The dome was a black womb.
Aria could no longer feel her legs. The poison had climbed to her chest. She breathed in short, shallow bursts. The fingers of her left hand didn't respond. The bow was somewhere on the floor, lost in the absolute darkness. She couldn't look for it. She couldn't move.
The masked one's voice came from everywhere.
—Lord Aelthas doesn't want to kill you yet.
No tone. No emphasis. The words fell like drops into an empty well.
—You're of use.
Aria turned her head toward the sound. She saw nothing. The darkness was so thick she felt she could touch it. The poison cooled her blood. The wounded shoulder no longer burned. She felt nothing.
—Don't worry, —said the voice, closer now—. It'll only be a moment.
A pinch of humanity. A tiny fissure in the programming. As if the knife wanted to be gentle.
Aria lifted her head. She couldn't see him. But she looked at him anyway.
—I'm not afraid.
—I know.
The masked one raised the dagger. Aria heard the blade brush against the air.
And then the air changed.
A gust. A displacement. Something grazed her arm.
Aria was no longer in the dome.
The orange sky burned her retinas. The smoke tore at her throat. Distant explosions rumbled against the walls. She was in someone's arms. One arm beneath her knees. Another at her back.
Zareth.
—Easy, —he said.
Aria blinked. The poison clouded her vision. Zareth's hands were warm. He smelled of ash and sweat.
—How...?
—Later.
Zareth leaned her against a merlon. He held the back of her neck with one hand. With the other he searched for something on his belt. A small vial. Amber liquid.
—Open your mouth.
Aria obeyed. The liquid ran down her throat. Bitter. Burning. The poison didn't disappear, but something slowed. The numbness stopped advancing. The fingers of her right hand tingled.
—It's a basic antitoxin, —said Zareth—. It doesn't cure it. It slows it.
—Enough.
Below, at the center of the courtyard, the dome dissolved. The darkness pulled back like water sucked down a drain. The masked one appeared at the center. The dagger still raised. His arm frozen mid-strike, mid-blow that never landed.
He turned his head. The mask's eyes found Zareth.
He said nothing. He sheathed the dagger. Drew the second one.
Zareth stood.
—Stay here, —he said without looking at Aria.
—Wasn't planning to go anywhere.
Zareth leaped.
He landed in the courtyard with both daggers drawn. The masked one waited. Still. Two short blades gleaming with the reflection of the fires.
—You're the prince of the dark elves, —said the masked one. No surprise. No admiration. A fact.
—Yes.
—Lord Aelthas wants you dead. He has no more use for you.
—What a shame.
Zareth attacked first. A diagonal slash. The masked one deflected it. Zareth's second dagger went for his chest. The masked one twisted his torso. The blade grazed the cloth. Counterattack. Two fast cuts. Zareth blocked them. Sparks. The clash of metal bounced off the walls.
The masked one was fast. Even after holding the dome for so long. Even with his mana depleted. But Zareth was faster.
He vanished. Blue trail. He appeared behind the masked one. Slashed at the tendons. The masked one turned and blocked. Zareth was already gone. Another trail. He appeared to the left. Another slash. Blocked.
—Your ears, —said Zareth from behind.
The masked one didn't answer. He turned and attacked. Zareth teleported. But the masked one followed him. His head moved with each trail. He wasn't seeing. He was hearing. The hum of air on the move. The scrape of boots landing. The shift in pressure.
Zareth appeared five meters away. The masked one was already looking in his direction.
—You can't surprise me, —said the flat voice.
—So it seems.
Zareth used the camouflage. His body turned blurred. Colors blended with stone, with smoke, with the shadows of the merlons. He disappeared.
The masked one didn't move. He tilted his head. Listened.
Zareth took a step. The masked one turned his head toward him.
Another step. The head turned again.
—Camouflage is useless, —said the masked one.
Zareth dropped the camouflage. He appeared three meters away.
—Your eyes don't work.
—No.
—From birth?
—No.
The masked one offered no more details. Zareth didn't ask for them.
They lunged at the same time. Three exchanges. Four. Daggers clashing and separating. Zareth used both hands. The masked one too. A mirror. But a slower mirror. The depleted mana weighed on his arms. The earlier wounds drained what little he had left.
Zareth cornered him against a column. He slashed at his face. The masked one dodged. Zareth's dagger caught the mask. The leather tore.
The mask fell.
The masked one went still. His face exposed. A young elf. Fine scars around the eyes. And the eyes. White. No iris. No pupil. Two opaque pearls.
He didn't blink. He didn't cover himself. He felt no shame.
Zareth looked at him.
—Can you see me?
—No.
—Then this isn't fun.
The masked one attacked. Zareth dodged. The masked one kept attacking. Slashes, thrusts, pommel strikes. Zareth dodged them all. But the masked one didn't tire. Didn't grow frustrated. Didn't feel.
Aria opened her eyes.
The antitoxin had restored some mobility. Not much. Her legs were still numb. But her right arm responded. Her fingers closed into a fist. Opened. The tingling was painful, but it was life.
She saw her bow. Lying against a fallen column, ten meters away.
She crawled.
Fingernails scraping stone. Useless knees dragging behind her. Sweat plastering her hair to her face. The smoke from the fires made her eyes water. Ten meters was nothing. Ten meters was everything.
Below, the fight went on. Zareth and the masked one exchanged blows. The sound of metal was constant. A hammering.
Aria reached the bow. Her fingers brushed the wood. She closed her hand around the grip. She lifted it. It weighed three times as much. But she lifted it.
She searched the quiver. Three arrows left. She took them all. She nocked all three at once. Her arm trembled. Her aim was blurred. It didn't matter.
She closed her eyes. She gathered the last of her magic. A thread of wind. Barely a whisper.
She fired.
The three arrows multiplied in the air. The wind split them into shadows of themselves. Three physical arrows. Six projectiles of air. Nine in total. A shower of points that rained down on the courtyard. Not aimed to kill. Aimed to distract.
The masked one raised his head. He heard the arrows. All of them. Every one. The three physical ones, the six of wind. Nine different trajectories. Nine whistles in the air. He twisted his body and dodged them. One grazed his shoulder. Another passed by his ear. A wind arrow cut his cloak. But none struck him clean.
He stopped. He lowered the daggers. His head turned toward the tower where Aria stood.
—I heard you moving, —he said—. From the start.
Aria lowered the bow. Her chest rose and fell. She had nothing left.
—I know.
Zareth moved.
Blue trail. He appeared behind the masked one. Grabbed him by the shoulders. Another flash. Both disappeared.
The courtyard stood empty.
Aria looked at the sky.
Fifty meters up. A tiny figure appeared in the orange air. Zareth and the masked one. Two silhouettes suspended against the smoke and fire. Zareth let him go. The masked one hung in the air for an instant, arms open, daggers still in his hands. Zareth disappeared in another trail.
The Silent One fell.
He didn't scream. He didn't flail. He fell in silence, his cloak billowing. A black smear against the sky of fire. The impact was dry. Stone against flesh. The daggers bounced and slid across the ground.
Zareth appeared beside Aria. Standing. Barely winded.
—Good shot, —he said.
—I didn't hit him.
—Didn't need to.
Aria looked toward the courtyard. The masked one wasn't moving. But he was breathing. His chest rising and falling with difficulty. A thread of blood ran from the corner of his lips.
Then the explosion shook the tower.
A column of fire rose from the far end of the castle. The merlons shook. A rain of rubble fell into the courtyard. The roar came a second later. Deep. Bestial.
Zareth looked toward the explosion. His violet eyes narrowed.
—It's Varkas.
Aria barely pulled herself upright. Her arm still trembled.
—Go.
—You can't walk.
—I don't need to walk. I need a minute.
Zareth knelt before her. He took her chin with two fingers. Held her gaze.
—Recover.
Aria didn't answer. Zareth stood. He adjusted his daggers. The hot wind moved his cloak.
—I'm going to find the wolf, —he said—. You don't die.
—That wasn't in my plans.
Zareth almost smiled. Almost. He turned and leaped to the merlons. Another blue trail. He was gone.
Aria was left alone in the tower. Back against the cold merlon. The bow in her lap. Below, the Silent One barely breathed. Silence returned to the courtyard, broken only by the distant crackling of the fires.
Aria set the bow against the stone. She stood. Her legs trembled. The poison was still there, but the antitoxin gave her just enough. She leaned against the merlon. She went down the stone staircase. One step. Another. Each one was a needle in her hips. Her legs responded halfway, rigid, clumsy. She held the wall. Sweat ran down the back of her neck.
She reached the courtyard.
The Silent One lay on the stone. Legs twisted. Arms open. Daggers several meters from his hands. The broken mask near his head. His chest rose and fell with a wet wheeze.
Aria knelt beside him. Her knees ached when they met stone.
The Silent One's white eyes moved. They found her without seeing her.
—Aria, —he said. His voice was a thread. No tone. No pain.
—Yes.
—Lord Aelthas... said you were of use.
—Not anymore.
—No. Not anymore.
The Silent One breathed deep. His chest whistled. A bubbling. Broken lungs.
—Are you afraid? —asked Aria.
—I don't know what that is.
—I know.
The Silent One didn't answer. His breathing grew slower. Shallower. The white eyes kept pointing at the sky, but they were no longer looking at anything.
Aria stayed beside him. She said nothing more. The Silent One exhaled one last time. His chest went still.
Then the Grimoire emerged.
It wasn't a timid light. It was a burst. A purple explosion that erupted from the assassin's chest and rose toward the sky. The pages unfolded like a fan of shadows. The edges blazed with a violet glow that lit the walls. The entire courtyard turned purple. The shadows of the columns stretched long. The air thickened with a dense pressure.
The Grimoire floated before Aria. The pages turned slowly. The light pulsed like a heart.
Aria felt something in her chest. An echo. A question without words. The Grimoire was looking at her. Evaluating her. Measuring her against the broken soul it had just left behind.
She raised her right hand. It trembled. Her fingers touched the cover.
The light enveloped her. A purple pulse climbed her arm and burst in her chest. It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. It was a dry cold. A tide that moved through her veins and settled somewhere deep, beneath the sternum, where before there had only been wind magic and fire. Now there was something more. Something that wasn't hers and yet fit.
The Grimoire faded.
Aria lowered her hand. Her chest rose and fell. Her legs still trembled. But something had changed. Something breathed inside her.
She looked at the Silent One. His white eyes were still open. The broken mask beside him. An elf with no name. No eyes. No master.
Aria closed his eyelids with two fingers. The skin was cold.
She stood. Her legs ached. The poison was still there. But she could walk. She took her bow from the tower. She slung the empty quiver over her shoulder. The arrows were gone. She'd find more.
The castle burned. Explosions kept rumbling on the other side of the walls. Varkas. Darian. Kára. The fight went on.
Aria adjusted her cloak and walked toward the fire.