Page 275 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I struck with my knife, burying the blade in his side. It was a sloppy strike—not fatal, unless he bled out—but it should have been enough to bring him down.

Instead, he set his jaw and lunged. His magic slammed me against the stone.

Move move move—

I wasn’t fast enough. His rapier skewered me.

The pain swallowed everything else.

Maybe I blacked out. Because the next thing I knew, seconds had passed, and the king was right in front of me. A sneer at last bubbled to the surface of his expression.

With a shaking hand, I touched my lapel, and felt nothing.

Fuck.Fuck.

The king’s magic still pinned me to the wall, his blade still piercing through me. I realized, for the first time, that I would probably die here. At least I’d go down fighting.

I raised my left hand, preparing one final burst of fire against him.

His eyes fell to my palm, and his face changed. He blinked, and the sneer disappeared as he regarded me with renewed interest. He pressed my hand to the wall, leaning close to examine it—and the mark it carried.

No.

“Why did you come to this place?” he asked, quietly. “What is the true nature of it?”

I called the flames with all my remaining strength.

The king jerked away from the heat, his grip slackening. I fell to the floor. I couldn’t figure out why I was struggling to rise until I realized I kept slipping on my own blood.

The remainder of my magic burned out quickly. I had nothing left, and I was bleeding heavily. I barely managed to grab my weapon again, though the metal slid beneath my blood-drenched fingers.

The king turned to me—

And was flung across the hallway.

The strike came so quickly that it merely looked like a flash of red and white and tan. He hadn’t been anticipating it. He slammed against the wall, doubled over—the hit was bad, especially on top of his previous injuries.

Through my fading vision, I watched him stumble and turn towards Tisaanah, who rushed at him.

I watched him whisper to his magic and disappear before she could strike.

And by the time Tisaanah knelt before me, I could barely see anything at all.

CHAPTERONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN

TISAANAH

Max was bleeding so, so much. That was all I could see. The moment my eyes landed on all that blood, I didn’t care about the Fey king or the Lejaras or the war or the end of the world. I only cared about him.

I fell to my knees beside him. I could barely see the gash because it was bleeding so much—it looked to span most of his abdomen. When I touched it, he let out a hiss of pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I need to—”

I took off my jacket and then the shirt beneath it, leaving me in just a camisole. I tried to wrap the cotton shirt around his waist, tying it tight even as he exhaled and swore.

“He took it,” Max said, hoarsely.

No. Gods, no.

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