Expression drained from Beryl’s face. She bowed to Mirwell. “Command me, my lord.”

“Kill Captain Mapstone.”

Her sword sprang into her hand. The clash of steel rang in the distilled atmosphere of the throne room. Connly intervened to help the captain repel Beryl’s attack, but she used her sword in a mindless and savage way, causing them both to fall back. Her sword tore and thrust with a life of its own, and the two did all they could to simply defend themselves. Mirwell chortled.

Karigan had to help the king.

She tore loose of her father’s grip. With the sword of the First Rider clenched in her hand she charged toward King Zachary and Amilton-Shawdell.

“Kari!” her father shouted. “Look out!”

Something snarled and hurtled out of the shadows at her, knocking her down. Karigan sprawled on her side, the sword skittering across the floor out of reach. She took a couple of deep breaths to get air back into her lungs and raised herself to her elbow. Jendara knelt on one knee beside her, her sword tip pressed against her chest. Footsteps approached from behind.

“Back off, merchant,” Jendara said, her eyes never leaving Karigan. Her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed. She looked a raptor ready to plunge on its prey with talons spread. “Back off, or my sword will taste more of her blood, and yours as well.”

Karigan sensed her father hesitating behind her. “Go,” she said. “She means it.” She heard his feet pad away and the low tones of his voice as he exchanged words with Sevano.

Karigan gazed up the length of Jendara’s bright blade. “You shouldn’t stop me,” she said.

“You should have killed me when you had a chance,” Jendara replied.

“It was not my way.” Proud Jendara had diminished, it seemed to Karigan, as if her spirit had been beaten out of her. Her fierce hawklike features sagged and were marred by bruises, cuts, and swelling. Had she guessed wrong about Jendara all that while ago? Had she guessed wrong that there was enough good in her worth saving? Or had F’ryan Coblebay been right? Jendara had not killed her outright and that was something, she supposed, a gleam of hope.

The din of Captain Mapstone’s fight with Beryl seemed to shake Jendara from her thoughts. “I cannot let you interfere with King Amilton,” she said. “We have worked too hard and waited too long for him to claim what has always been his by right.”

“Your king is dying.”

Jendara glanced over her shoulder, the ringlets of her lush russet hair shimmering. She seemed to hesitate and Karigan took the advantage—not with a weapon for she had none, but with words.

“When I fade out, I can see it; I can see the Eletian. The stone he wears binds them together, but soon the Eletian will absorb Amilton completely. There will be no King Amilton. No Amilton, period. If you stop me, there won’t be a King Zachary either. Just the Eletian. Who knows what will become of Sacoridia then.”

Jendara shook her head. A variety of emotions battled in her eyes.

“You must see it yourself,” Karigan said, feeling the time pass like blood gouting from a wound. “Is he the same man you pledged to protect? Or has he changed?” Her voice took on a tone of desperation. With every passing moment, the Eletian grew stronger, and King Zachary came closer to dying. She could not let him die. Yet there was little she could do on the wrong end of Jendara’s sword. She would not escape a second time. “He is dying, don’t you understand? They are both dying! They are being sacrificed to augment the Eletian’s power.”

Jendara’s eyes searched hers. She pursed her lips. Then with a growl she stood up and drove her sword home into its sheath. She grasped Karigan’s wrist and hauled her to her feet.

“I know it,” she said. “I guess I have known it. He is not who he was. What will you do?”

“Separate them.”

Jendara snatched up the sword of the First Rider and thrust the hilt into Karigan’s hand. As Karigan took it, their fingers brushed and in a bare half-second, Karigan understood Jendara’s own sacrifice. No matter how this ended, it would not go well for her.

“Jendara ...”

“I’ve made the right decision for once,” Jendara said. She pushed Karigan in the direction of the dais. “There is no time to lose.”

Karigan had been wrong. Jendara’s spirit had not diminished, but had grown brighter. Yet she had not been wrong that there was still goodness to be found in the woman. She turned to the king and his brother.

King Zachary’s back was arched, blood trickling from his nose. His cheeks had gone hollow, his flesh pasty, and his hair had dulled as if his very life force was leaking away. In contrast, Amilton-Shawdell’s expression was exultant. His hair was now completely golden.

The sword in Karigan’s hand repelled the dark of Amilton-Shawdell as it must have Ages ago in the hands of the First Rider during the Long War. She passed into the aura of darkness, and the magic hummed all about her and prickled her flesh.

She raised the blade above her head and struck downward. She cleaved through the gold chain that bound the black stone to Amilton-Shawdell’s neck.

King Zachary toppled away like a stiff column of granite. The black stone slipped from his hand. When it hit the floor, black energy flared up in a curtain around Karigan as if she were in the eye of a storm of black lightning. A tendril of magic arced across the ceiling scorching a black, jagged line through the portrait of King Amigast Hillander.

The last thing Karigan heard was the terrible dual scream of Amilton-Shawdell. Then the world went white.