Revulsion rolled through her.
Cosmina shoved it aside and, using the wall for cover, slid to a stop at the edge of the piazza. Forever the same, the large rectangular courtyard projected power, anchoring High Temple, standing strong at the base of wide stairs that rose to meet an imposing row of doors. Sunlight fell over the frieze carved in marble above the entrance, depicting the history and the importance of the Order of Orm, cementing her purpose. And yet she waited . . .
A man strode into view, entering the courtyard from the street opposite her.
Cosmina’s heart stalled mid-thump. Oh goddess. Not good. Armed to the teeth with twin swords strapped to his back, the lead Druinguari wore brutality like a scent. One hand clenched in the woman’s hair, he dragged her behind him while she fought him every step of the way. Clenching her teeth, she suppressed the urge to yell “good for you . . . fight hard” at her sister and assessed the situation, searching for an opening.
None presented itself.
She was in big, big trouble. Smack-dab in the middle of an untenable situation with few options and no way out.
With a vicious yank, the Druinguari tossed his captive to the cobblestones. Long blond hair matted with blood—face bruised, clothes ripped, and hands bound—she hit the ground hard and rolled across stone. Coming to a stop in the center of the mosaic medallion, the woman pushed onto her knees. Raising her head, she leveled her chin, defying at the beast standing less than five feet away.
Cosmina drew a shuttered breath. Blast and damn. Nairobi.
She would know her face anywhere. Close in age, she and Nairobi had grown up together and been friends until Cosmina’s imprisonment inside the north tower . . . and eventual expulsion from White Temple. Cosmina hadn’t seen her since, but old friendships died hard and loyalty lasted forever.
“Make your peace, Blessed,” the Druinguari said, voice almost melodic as he drew his sword. Steel scraped against leather, echoing through the stillness. A smile on his face, he rotated the weapon, twirling it in a circle. Light arched from the blade and sunlight winked, flashing across cobblestone. “You go to meet the devil.”
The five assassins, arranged in a semicircle behind the leader, growled in agreement.
Still on her knees, Nairobi squared her shoulders. “What is your name?”
The Druinguari hesitated, blade stalling mid-twirl. “Why?”
“’Tis only right I know who sends me to my death.”
“Valmont.”
“Know this, Valmont.” Tipping her head back, Nairobi looked him in the eye. “You will pay for spilling my blood. The goddess will avenge me.”
He bared his teeth. “A plague upon your goddess.”
“You have just sealed your fate,” her friend said.
Indeed. Without a doubt.
If the bastard so much as twitched. Made another move. Just one more, Cosmina would let fly and bury Henrik’s dagger hilt deep in his chest. ’Twould be easy enough to do. Despite being outnumbered, she held the advantage, the element of surprise along with a prime position.
An ugly expression on his face, Valmont double-fisted his sword hilt.
Shifting right along the wall, Cosmina improved her vantage point. With a quick flip, she rotated the knife in her palm. Blade poised between her fingertips, she tensed and got ready to throw hard and move fast. Stepping in close, the bastard took aim at Nairobi’s throat. Muscles tightened along Cosmina’s spine. Skill drew her arm back. Premonition flexed, then flared, telling her to aim for the right side of his chest. Confidence steadied her hand and—
Cosmina unleashed, launching the dagger.
Steel flashed. Its sharp tip spun over the weighted hilt. Time stretched, thinning perception, making her breath slow and her heart pause mid-beat. The Druinguari’s gaze snapped toward her. But it was too late. She’d thrown hard and aimed well. Orange eyes widened in disbelief a moment before her dagger struck home. Steel pierced muscle and bone to reach the vulnerable flesh beneath. A sickening crack echoed. Black blood spilled down his chest a second before—
Valmont disintegrated with a sickening pop.
Sludge sloshed on the cobblestones next to Nairobi. Snarls of fury rolled across the courtyard. Already up and over the half wall, Cosmina unsheathed another dagger, drawing it from inside her boot mid-leap. Focusing on the five remaining Druinguari, she sprinted toward her friend. “Nairobi . . .”
Wide eyes met hers. Nairobi’s mouth fell open. “Cosmina?”
“Run!”
Her command rang out. Her friend didn’t hesitate.
Hands bound, Nairobi scrambled backward as the enemy came to life in front of her. Moving in unison, each pulled identical swords free from matching scabbards. Baring her teeth, Cosmina chose the Druinguari nearest her, took aim, and threw her knife. Just like the other, the dagger hurtled end over end to reach its target. With a flick of his sword, the beast deflected the weapon in flight. The blade hit the ground, clattering across ice and snow. As she watched it spin, terror hit full force. Gods, it was futile. She was doomed. Worse than dead the second the enemy got ahold of her.
Still, she refused to retreat. Or give up.
Running hard, she grabbed Nairobi mid-stride, lifting her to her feet. With a yank, Cosmina dragged her friend across the courtyard. She needed to get up the stairs and into High Temple. Once inside, she could take cover behind the columns and make for the back wall . . . and the Chamber of Whispers. Just like she had the last time. ’Twas their only chance. The only slice of hope in a situation filled with death. But as she sprinted up the steps, a bowstring twanged behind her.
A whistling sound followed as the arrow shot through the air.
Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Oh gods . . . please help her. She knew how much getting hit was going to hurt. Remembered the pain. Still felt the burn of impact and blood rolling down her arm. Anticipation tearing her apart, she waited for it to happen. Felt her muscles tense and suffered the fear as—
A Druinguari bellowed in rage behind her.
Losing her footing on slick stone, Cosmina stumbled, missing a step. Nairobi staggered into her, knocking her sideways. Her knee cracked against marble. Steel met steel behind her, the clash muffled by the blood rushing in her ears. Another Druinguari roared in pain. Shoving her friend up the stairs ahead of her, Cosmina glanced over her shoulder. The air swirled, warping into naught but a shimmer beneath sunlight. The enemy paused to take stock. The wind held its breath. A man materialized in the courtyard, stepping out from behind an invisibility shield.
Cosmina’s mouth fell open.
“Good goddess,” Nairobi said from behind her. “Who is that?”
“Henrik.”
She whispered his name like a benediction. The tears she refused to shed, but couldn’t stop, spilled over her bottom lashes. Gratefulness bubbled up, swallowing her whole as she watched Henrik engage the enemy. Rhythm sure, lethal skill on display, he whirled, ducking beneath Druinguari blades, wielding his own, bringing death with each parry and slice. Black blood arced, splashing beneath the sunlight. Druinguari heads flew a second before Henrik thrust his blade home, into the right side of their chests. As each pop reverberated through the courtyard, a group of warriors arrived to help him, coming from—Cosmina frowned—well, everywhere. Sliding down rooftops. Charging between the high hedgerows. Flying in on dragon-back before making the jump to land on the ground beside Henrik.
Not that he needed anyone’s help.
Precision personified, he was already done. The last Druinguari lay at his feet . . . and Cosmina started to shake. She couldn’t help it. Shock rode in on a wave and held her under, drowning her with unyielding emotion. It made so little sense. His arrival. Her rescue. The terrible yearning rising up from deep inside her. She thought she was past the desperation—the clawing need, the terrible want . . . all the heartfelt longing. One look at him forced her to admit the truth.