She was fast, but he was faster, the knife’s tip sinking only an inch before Holland came to his senses and forced her bodily away. He was up, on his feet, clutching his chest as blood leaked between his fingers.

Talya just stood there in the middle of their tiny room, their home, the blade hanging from her fingers.

“Why?” he asked, stunned.

“I’m sorry, Hol. They came to me in the market. Said they’d pay in silver.”

He wanted to ask when, ask who, but he never got the chance.

She lunged at him again, tightly, swiftly, all her dancer’s grace, and the knife whistled sweetly toward him. It happened so fast. Without thinking, Holland’s fingers twitched, and her knife twisted in her grip, freezing in the air even as the rest of her kept moving forward. The blade sank smoothly between her own ribs.

Talya looked at him then with such surprise and indignation, as if she’d thought he’d let her kill him. As if she’d thought he’d simply surrender.

“Sorry, Tal,” he said as she tried to breathe, to speak, and couldn’t.

She tried to take a step and Holland caught her as she fell, all that dancer’s grace gone out of her limbs at the end.

Holland stayed there till she died, then laid her carefully on the floor, got to his feet, and left.

V

“He wants what?” said the king, looking up from the map.

“An execution,” repeated Kell, still reeling.

As Tosal, those had been Holland’s words.

“It must be a trick,” said Isra.

“I don’t think so,” started Kell, but the guard wasn’t listening.

“Your Majesty,” she said, turning to Maxim. “Surely he wants to draw Osaron in so he can escape….”

As Tosal.

To confine.

Kell had used the blood spell only once in his life, on a bird, a small sunflit he’d caught in the Sanctuary gardens. The sunflit had gone perfectly still in his hands, but it hadn’t died. He could feel its heart beating frantically beneath its feathered breast while it lay motionless, as if paralyzed, trapped inside its own body.

When Tieren had found out, the Aven Essen was furious. Blood spell or not, Kell had broken the cardinal rule of power: he had used magic to harm a living creature, to alter its life. Kell had apologized profusely, and said the words to dispel what he’d done, to heal the damage, but to his shock and horror, the commands had no effect. Nothing he said seemed to work.

The bird didn’t revive.

It just lay there, still as death, in his hands.

“I don’t understand.”

Tieren shook his head. “Things are not so simple, when it comes to life and death,” he’d said. “With minds and bodies, what is done cannot always be undone.” And then he’d taken up the sunflit, and brought it to his chest, and broken its neck. The priest had set the lifeless bird back in Kell’s hands.

“That,” said Tieren grimly, “was a kinder end.”

He had never tried the spell again, because he’d never learned the words to undo it.

“Kell.”

The king’s voice jarred him out of the memory.

Kell swallowed. “Holland did what he did to save his world. I believe that. Now he wants it to be over.”

“You’re asking us to trust him?” challenged Isra.

“No,” said Kell, holding the king’s gaze, “I’m asking you to trust me.”

Tieren appeared in the doorway.

Ink stained his fingers, and fatigue hollowed out his cheeks. “You called for me, Maxim?”

The king exhaled heavily. “How long until your spell is ready?”

The Aven Essen shook his head. “It is not a simple matter, putting an entire city to sleep. The spell must be broken down into seven or eight smaller ones and then positioned around the city to form a chain—”

“How long?”

Tieren made an exasperated sound. “Days, Your Majesty.”

The king’s gaze returned to Kell. “Can you end it?”

Kell didn’t know if Maxim was asking if he had the will or the strength to kill another Antari.

I’m not looking for kindness, Kell. I’m looking to finish what I started.

“Yes,” he answered.

The king nodded and swept his hand over the map. “The palace wards do not extend to the balconies, do they?”

“No,” said Tieren. “It is all we can do to keep them up around the walls, windows, and doors.”

“Very well,” said the king, letting his knuckles fall to the table’s edge. “The north courtyard, then. We’ll raise a platform overlooking the Isle, and hold the ritual at dawn, and whether or not Osaron comes …” His dark eyes landed on Kell. “Holland dies by your hand.”

The words followed Kell into the hall.

Holland dies by your hand.

He sank back against the map room doors, exhaustion winding around his limbs.

It’s rather hard to kill an Antari.

By the blade.

A kinder end.

As Tosal.

He pushed off the wood and started for the stairs.

“Kell?”

The queen was standing at the end of the hall, looking out a pair of balcony doors at the shadow of her city. Her eyes met his in the reflection in the glass. There was a sadness in them, and he found himself taking a step toward her before he stopped. He didn’t have the strength.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing before he turned and walked away.