Page 121 of To Dance with Death

The Sands. That power, too, is mine.

Fear undulates beneath my skin at the enormity of it. Dimly, I remember my vow. I won’t abuse this power. I won’t let it overtake me, seductive as it is.

With shaking hands, I grasp the satchel, ready to put the mirror away. But then more attack, figures clashing and warping and blending into one another. Someone screams.

Mantrin.

Blood wells from his arm, a crimson, oozing gash that slashes up and across his shoulder. He falls backward, slamming into the ground. The soldier poses his sword above his heart, aiming for a killing blow. “Your queen is next,” he shouts.

Fury lights behind my gaze, and my vision turnsred.

Chapter Forty-Two

Anton

His thoughts are a war drum, a resounding beat of rage.

He will kill Maksim once and for all and use whatever leverage he has left with Moranya to make him suffer for all eternity. He read for himself what the man did to Vasalie, her stepmother, and worse—the arrangements and deaths he orchestrated to gain himself power. Maksim will stop at nothing, razing all of Razam before slithering into Miridran either by sword or by treaty, ensuring they are indebted and bound to Brisendale one way or another. And he will persist until all of the Syndicate is under his thumb.

Anton will not let that happen. He sent word to the Syndicate, yes, but he will end the reign of terrornowby severing the head of the snake.

After slicing through another of Maksim’s men, he turns to Basile and Arjuna, both of whom have stayed by his side. “We’re within range. Are you ready?”

Arjuna tugs one of three arrows from his satchel, brandishing the bow he’d kept on his back for this moment. “More than,” he says.

They have one chance. One shot to kill Maksim without drawing the masses.

“Take aim. I will cover you.”

Arjuna has always been a clean shot. He notches the arrow. Aims. Releases the bowstring—

Lightning-fast, the king’s horse crumples, dumping Maksim into a heap in the sand. His men have yet to notice, their attention on Sadira’s latest push. Anton spots her in the fray, and Veer, too. The distraction he needs.

“We finish this now,” Anton growls under his breath, treading up the rocks, the final climb that separates him from his intended kill.

By the time he reaches Maksim, the man is upright and clinging to his sword and shield. His gaze swings wildly about until finally,finally,it settles on Anton.

“Guards!” he shouts like the coward he is. Four soldiers leap to attention, gathering into a shield around Maksim.

“How weak you are, old man. How pitifully frail,” Anton says, approaching one step at a time, readying his sword.

He mocks a bow as the first soldier charges, though Basile is already there, blocking the blow and knocking the man off balance with a kick that no doubt breaks his shin.

“Don’t have all the fun,” Anton quips as Maksim’s remaining defenders charge.

Alongside Basile, he wards them off, swords clanking. The rest of Maksim’s group is still below, picking off more that seek to protect their traitorous king now that he’s under threat.

Anton slashes the leg of the last Brisendali soldier before shoving him off the small cliff—past Sadira, he now notices. How did she get so close? She couldn’t have pushed through that many men. But he can’t lose focus, not when Maksim is standing tall, a lone captain at his back.

The captain steps forward. In his arms is a rolled-up tarp, by the look of it. He loosens the ties, then dumps out a—

Acorpse.

“I took pleasure in killing him,” Maksim sneers. “A life for a life. Your pathetic pup of a prince for my king. Hardly a fair trade, I’d say.”

Sundar. It’sSundar,lifeless, preserved as if he’s been on ice, his skin pale as frost and tinged with gray, his lips a smudge of unnatural blue.

Then there are his eyes, open and lifeless, unseeing.