For a moment, he was certain he’d triumphed… but then Haspar’s eyes shifted, and he grabbed Cato by the shoulder, yanking him around to reveal the manacles. The mage made a disgusted sound of recognition, and Cato’s stomach filled with dread as heard the unmistakable clunk of the lock giving way. With a flick of his wrist, the manacles snapped open and fell away from Cato’s wrists, and he felt a dizzying rush as his connection to the magic embedded in his body began to return. He only had seconds before Haspar’s control resumed, too. But what could he do in a few useless seconds?
“I’m going to make you do it,” Haspar said, locking eyes with him as he drew himself up to his full height. “I’m going to make you cut the throat of every last surviving dragon with your own hands—”
And then there was a shout from the doorway. Cato could hardly believe what he’d heard, at first—something told him his imagination was running away with him, that his desperation for salvation was so strong that he was hallucinating. But if he was imagining the bloodstained figure of Captain Acantha standing behind him with a curiously dark short blade in her hand… well, the attention to detail was incredible.
Haspar turned to confront the dragon. Cato knew his last chance when he saw it. With every scrap of his remaining strength, he did the only thing he could think of… and leaped onto Haspar’s shoulders, wrapping his forearm around his neck and squeezing with all his might.
Haspar made a sound Cato had never heard him make before—a shocked and very undignified gagging sound. The mage had spent most of his life amassing magical power that meant he had no need for physical combat skills… but he still had basic human instincts, and that was why his hands flew up to grab Cato’s forearm, prying it away from his throat. Cato struck quickly, seizing hold of Haspar’s fingers with both hands and yanking with all his might. Rings went flying, scattering across the prison floor, and Haspar roared with fury, tossing Cato down with a shake of his broad shoulders.
Was it enough? It had to be enough, it had to be… Haspar’s fist tightened and Cato felt the electrical sensation of the gemstone in his aching arm flaring to life, and just like that, every muscle in his body went limp. He hit the ground like a sack of flour, hoping desperately that what he’d seen as he fell was real—Acantha, lunging forward with her blade drawn, aimed at Haspar’s throat. Please, please, please—
He heard Acantha scream with rage, and his heart sank. Haspar was laughing, breathless, and Cato fought to turn his head enough to see him with the blade of Acantha’s sword suspended in front of the center of his chest, quivering midair as the glow of his remaining rings held her back, mere inches from achieving her goal. Cato felt black despair rear up to swallow him whole, felt the temptation to just sink into that abyss and never think again. He’d gotten half of Haspar’s rings off him, but it hadn’t been enough. With the kind of power Haspar had in his possession, even one ring would have been enough…
But something was happening. Cato felt the power returning to his muscles and he sat up cautiously, hardly daring to believe it. Haspar’s laughter had stopped… and what was more, he was grunting with effort, his fists clenched as Acantha’s blade edged, ever so slowly, towards him. Her face blazed with determination, heedless of the blood dripping from her nose and running from the side of her mouth, and she was forcing the sword towards him with everything in her. It felt as though the air itself was shimmering with magic. Cato was holding his breath. He’d never seen anything like this before. Nobody ever fought against Haspar’s full might. It was a suicide mission, everyone knew that. But somehow, Acantha was holding her own. Dragon magic, he thought faintly. Elemental magic that came from the stars, that was what everyone said. He’d known Acantha was a Capricorn, but he hadn’t truly known what that meant until now.
“Give up,” Haspar ground out, eyes locked with the dragon captain’s. “You’re dead anyway.”
“Then why—give—up?”
It was all spread out before him, as if on a great map. Haspar was focusing all his attention on controlling Acantha’s sword… which meant he’d released Cato completely. But Acantha’s strength wasn’t limitless. From the look of her, it was a small miracle she was even on her feet, let alone holding Haspar in check. He had a few seconds, maybe less, before Haspar took control of him again… and probably forced him, puppet-like, to end Acantha’s life.
Cato rose to his feet faster than he’d ever thought possible without magic. He raised his right arm, which at last was free of the pain that had gripped him all day. And without a single thought in his head but the woman so bravely and so hopelessly fighting against the monster before her, Cato slammed his arm down on her blade with all the force he had left in his body.
Chapter 23 - Acantha
She seemed to have been swimming through time in slow motion, ever since she’d dragged herself up from the floor of the Archives. That alone had seemed like it should have been impossible. Most of her ribs were cracked if not broken, judging by the pain each shallow breath caused, and her head was dizzy and light with the blood that kept trickling from the corner of her mouth, no matter how fast she spat it out. She’d pass out the moment she took another step, she knew that. But every step she took turned out to be her second-last. She made it to the stairs. She made it up one flight of stairs, two, three, still waiting curiously for death to come, for darkness to claim her.
And then she was limping through the ruined Archives, one hand reaching for the empty place on her belt where her sword should have been. Gone, now. Lost. No matter. She bent to retrieve her hidden blade, almost losing consciousness with the effort, until the sleek black blade was safely in her hand again. Good. It wouldn’t feel right to die without a sword in her hand. This one was her favorite, too. A longsword was the standard weapon of the Guard, so as Captain she felt it her responsibility to carry one… but in a battle for her life, she’d take the short blade in her hand any time. Not quite a shortsword, not quite a dirk, too long to be a dagger… it was simply a weapon. A viciously sharp weapon that she loved with all her heart.
There were a few like it, composed of the same curious dark metal—the trick of making it had long since been lost, but it was famous for the razor-sharp edge it could hold. Unfortunately, that made it brittle, too—which was another part of why she opted for her longsword for general use.
Held in her unsteady hand, its hilt slick with blood, the blade seemed to lead her onwards, through the Archives and down the corridor beyond. The prison—that was where Haspar was going. He was going to get Cato. To take him away. To kill him, maybe. Her body burned with a surprising fury at that. He was going to come into her Palace, was he? Hurt her soldiers? Then take her prisoner? He’d do it over her dead body or he wouldn’t do it at all.
One step at a time. One more step, one more step, one more step and she was leaning against the prison doorway, listening to Cato’s voice, louder and more strident that she’d ever heard it. There were tears running down her face when he’d finished. Go, something whispered, and she remembered for a fleeting moment what her sister had said about this being the most important time to listen to her heart. It was almost enough to make her laugh. Now or never.
And when she opened her mouth to let her heart speak through her, it was Cato’s name she shouted.
Haspar stopped her, of course. Even after all of Cato’s tricks, the time he bought her wasn’t enough, and the blade slammed to a halt inches from his chest. Death soon, then, she thought faintly. It would take her while she was doing her job, or it wouldn’t take her at all. With everything left in her, Acantha forced her sword towards Haspar’s evil heart. She didn’t hear Cato approaching them. Didn’t see him raise his arm. Didn’t even register the juddering impact against her blade, that sharp upper edge slicing effortlessly through skin, through flesh, through bone…
But she did see the look of naked shock on Haspar’s face. And she did feel the resistance on her sword falter, just for a second. A second was all she needed. With barely a grunt, the force he’d been holding back finally got its way… and Acantha drove her blade into Haspar’s chest so hard that it didn’t stop until her trembling hand struck his robes and the point of the blade emerged with a horrible sound from the back of his ribcage.
She fell to her knees, then. That felt inevitable. Where had all this blood come from? It was soaking the floor, absolutely drenching it… something thudded on the ground beside her, and she blinked in surprise as she saw the dull silver gauntlet rolling away from her. She must have brought it with her, clutched under her arm for some reason. Why would she have done that? More rattling—Cato was pawing furiously at Haspar’s hand, yanking ring after ring from his unprotesting fingers and hurling them across the room. The big man was staring down at the sword in his chest with a look of confusion on his face so vivid it was almost comical. Then he crashed to his knees so loudly it seemed to shake the whole room. His great body teetered there for a moment, and then slumped heavily to the side.
But Cato wasn’t going to be stopped. His face pale with shock and pain, he continued to fumble at the man’s hands, tugging furiously at rings that seemed lodged in place, something clumsy about his movements. Why was he insisting on doing the task one-handed? Why—
“Oh,” she heard herself say, with more volume than she’d imagined she was capable of. That caught Cato’s attention and his head whipped around to her, but she wasn’t looking at his face. She was looking at his arm—or rather, what remained of it. His robes flapped empty below the elbow, as though he’d pulled his hand inside the fabric for warmth… but she knew that wasn’t what had happened. Not when there was that much blood, staining the gray robes darker, dripping thickly onto the stone floor far, far too quickly.
“Here,” she said, reaching out helplessly towards his ruined arm. “Here, Cato, you have to stop the bleeding—” She couldn’t stand. She was trying, but she might as well have been asking her legs to levitate for all they were doing to obey her instructions. Cato slowly slumped over, his eyes clouding a little as he seemed to give up on pulling the rest of the rings from the dead man’s hands. Whether he was processing the death or simply fighting to maintain consciousness as the blood left his body, she couldn’t tell.
There was nothing she could do here, she knew, in a numb, distant kind of way. His body was clearly about to give out, and hers had given out a while ago, driven by pure will… but they’d done it. “He’s dead,” she said, surprised that her voice was still at her command. “You did it.”
“You did it,” he corrected her drowsily, and when he turned to look at her, he swayed for a moment, then collapsed sideways, his head landing in her lap. For a moment it looked so much like the way Haspar had fallen that she nearly stopped breathing… but then he murmured an apology, and she realized he was gesturing to the bloodstains all over her armor.
“It’s mine,” she reassured him helplessly. “Just—shh.” What was there to say? With fingers still numb from the ferocious grip she’d been maintaining on the sword, she stroked his white-blond hair back from his face, not sure if it was blood or tears she could feel dripping from her chin. Maybe both.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she realized with a jolt he was still wearing the daft truth collar. She started fussing at it, trying to unbuckle it with fingers that were unwilling to obey her. A tourniquet. They could use it as a tourniquet. They could stop his arm bleeding, they could… but her fingers fell away. It was too late. Too late for any of that, now. “I’m so sorry, Acantha, I’m sorry for everything. I wish I hadn’t said it for the first time on trial in front of the Queen and everyone, but I love you, and I’m sorry.”
“I love you too,” she heard herself say, the most obvious response in the world, the easiest words she’d ever spoken. Numbness covered her like a shroud. Could they really not have gotten here any earlier than the imminent ends of both of their lives? It was so simple. Why hadn’t she—it didn’t matter. He was smiling at her, weakly, disbelievingly, reaching up with his right hand—then reaching up with his left hand, correcting the gesture with a wince. She felt his fingertips brush against her cheek, too cold, too pale… but still his.