Page 228 of A Touch of Poison
We thrust our drinks at the nearest people, starting for the dais.
Kat. A shudder chased through me. There was an attack, and I didn’t know where she was. I glanced back at the ballroom doors as alarm rippled through the crowd.
This had to be what Sura meant about uniting the throne. A coup against both sides.
We shoved past folk fighting to get out and ordered them to remain calm. The last thing we needed was a panic like at the Solstice.
At our gritted instructions, they clutched each other, eyes wide. Some stared up at the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom where the shots had come from.
As word spread, chaos broke out.
The music stopped and screams and shouts took over. Dark clad figures dropped from the mezzanine, blades glinting, and more burst from a side room as archers covered their advance.
How the fuck had they got in?
I gritted my teeth and drew the dagger from my boot as Faolán produced a blade. Of course he’d had the same idea. It was why we were friends. Always ready. Always armed.
Side-by-side, we worked our way towards the dais, though my heart dragged me back.
I didn’t give a fuck about the king currently hiding behind the throne. I wanted to find Kat.
But if he died…
And if this was Hydra Ascendant…
The chaos wouldn’t be contained to this room—it would break out across the realm.
A pair of the armoured attackers reached us, clearly aiming for the dais and the royal family there.
My muscles thrummed with energy, glad to have somewhere to direct it.
I dodged, shoving a civilian out the way with my shadows as a blade cut through the air. The next strike rang on my dagger and up my arm, and my attacker grinned as if pleased I only had a small blade.
Idiot.
My shadows swarmed around his feet, only meeting a little resistance from his magic. More powerful fae made it more of a struggle. But not him.
He jolted as they tugged on his ankle, and I took my opening.
Gripping his sword arm, I pulled him close and drove my dagger into his throat.
His eyes went wide. He gurgled, blood bubbling at his neck and from his mouth. Then he slumped to the floor.
A second later, Faolán had his attacker taken care of, and they fell at his feet, a wicked gash across their shoulder, neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
“All right?”
He answered with a grim nod, and we took the attackers’ weapons before continuing forward.
I craned to check the situation on the dais. Cyrus shielded himself with a chair, and bent over his father, ushering him through a side door with guards following. Before the throne a huge sabrecat roared, baring its teeth at anyone who came close. Russet stripes ran through its golden coat.
Not it—him. Sepher.
Cyrus had the king’s escape in hand, and Sepher covered it. I even spotted Zita pressed against the throne, dagger in hand, wearing a look that dared anyone to sneak up on her new husband.
We weren’t the only ones who’d broken the rules about weapons.
I grabbed Faolán’s arm. “They don’t need us.”
