Joth believed he was on the verge of victory, but I had no plans to make his claim on the throne this simple.
With his knife headed straight toward my chest, I braced myself, standing perfectly still until the blade was just in front of me. Then I swung my sword at it, connecting with a clash of metals that rang in my ears. The knife careened off sideways, and before Joth had time to react, I raced toward him.
He thrust me backward, but the courtyard had begun to rumble with voices of discontent.
“Make it a fair fight!” someone from the audience yelled.
Joth’s face twisted as he glared in that direction; then he responded by pulling his fingers into a fist, corresponding with a desperate cry for help from that same man in the audience. I saw his body collapse and a woman next to him scream out, “What have you done?”
“Kneel to me now.” Joth turned to address the crowd. “And no one else has to die.”
I used that moment to rush at him, tackling him from behind so that he fell to the ground face-first. He struggled, but I got my hands on his wrists, locking down his body with my legs. Suddenly, I was sapped of strength when Joth rotated one wrist just enough to touch my hand. I fell to the ground, struggling for breath and feeling every cut and bruise in my body swell with pain.
Joth knelt beside me, grabbing my shirt and pulling me into a seated position. “Tell them to kneel,” he said. “Tell them or you will die right here.”
In the loudest voice I could muster, I said, “Do you see how Joth kneels before me now? He asks that you follow his example and kneel to me as well!”
Furious, Joth reached for me again and surely would have pulled out what life still remained in me, when at my right, I recognized Huge’s voice, shouting, “Simon is our king!”
Joth stood, forgetting me. “Who said that?”
“Simon is our king!” another group shouted behind Joth.
“Simon is our king!” So many people began chanting it, Joth didn’t know where to place his attention.
Instead, both of his hands clenched into fists and his face tightened into fierce concentration. He was gathering magic such as I suspected Antora had never before seen.
“To your knees!” he screamed, raising his arms, and when he lowered them, the entire audience was forced to kneel. “Now watch as I destroy your so-called king!”
I had lifted myself into a crouching position, still unable to stand on my own, but just as he sent magic toward me, Rawk flew over the platform directly between us, his wings outstretched wide, and Joth fell again. The magic Joth had sent diffused around me, though Rawk had let out a horrifying screech as he was hit by the magic, and his balance wavered as he flew away, injured. I tried to send a thought of comfort to him but could not find him, and that terrified me.
“Protect the king!”
Gabe’s words quickly became a rallying cry around the courtyard. Weapons seemed to come out of nowhere and people stood and began pressing toward the platform.
“Protect the king, my brother!”
Above all other noises now thundering within the courtyard, Rosaleen’s strong voice easily carried to me, demanding the attention of those who had gathered here. I turned to see her and Darrow pushing forward through the crowd.
For the past several days, I’d been desperate to see her. I’d looked for her around every corner, amidst every group of Ironhearts we’d encountered, and never once had caught a single glimpse of her. Now here she was, but at the worst possible time. I wanted her to be anywhere but in this courtyard.
Unfair as it was to ask, I sent thoughts to Rawk to help Rosaleen, if he could.
This time, Rawk answered. Despite his injuries, he immediately rounded toward us and, with his breath, sent fire down to the edges of the platform, creating a barrier the audience would not cross and which probably created some sort of protection from Joth’s magic.
Joth screamed in anger, then waved his fingers, summoning my sword straight into his hands. “When the fire burns down, they will see their king dead by his own weapon.”
“They will see a dead king, but it won’t be Simon.” Kestra leapt onto the platform, untouched by the fire, with the Olden Blade in her hands. Joth turned, but she was charging at him so quickly, he barely had time to react. He grabbed her shoulders as the Olden Blade entered his chest. Something in his touch must have harmed her too, for she let out a cry that pierced the air, pierced my heart. Instinctively, I understood that he was not just taking strength from her. His touch was killing her.
Kestra looked over at me, and I watched the light fade in her eyes, then extinguish. In that same moment, her cry was cut off in a choking silence and then her body went limp. I screamed out her name and ran forward, but even before I caught her, I knew she was dead. I landed on my knees, and when I tried pulling her into my arms, an explosion of light erupted around us and she was ripped away from me.
The light vanished, and a second later, I heard a thud on the ground.
Fearing it might be Kestra, I hardly dared to open my eyes, but when I did, I saw the Olden Blade implanted point down in the platform floor, smoke rising from what appeared to be searing hot metal. Not a drop of blood was on it.
Nor was Kestra anywhere in sight.
Or Joth.