“I win,” Ketai says, “and the battle ends.”
“I win,” the King counters, “and I tear down every last one of your traitorous followers.”
“I won’t let it come to that.”
The King beckons a guard. They pass him a long, ornately decorated sword. The King steps back, opening up space between him and Ketai.
Merrin’s body is sprawled between them.
“The gods have witnessed your promise,” Ketai reminds the King, adopting a fighting stance. “It is their wrath you face if you break it.”
For a second, I think I see the King stiffen inside his layers of armor. Then he lowers his head so his bull horns aim forward, two sharp gilded points, weapons of their own. Thrusting his sword high, he bellows, “ARCHERS! ATTACK!”
Ketai has no time to react. The air fills with the whistle of tens of arrows slicing through it—
And the sickening thuds as they meet their mark.
Flesh tears. Arrows shred cleanly through. Others embed in bones, sticking from Ketai’s legs, his arms, shoulders, back, skull. Red torrents burst from his opening body.
Nitta screams.
Wren tries to rise. The boar demon guarding her slams his club into her head, and she slumps to his feet, unconscious.
“My King!” Naja cries with a manic laugh. “You did it!”
He ignores her. Tossing the unused sword, he faces Wren and Nitta.
“Kill them,” he commands.
I’ve already climbed over the lip of the balcony, taking advantage of the archers’ being distracted. Now, all there is to do is jump.
I fall hard, landing on the seat of the throne. There are shouts; the King is turning; an arrow whirrs past my head, so close it skims my hair. More come, but I’m already diving to the side, though not toward Wren and Nitta.
Toward the Queen.
Her surprised cry cuts off as I clamp a hand over her mouth and press my dagger to her throat.
“Hurt any of us,” I yell, “and I will kill her!”
“STOP!” the King thunders. “STOP!”
The guards that had been racing toward me, the arrows that had been nocked, still quivering in their bows, fall still. A terse hush sweeps over the hall—and that’s when we hear it.
The thuds and crashing of fighting.
The rumble of feet and hooves and heavy paws.
War-cries and screams of pain.
All rapidly approaching.
My heart soars. Our army has made it into the palace. Kenzo, Lova, whoever Ketai placed in control of our soldiers before he left didn’t trust the King to keep to his word. They fought on.
As a stream of rushing bodies bursts through the archway, its black curtain torn down to disappear beneath pounding boots, the Ancestral Hall erupts into mayhem.
Guards that had been aiming for me now charge to meet the oncoming army. Fresh arrows rain down—only for cries to sound from the galleries where more of our soldiers have appeared. Flailing bodies are pushed over the balconies. The room reverberates with bone-crunch and sword-slash.
The Demon Queen thrashes against my grip. I come around so she can see me. “It’s me!” I say, taking my hand from her mouth. “The King brought me to your bedside to show me you were pregnant. I’m not here to hurt you. I want to get you out.”
Her bovine eyes flash with recognition. “Lei-zhi,” she says. “The Moonchosen.”
“Please. Just Lei.”
She nods. “My name is Shala.”
“Can you stand?” I reach an arm around to help her. As she climbs to her feet, I grab the chain tying her to the throne and tug. It doesn’t shift.
“Let me help,” Shala says.
The chain goes taut in her strong grasp. The two of us strain, groaning with effort—until, with a sudden jolt, the fastenings give way, the chain snapping free. I stumble, Shala catching me before I can fall.
“Thank you,” I say, already spinning, looking for Wren.
I spot Nitta instead. She’s dragging herself along the blood-slick floor toward the King’s discarded sword. Her own chain trails behind her. She grasps the weapon just in time to defend herself as the guard she slipped from in the turmoil bears down on her. Nitta parries his blows, then spears him through with the King’s blade.
His twitching body falls on top of her.
Shala and I run over. We haul the dead demon off her. I pull the sword free and hand it to Nitta, helping her sit.
“Lei!” she gasps, disbelieving. “You—you’re alive!”
“I am,” I say, giving her a fleeting smile. I turn to Shala. “Can you carry her? Nitta can’t walk.”
Shala crouches. “You’ll be able to defend yourself better on my back.”
As I help her up, Nitta tells me urgently, “Wren was only pretending to be unconscious when the guard hit her. When our soldiers arrived, she went after the King. She’s injured, Lei, she’s weak, and I don’t know where they’ve gone—”
“I do,” I say, already moving.
I weave through the battling figures, heading for the back of the room. There is a new frenzy to the fight, as if everyone can sense it’s come down to this, this one room and these final swings of weapons and claws. I duck a staff as its wielder aims for a Paper close by, then skirt a fistfight between two demons, blood flecking my face from their blows.
I make it to the wall below the balcony I jumped from earlier. As I expected, the King’s armored chest plate and leg shields lie discarded below. The gallery is just low enough for demons to help one another reach, but too high for a human. I try to launch myself up the wall, but I slide down, the stone too polished to grip. I spin, looking for something that might help me—
A spear rushes past my face.
Its metal tip impales the wall an inch from my nose.
I hear the steps of a heavy demon behind me. I throw myself aside. The demon’s fist misses me by an inch. I swerve as he comes for me again, his blow cuffing my right shoulder. I roll and exit in a jump, thrusting out my dagger. It catches the thick-set tiger-man across the cheek.
He swings a meaty fist at my face. I skate out of reach, then jab my knife into his thigh.
As the demon lists, I jump onto his hunched back and spring off him, leaping for the spear embedded in the wall.
My body judders as I slam into the stone—but my feet have found purchase on the spear’s sturdy handle. Before I can topple, I propel myself toward the balcony—
The breath shoots out of me as I crash into it.
My fingers snap around the ledge. Teeth gritted, muscles screaming in protest, I pull myself up. Just when it seems impossible, that my fingers will lose their grip, I bring myself high enough to hook an arm over the balcony and drag myself over.
I fall to the gallery floor, panting. But I don’t have time to waste. Still gasping for breath, I haul myself to my feet and stumble out.
The palace beyond is deserted. The roar of battle fades as I sprint down empty corridors, tracking back the way Wren and I came. Even if I didn’t know the way, I’d be able to follow the smudged patches of blood on the floor.