The stairs shuddered under rapid steps. Hugh turned.

No! Argh, almost had him.

Four people charged into the room: a dark-haired female knight I didn’t know, Ted Moynohan, the medmage Steinlein, and in front of them all, a slender man with a bald head and Celtic-blue war paint tattooed on his face. Richter. The Order’s resident psychopath.

Great. More people for him to kill.

“The knight-protector.” Hugh swung his sword in a lazy circle, warming up his wrist. “Finally. And here I thought you’d just let me wreck your house.”

“Open the cage and I’ll take him apart,” I said. I had beaten him once. I could do it again.

Hugh chuckled. “Come on, Kate. Don’t embarrass them. They’re knights. Time someone tested them.”

Ted looked at the two prone bodies on the floor around him and smiled. His people were dead and he smiled.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Ted wanted a massacre. He was on his way out, either to be disgraced or to retire, and he must’ve wanted it to count. He must’ve decided to go out in a blaze of glory. But his death alone wouldn’t be enough. If Hugh killed him, the Order might find a way to overlook it, but if Roland’s warlord slaughtered the entire chapter, the knights would do everything in their power to hunt him down. It had to be brutal, and bloody, and vicious, so those who died wouldn’t be just fallen knights or victims, they would become martyrs.

Hugh wanted to kill all of them. Ted wanted all of them to die. He wanted his own Alamo. The knights would give their lives, every single one of them, after a dramatic final standoff, and Maxine would bear witness to all of it. We were watching the start of the war between Roland and the Order.

Nothing I could do or say would make any difference. I sank to the floor next to Robert. Across the room Nick looked at me, his face pale like the snow outside. Our gazes met. He understood and he would watch it all just like me and Robert.

Ted pointed at Hugh. “Get him.”

• • •

RICHTER PULLED OUT two short blades and blurred, splitting into three transparent versions of himself. Two were false and one was real. The triplets charged, launching a flurry of strikes at Hugh. The preceptor of the Order of Iron Dogs backed away under the barrage, blocked, and kicked, putting all of the power of his massive legs into it. The real Richter flew across the room and bounced off the wall.

The dark-haired woman lunged from the side and stabbed at Hugh, aiming between his left ribs, fast. Hugh leaned back, let the sword pass, and drove his left elbow into the female knight’s face. She stumbled back. Richter dashed back and sliced at Hugh’s right shoulder. Blood sprayed. Hugh backhanded Richter out of the way.

The woman charged in again and froze, caught on Hugh’s blade like a fish on a hook. He thrust up into her chest, twisted, carving out the heart, and hurled her corpse at Richter. The smaller knight dodged and charged Hugh again in a frenzy. Hugh dropped back, blocking with the flat of his blade, his face calm and collected. His eyes turned calculating. It was like Voron had been resurrected and possessed Hugh, and I knew exactly what came next. He would cut Richter apart, slowly, methodically, using every opening. He would not lose his temper, because in this place, where the angle of the blade separated life from death, Hugh was impossible to rattle. If a red-hot meteorite punched through the roof and exploded, he wouldn’t blink an eye. I knew that place well. That was where I was at my best.

Richter drew blood again and again, each strike of his blades opening another minor wound. Hugh held back.

Then Richter swung his right arm a fraction too wide.

Hugh’s sword sliced, precise and merciless. He stabbed Richter in the stomach, whirled, and kicked the knight’s leg out from under him. As Richter dropped to his knees, Hugh stabbed him in the spot where the neck met the shoulder. Richter gasped. Hugh swung his sword and Richter’s head rolled on the floor.

My chest hurt. I would remember this feeling for as long as I lived, this terrible feeling of being locked in a cage and being able to do nothing.

Ted Moynohan roared. A dark red outline flared around his body, sliding over his mace. Apparently the knight-protector had some magic of his own.

Hugh crouched and grabbed a second sword from Towers’s body sprawled on the floor.

Ted charged. Hugh moved out of the way. Ted whipped the mace around as if it weighed nothing. Hugh blocked, letting the mace slide off Towers’s sword, but his arm shook a little. He shifted his feet. That was a hell of a blow. If I were him, I’d try to avoid blocking.

“Did you know who she was when you decided to belittle her?” Hugh asked.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” I said.

“Someone has to do it, since you won’t.”

Ted spun the mace and swung at Hugh. Hugh blocked again and the mace head snapped the blade in half. Hugh slashed Ted’s arm with the broken blade and jerked his hand away. The broken sword clattered to the floor. Whatever that red aura was, it hurt like a sonovabitch.

“Did you know who she was?” Hugh repeated.

Ted swung his mace again. Hugh ducked, leaped over Richter’s corpse, and grabbed a shield off the wall.

“You didn’t. You still don’t, do you?”

Ted swung again and Hugh thrust the shield in his way. The mace connected. Boom. The shield rang like a gong.

“I would’ve thought your boys would have better intel.”

Boom.

“At least do your damn homework. Sloppy, Moynohan. Very sloppy.”

Boom. Hugh was waiting for Ted to fall into a pattern. Ted would hit harder and harder, trying to break through the shield with raw strength. Once an opponent fell into a pattern, they became predictable—and they could be defeated.

“When you get a power like that on your side, you move heaven and earth to hold on to it.”

Boom.

“But you didn’t, did you?”

Boom.

“Because you’re a moron.”

Ted swung, putting all his power into the blow, expecting to break through the shield. Hugh stepped right and turned. The mace whistled through the air a hair from his chest. Ted had put so much momentum into the blow, he couldn’t stop. The weight of the mace drove him down and Hugh stabbed him in the chest. If he didn’t hit the heart, he was damn close.

Blood surged. Ted’s eyes bulged.

“No,” Hugh said. “No, that was too easy.”

What?

Ted struggled to raise the mace. The red aura around him died.

Hugh clamped his hand to Ted’s chest. “Come back. You’ve got more in you.”

A blue glow flared around Hugh’s fingers. Something gurgled in Ted’s throat. Red bubbles expanded out of his mouth.

He was healing him. This was torture. “Just let him die!”

“No, not yet.” Hugh shook his head. “Come on. Come back to me.”

Ted’s arms shook. He sucked in a breath.

Hugh released him. The knight-protector stumbled back.

Hugh banged his gladius against the shield. “Come on, knight. Show me more.”

The carmine aura flared around Ted once more. He charged forward and slammed his shoulder into Hugh. Hugh flew back and rolled to a crouch next to the medmage. Steinlein had stood so still, all of us had forgotten he was even there, pressed against the wall and holding a small axe. Before Hugh could rise, the medmage swung the axe. Hugh moved, but not fast enough. The axe sank into his left shoulder.

Hugh kicked out, sweeping the medmage’s legs out from under him. Steinlein crashed down. Hugh buried his gladius in Steinlein’s gut, casually, almost in passing, and rolled to the left just in time to avoid Ted’s mace. The knight-protector chased him.

Steinlein shuddered on the floor. His legs shook. The gaping wound in his stomach gushed blood.

I had no feelings left anymore. Just cold quiet hate.

Hugh charged Ted like a cornered tiger. They clashed, mace to shield, muscling each other across the floor. Hugh dug his feet into the floor and pushed, knocking Ted back. The knight-protector spun his mace, aiming at Hugh’s head. Hugh swung his shield to counter, putting all his enormous strength into the blow. The shield connected, knocking Ted’s mace aside. For a fraction of a second, the knight-protector was wide open. Hugh swung and opened a second mouth in Ted’s stomach. Ted sagged against the wall and slid down.

Mauro charged into the room, bloody and smeared with soot. Blood dripped from his short, wide sword. “I can’t hold them. Pull the . . .” He saw the bodies. His eyes bulged. He dropped his sword.

“Don’t!” I yelled.

Mauro bellowed and ripped off his shirt. Tattoos wound along his torso, dense swirls of dark ink in precise patterns. He clapped his hands together like a sumo wrestler. His skin turned black. The edges of his tattoos flared bright red, shifting slightly, as if his obsidian skin had cracked along their lines, revealing a glimpse of the lava underneath. Heat bathed me, rolling off him in waves.

Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, big man. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Mauro charged. Hugh swung out of the way and sliced at Mauro’s stomach with the gladius. The blade glanced off. Mauro drove his shoulder into Hugh. The preceptor flew a few feet and bounced off the wall. Mauro lunged at him, roaring. Hugh spun out of the way, avoiding being trapped.

Hugh was better with a sword, but I had once seen Mauro lift a car when a cat was trapped under it. Do it, you can do it.

Hugh stabbed the gladius at Mauro’s side. The blade slid off. Hugh dropped the gladius and drove his fist into Mauro’s throat. It was a hard, powerful punch. Hugh’s skin sizzled. He stumbled back. Hot enough for you, you ass**le?

Mauro locked his hands on Hugh’s throat and drove him into the wall. Hugh’s back slapped the stone with a satisfying thud. Mauro slammed him again and again.

“Snap his neck,” I yelled.

Mauro smashed Hugh into the stone again, shaking him back and forth. He didn’t hear me. He was too far gone.

Hugh thrust his arms upward, between Mauro’s massive arms, trying to break his hold. The air smelled of singed flesh. Hugh jerked his arms up, Mauro’s arms went wide, and the big knight headbutted Hugh in the face. Blood drenched Hugh’s lips. Broken nose, for sure.

Mauro grabbed Hugh into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. Bones groaned.

“Kate!” Robert pointed to the right. I glanced in that direction at the medmage lying in a pool of blood. Steinlein strained to say something and reached into his pocket.

Hugh jabbed his thumbs into Mauro’s eyes. Mauro hurled him aside like Hugh weighed nothing.

Steinlein pulled out a bloody key ring.

Keys. Keys to the cage. I dropped on my knees by the bars. “Here.” If I could get out of the cage, between Mauro and me Hugh was finished.

Mauro grabbed at Hugh, but the preceptor moved out of the way. Burns covered his arms. The flesh around Hugh’s neck blistered.

Steinlein’s hand shook. He crawled toward the cage, leaving a bloody smudge on the floor. Hurry. Hurry.

Mauro bellowed again.

Steinlein stretched his hand with the keys toward me. I reached for it. The tips of my fingers just brushed against the keys. Magic sawed through my arm with fiery teeth and I jerked my fingers back. Damn it.

Hugh darted behind Mauro, grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, planted his right hand on Mauro’s shoulder, and swept his legs out from under him. The big man crashed down like a colossus on legs of sand. The room shook from the impact. Mauro’s head bounced off the floor.

Steinlein pulled himself forward another foot and collapsed, his hand stretching to the bars. I thrust my arm through the ward. The magic burned me, so intense that tears slid from my eyes. I clenched my teeth and reached through the agony, stretching.

I couldn’t let Mauro die, not big, kind, funny Mauro. He’d watched my back, he brought my dog treats, he helped people . . . I wanted him to live and be happy. I wanted him to go home to his wife. I wanted it so much. I didn’t want him to die here.