“She killed Iersaug!”
“That way! Go!”
“Bloody hell!”
“He won’t get far!”
“Stay with her! I’ll get him!”
“Search the grounds for others!”
I heard the fading gallop of someone chasing after Jase. I struggled against the weight that had me pinned. Run, Mije. Deep into the forest where it is dark. Please, by all the mercies of the gods, run. Don’t stop. I can’t lose him.
My head swam, nausea striking as my arms were jerked behind my back. They tied my wrists and legs with rope. The ground beneath me was warm and wet, and I smelled something—the salty tang of blood. Mine?
It was only then I realized that the fist that punched me had held a knife. And just before the chaos faded and the darkness deepened, I realized something else.
I recognized one of the voices.
It belonged to Paxton.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASE
My eyes wouldn’t focus. My head whirled, or maybe that was Tigone still circling in terror. I caught
glimpses of Kazi fighting, Mije galloping, the distant fortress wall, a forest of trees as the world spun around me. And then I couldn’t see anything at all.
This?
This was how it would end?
Maybe it already had. But my hand. My fingers. They held something. Kazi? Where are you?
My fingers ached. My arms. They burned with fire. Hold on, Jase. I had something in my grip. Tigone’s mane? The reins? I squeezed tighter.
“Kazi—” I couldn’t draw a breath. My chest. Then everything went cold. Frozen.
My fingers slipped. Horse, saddle, air, sliding past my hand. I fell, slamming to the ground. The arrow lodged in my chest jammed farther into my body. A burning jolt knifed through me, every part of me on fire again. Gurgling breath rattled through my lungs. A scream rolled from my throat, like a dying animal. I heard galloping, a horse getting closer. Footsteps. Rustling. They were close. I tried to roll to my side, crawl, get away, my fingers digging into a moldy bed of leaves, but no more breaths would come. I coughed blood, saltiness filling my mouth. This. This was how it would end.
Run, Kazi. Go—
Kazi—
The greenhouse. Please—
I love—
The Dragon will conspire,
Wearing his many faces,
Deceiving the oppressed, gathering the wicked,
Wielding might like a god, unstoppable.
—Song of Venda