds tonight, which is unfortunate.
We could have used the cover. As it is, I’m not sure how to evade our pursuers.
I’ve had some training with magic carpets, but they were old, utilitarian models with very little magic left, nowhere near as luxurious or fast as the ones I released.
Only one of them could speak, and it had a very limited vocabulary.
“How cooperative are the other carpets?” I ask. “Will they follow orders, or could they be persuaded to ditch their riders?”