The Triumphant (The Valiant #3)(61)

“Majesty!” I shouted as made a desperate grab for her—missing, intentionally, by inches. “Come back! It’s not safe!”

Then she ran. The azure cloak spread wide behind her, like a brilliant slash of sunlit sky streaming through the dreary gray shabbiness of Cosa, Kallista pelted down a side alley, faster than I’d ever seen anyone run. In an instant, she was out of sight, leaping over a low wall like a gazelle and disappearing down an alley.

“Tell Charon to get everyone on board that ship,” I said to Elka. “Now.”

Then I vaulted over the wagon side, sprinting madly after my runaway “queen.” Kallista was clever. She’d paused just out of sight, waiting for me to catch up. Then, at the first opportunity, she took a hard right, heading down a twisting narrow alley that angled east through the city away from the docks. I followed her long enough to make sure Tanis had taken the bait. When I heard the sound of sandals on clay roof tiles above me and the slap of a bowstring—followed by the clatter of an arrow missing its target—I knew our ruse had worked.

But I also knew the kind of peril I’d put Kallista in. I’d have to hurry.

Tanis was fairly adept at dealing damage from a distance. Up close . . . not as adept. It was something the other girls at the ludus had teased her about, and that was one of the things, I suspected, that had contributed to her turning against us when all the other girls who’d remained Aquila’s captives hadn’t. It was a regret I harbored in my heart but one I still planned to use against her. I just had to get close enough. With all of Tanis’s concentration focused so narrowly on trying to put an arrow through “Cleopatra’s” blue cloak, I dropped back in my pursuit—not half because I could barely keep up with Kallista myself—and let Tanis get ahead of me on the rooftops. While she could track Kallista from on high, I could track her by following the trail of broken roof tiles her passage had knocked into the streets.

I drew a few black glares, but no Cosan tried to stop me as I ran through the winding, narrow alleys. When I sensed Tanis had come to a stop on the roof of a smithy just ahead of me, I circled around to the other side of the squat, ugly building and found a stack of crates I could use to climb up to the roof. The clanging from the blacksmith’s hammer within and the column of smoke belching upward from the forge fires helped hide my approach.

Tanis had another arrow nocked and ready to fire.

She pulled the bowstring taut beside her ear . . .

And I hurled myself at her, hitting her with my shoulder, hard in the center of her back. She arched like her bow with a grunt of pain, and the arrow shot harmlessly skyward. Then together we tumbled off the roof into the street below. As I landed, I gave thanks to the Morrigan that Cosa maintained its streets in such poor condition. We hit soft-packed dirt instead of unforgiving paving stones. Tanis’s arrows spilled from the quiver on her back, scattering into the ruts and gutters, and she landed heavily on her bow. I heard the sharp snap of the wood as it cracked in two.

I was back on my feet before she had a chance to get up on her hands and knees, and I delivered a swift kick to her ribs. The breath left her lungs with a pained grunt, and she curled in on herself, rolling away from me. I followed, and all of the fear and frustration of the last few days—Vorya dead, Hestia dead, our home gone forever—it just poured out of me. With a snarl like a lioness, I lurched toward Tanis and grabbed her by the front of her tunic. I hauled her to her feet and drove my fist into her face. Her head snapped back, and blood flew in a thin arc from her mouth. She staggered a few steps, barely raising her hands to defend herself, but a fiery red mist descended like a curtain before my eyes, and I hit her again. And again. And then I drew my sword—the new one Charon had given me, with the eagle symbol on it—and, grabbing a handful of her tunic again, I drew back my arm and leveled the blade at her throat. I was breathing so heavily my chest was heaving and my throat burned.

I’d never felt such raw fury. Not even in the arena.

Tanis’s face, so close to mine, was a mess of blood, tears, and dirt . . . and fresh bruises blossoming in the shape of my knuckles. There was both fear and defiance in her gaze. I couldn’t tell if there was any regret. But I did see something that I wasn’t expecting: bravery.

She lifted her chin and stared down the length of my sword, directly into my eyes. “Go on,” she said through a mouthful of blood and spittle. “Make an end of it.”

Every muscle in my arm was on fire to do just that. Holding myself back in that moment felt like holding back someone else. Someone with a raging thirst for vengeance. For retribution . . .

“What’s wrong, Fallon?” Tanis asked, her mouth twisting around my name in a grimace of pure, acrid wretchedness. “You left me behind to die that night, but you won’t kill me yourself?”

And I saw, in that moment, that what Tanis hated wasn’t me. It wasn’t the girls who’d been her sisters. It was her own self. I felt a sudden welling up of shame in my breast. And pity . . .

“No.” I shook my head and took a weary step back, letting go of her tunic and dropping my sword arm down to my side. “I won’t kill you, Tanis.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’m not even worthy of that in your eyes?”

“You want to embrace Death so badly?” I snapped. “You’ll have to seek him out without my help. I’m sure your new master will point you down the right road. But beware. The grave isn’t an ending for him. It’s a beginning. Think long on how you really wish to spend eternity, Tanis. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.”