It whirled with blinding speed. I didn’t even see the blow until it backhanded me across the face, making lights explode behind my eyes. I flew back into a corner, striking my head on something hard and slumping to the floor. The scepter dropped from my grasp and rolled away. Dazed, I watched the faery scuttle toward me but suddenly jerk to a stop, as if yanked by invisible strings. Ice covered its body, pushing up through the seams in the wire as the faery clawed at itself frantically. Wire-thin fingers snapped off, and the faery’s struggles slowed before it curled in on itself like a giant insect and stopped moving altogether. I didn’t have the breath to scream. I tried pushing away from the wall, but everything spun violently and my stomach lurched. I heard footsteps coming toward me and opened my eyes to see Tertius bend down and take the Scepter of the Seasons.
“Don’t,” I managed, trying to struggle to my feet. The ground swayed, and I stumbled back. “What are you doing?”
He observed me with solemn gray eyes. “Following the orders of my king.”
“King?” I struggled to focus. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. A few feet away, Sage and the assassins fought on. The wolf had its jaws clamped around a faery’s leg, and Sage pressed it unmercifully with his sword. “You don’t have a king anymore,” I told Tertius, feeling light-headed and numb. “Machina is dead.”
“Yes, but our realm endures. I follow the commands of the new Iron King,”
Tertius murmured, drawing his sword. I stared at the steel blade, hoping it would be quick. “I bear you no ill will, this time. My orders do not include killing you. But I must obey my lord.”
And with that, Tertius spun on his heel and marched away, still holding the Scepter of the Seasons. It pulsed blue and white in his hands, coating his gauntlets with frost, but he did not fumble. His face was grim as he strode up behind Sage, still locked in battle with the assassins. The wolf thrashed on the ground in a pool of blood, and Sage’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he fought on alone. In horror, I saw what Tertius was going to do and screamed out a warning.
Too late. As Sage cut viciously at one of the Iron fey, he didn’t see Tertius looming behind him until the knight was right there. Aware of the danger at last, Sage whirled, swinging his sword, cutting at Tertius’s head. The knight knocked the blade aside and, as Sage staggered back, took one step forward and plunged his own sword through the Winter prince’s chest.
Time seemed to stop. Sage stood there a moment, a look of shock on his face, staring at the blade in his chest. His own sword hit the ground with a ringing clang. Then Tertius yanked the blade free, and I gasped. Sage crumpled to the floor, blood pooling from his chest and streaming onto the ice. The assassins tensed to pounce on him, but Tertius blocked them with his sword.
“Enough. We have what we came for. Let’s go.” He flicked blood off the blade and sheathed it, his eyes moving to the corpse of the frozen assassin. “Fetch your brother, quickly. We can leave no evidence behind.”
The Iron fey scrambled to comply, lifting the dead faery onto their shoulders, careful not to touch the ice piercing its skin. They even grabbed the pieces off the floor. Tertius turned to me, his gaze bleak, as darkness hovered on the edge of my vision. “Farewell, Meghan Chase. I hope we do not meet again.” He spun quickly to follow the assassins, marching out of my line of sight. I turned my head to follow them, but they were already gone. MY HEAD THROBBED, and darkness threatened at the edges of my vision; I took several deep breaths to drive it back. I would not pass out now. Gradually, the churning blackness cleared, and I pulled myself upright, looking around. The throne room had fallen silent again, except for the slow thudding of my heart, which sounded unnaturally loud in my ears. Blood flecked the walls and pooled along the floor, horribly vivid against the pale ice. The altar that had held the Scepter of the Seasons lay empty and bare.
My gaze wandered to the two bodies still in the room with me. Sage lay on his back, his sword a few inches from his hand, gazing up at the ceiling, gasping. A few feet away, the furry body of the wolf, gray fur streaked with blood, lay crumpled on the ice. Limping, I ran over to Sage, passing the body of the poor wolf, sprawled out next to him. The wolf’s jaws gaped open, and a tongue lolled out between bloody teeth. It had died protecting its master, and I felt sick at the thought.
Just as I reached Sage, a shudder went through the prince’s body. His head arced back, mouth gaping, and ice crawled up from his lips, spreading over his face, down his chest, and all the way to his feet. He stiffened as the air chilled around us, the ice making sharp crinkling sounds as it encased the prince in a crystal cocoon.
No. I looked closer, and realized Sage’s body was turning to ice. His clawed fingers flexed, losing their color, becoming hard and clear. His thumb abruptly snapped off and shattered on the floor. I put both hands to my mouth to keep from screaming. Or vomiting. Sage gave a final jerk and was still, a cold, hard statue where a live body had been a moment before.
The oldest son of the Winter Court was dead.
And that’s how Tiaothin found us a moment later.
Later, I didn’t recall much of that moment, but I did remember the phouka’s screech of horror and fury as she fled to tell the rest of the court. I heard her shrill voice echoing down the corridor, and knew I should probably move, but I was cold, numb to all feeling. I didn’t leave the prince’s side until Rowan swept in with a platoon of guards, who pounced on me with angry cries. Rough hands grabbed me by the arms and hair, dragging me away from Sage’s body, oblivious to my protests and cries of pain. I shouted at Rowan to tell him what had happened, but he wasn’t looking at me.