Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(13)

“It’s all right, Auster,” I called out. “It shouldn’t take me much longer to kill this assassin.”

Libby let out a low, mocking laugh. “The only one who’s dying is you.”

“We’ll see.”

We kept circling each other. No one spoke, and no one moved except for Libby and me. The throne room was eerily quiet, but I could still hear that phantom music playing in my mind, guiding me through the steps I needed to complete in order to finish this dance and kill my enemy.

Libby grew tired of our circling, and she lunged forward and lashed out with her dagger again. But she wasn’t trying to kill me with it. Not really. Now she was just aiming at my arms and trying to get close enough to cut me, to let the poisoned blade do its foul work.

I dodged her blow and spun away again. Then, before she could retreat, I moved forward and swung my sword out in a series of quick, vicious moves. I needed to knock that dagger out of her hand first, and then I could bury my sword in her heart.

But Libby realized what I was doing, and she avoided my attacks.

Around and around we went, each one of us moving in for a strike that the other either ducked or blocked. This went on for the better part of three minutes. Libby had obviously trained with her dagger, but I had been taught by Serilda Swanson, one of the finest warriors in all the kingdoms, and I slowly started to wear down the younger woman.

I opened a slice along Libby’s left forearm. Then one along her right thigh. And finally a deeper gash across her stomach that had her screaming and stumbling back.

Libby stared at me, pain, fury, and magic shimmering in her amethyst eyes. I expected her to throw her lightning at me again, but she clamped one hand over her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, and tightened her grip on the dagger still in her other hand.

“Finish her off!” Diante called out.

“Kill her!” Fullman agreed.

“Gut her where she stands!”

More shouts of encouragement rang out from the nobles, both here on the first floor and up in the balcony. They were all eager for this blood sport to reach its inevitable conclusion.

Libby’s gaze flicked over the people gathered around us, as if she was just now realizing that if I didn’t kill her, someone else would.

In addition to Auster and the guards, Paloma had her mace clenched in her hands and a murderous look on her face, as did the ogre on her neck. Serilda and Cho were both clutching their swords, Xenia was holding her cane, and Sullivan was standing by the balcony railing, blue lightning crackling in his palm, ready to rain down his own power on her.

The magic leaked out of Libby’s eyes, replaced by growing dread. She looked down at the blood gushing out from between her fingertips, and she blanched, her face suddenly pale. She would bleed out if she didn’t get help soon.

“It’s over,” I said. “You’ve failed. Put down the dagger. Now.”

Libby glanced at the blade in her hand, then looked at me again. Something surprising filled her eyes.

Fear—complete, utter, paralyzing fear.

More fear than I had ever seen anyone show before. More fear than I had ever smelled from anyone before. The sharp, coppery tang of it rolled off her in waves, even stronger than her jalape?o rage had been earlier.

“I can’t go back,” she whispered. “Not to him.”

Tears filled her eyes, and I got the sense that they were tears of fear, instead of pain. She kept staring at me, debating her options. She had only two—surrender or death.

“Put down the dagger,” I repeated. “Just put it down.”

Libby shook her head and staggered back another step. “You don’t know what he does to people who fail. I can’t go back,” she whispered again. Then her jaw clenched, and her face hardened. “I won’t go back.”

She wrapped both hands around the dagger and lifted it overhead. I tensed, expecting her to try to attack me again, but Libby had something far worse in mind.

She whipped the dagger down and plunged it into her own stomach.

“No!” I yelled, surging toward her.

But I was too late. Screaming all the while, Libby twisted the dagger even deeper into her own stomach, then ripped it out. The blade slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Her legs buckled, and she landed next to it.

The nobles gasped, while my friends cursed. I hurried forward and dropped to my knees beside Libby. Blood had already pooled under her body, staining the stone a slick, glossy red. The warm, coppery stench punched me in the gut. It matched the smell of her fear.

Libby looked up at me. Pain glazed her amethyst eyes, but her lips drew back into a grim smile. “I’m just the first. There are . . . more of . . . us . . .”

“How many more?” I demanded. “Who are they? Where are they? Are they already inside Seven Spire?”

“We’re . . . everywhere . . .” she rasped.

Libby laughed, as though her cryptic words were highly amusing, although her chuckles morphed into a racking cough that sent blood bubbling out of her lips and trickling down her chin. I started to grab her shoulders to try to shake some answers out of her when I realized that the blood sliding down her face wasn’t red—it was as black as black could be.

I drew in a breath. I could still smell the coppery scent of her blood, but another, stronger aroma drowned it out—the deceptively sweet, light, lavender aroma of the poison on her dagger. It was spreading through her veins and quickly killing her, even more so than the gruesome wound she’d inflicted on herself.