“How does one develop ambition?”
He tilted his head. “Have you ever wanted something? Something you know you can’t have? Something that is your heart’s desire?”
“Of course.”
“Convince yourself that you should have it. Realize that it is yours by the right of your might or intelligence or simple desire. Reach for it and take it. Do you understand?”
Oh, she understood. She understood quite well.
“Farewell.” He turned away. He was about to walk out of the garden. She might never get another opportunity like this.
“Lord Sebastian?”
“Yes?”
She sank her hand into the hidden fold of her skirt. “Would you like to know what my heart’s desire is?”
Spider turned to her, a light smile on his lips. “Very well. What is it, sweetheart?”
She thrust her knife into his chest, stretching the flash across the blade in a tiny fraction of a second.
Spider gasped.
She clamped him to her and tore the blade through his innards, mincing soft organ tissue. Blood poured from Spider’s lips, his face stunned with disbelief.
“It’s to watch you die, you piece of shit,” she said. “You fused my mother.”
He lunged forward, impaling himself deeper on the blade. His hand clamped her throat, squeezing it in a steel grasp. Her air vanished. Don’t panic. Whatever you do, don’t panic.
“Sophie Mar, I take it.” His voice was a ragged, inhuman growl. His eyes bored into her. The world was fading into darkness. “Well played, my little one. Well played.”
She freed the sword with a sharp tug. The air in her lungs boiled.
“You have no idea how much I loathe your family.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black blur dart across the grass. Callis rammed Spider and clamped his teeth on his right forearm, adding his hundred pounds to Sophie’s weight. Spider groaned. His fingers opened, releasing her throat. She fell and landed into a crouch, gasping for air. She needed to move, but her body refused to do anything but breathe, wasting precious seconds.
Callis snarled, pulling at Spider, trying to yank him off his feet. With his left hand, Spider jerked a blade from the sheath at his waist and bashed the dog over the head. Callis growled. Spider sank his blade into the dark fur of Callis’s back, and it came out crimson.
No! You don’t get to kill my dog! Her legs finally obeyed. She sprang up, sword raised, and slashed across his ribs. Why in the world wasn’t he dead? What if he couldn’t die?
He kicked Callis aside. The dog dropped to the ground with a vicious snarl and tried to lunge.
“No! Mine,” she told him.
Spider laughed. “Let’s see what you’re capable off.” He struck. He was fast, so fast; he might have been almost as fast as Richard.
She parried and slashed at his shoulder, cutting a gash in his doublet. Blood swelled. Not deep enough. Her sword was too short. He sliced at her in a vicious, horizontal cut. She had no way to dodge to the side, so she bent back. Pain seared her just under the collarbone. The tip of his blade had cut across the exposed top of her chest. Blood poured onto her gown. As he finished the strike, she grasped his wrist with her left hand and sliced across his chest. The flash-sharpened blade cut through his ribs.
Spider snarled. He was still standing.
“Not good enough, Sophie Mar.”
“Good enough for you. You don’t get to take anything else from me.”
He laughed.
“Die.” She cut him again. “Die, die, die!”
He stumbled back and kept laughing.
She slashed at him again and again, becoming a whirlwind, her blade an extension of her, bound to her by her magic. She cut him again and again, oblivious to the wounds she took.
Finally, he fell to his knees.
She stopped. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. Callis whined at her feet.
“Not bad,” Spider said, his mouth dripping blood. “Look behind me. What will you do now, my dear?”
Sophie raised her head.
Monsters were climbing over the brick wall into the garden.
* * *
CHARLOTTE ran down the stairs. She’d lost track of things for a moment, watching Richard win, and when she turned around, both Sophie and Spider were gone.
The hallway ended in an arched entrance, flooded with sunlight. She dashed through it. A large garden spread before her. In the middle of it, Sophie stood in a gown scarlet with blood, holding a small sword. The big dog stood shivering next to her. Sophie’s gaze was fixed on the far wall. Charlotte looked up.
People were climbing over the wall, dropping into the flowers one by one. Some were human, some were a grotesque collection of animal parts grafted onto human bodies. Their magic splashed her like a wave of sewage. The Hand. They must be Spider’s people. Sophie stood alone against two dozen trained killers, and she was holding an oversized knife.
Charlotte ran. The time slowed to a crawl. She saw everything with crystalline clarity—the monsters in the flowers; Sophie’s pale face as she turned to glance at her; the desperation of knowing she was outmatched in the child’s eyes . . .
The magic tore out of Charlotte, the dark currents streaming like black dragons to find their victims. They stung the first agent, biting his muscular body. He snarled, an inhuman sound, and kept coming. The regeneration, Charlotte realized. His enhanced body was healing the damage she inflicted with her diseases as fast as she could hurt him. She would have to give it more power.
She snapped some of her inner chains. The magic shot out of her, its black streams luminescent with red sparks, carrying death. The magic sped toward the Hand’s agent, brushing against the wolfripper in passing. The dog howled, spun, and fled past her to the safety of the castle. The darkness stung the agent again. He went down on his knees. A bloody red lesion split open the skin on his back. Charlotte struggled to keep the wound open, feeling his body fighting her. He healed with unnatural speed. How was this possible?
Sophie dashed through the garden to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Spider was walking away . . .”
Charlotte thrust herself between the child and the monsters. “Stay near me.”
She gave the magic more of herself and pushed. Her dark current snapped and struck, biting deep into the approaching fighters. They still kept coming. There had to be fifty of them in the gardens. They were circling them, closing in a ring. In moments, the two of them would be surrounded.
This was a death stand. If Charlotte didn’t start feeding on them to fuel her own magic, the Hand would rip her and Sophie apart. But even if she then managed to kill them all, it would destroy who she was and she’d take Sophie’s life without even thinking about it.