"Her traitor blood is killing her!" someone called from the audience.
"I claim this dagger!" Somehow still able to speak, Trina had fallen to her knees and lines of pain were etched across her face. "I thought ... I don't understand ..."
Simon leapt onto the stage, and gave me only a passing glance before turning his attention to Trina. "Let go!"
Behind me, Tenger said, "It might take time, Trina. Stay strong."
"It's working!" she cried. "I will succeed here!"
No, she would die here. Her face was becoming gray and the flesh sinking inward. Why wouldn't she just let go?
One to Fall.
Back in the dungeons, we had believed the third line of the prophecy represented Endrick, but that was wrong. It was speaking of Trina. If she didn't let go soon, she would die.
The crowd was becoming more alarmed--and furious--that she was refusing to release a weapon that clearly had rejected her. Down in the audience, I saw more than one sword come out.
Although, to be fair, those swords might've been for me. I was the enemy here, far more than she was.
Simon grabbed Trina from behind, but she squirmed free, preventing him from getting control of the Blade. He had to be careful, or the Blade would hurt him too. I doubted his body could take much more punishment.
Forgetting about me, Tenger dove into the fray between Simon and Trina. I immediately reached for a knife hidden against my thigh, one I'd stolen from a distracted man in the crowd before allowing Tenger to capture me. As soon as the knife was in my hand, I grabbed Tenger's good leg, stabbing him in the calf.
When Tenger rolled away, his hand on the injury, Simon wrapped his arm around Trina's shoulders. "Drop the Olden Blade!" he yelled. "Trina, for your own sake, drop it, or I will stop you!"
If she had been any stronger, I was sure she would have kept hold of the Blade, but by now, she couldn't help but release it. The instant she did, she fell to the ground, unconscious.
The Olden Blade clattered to the stage floor. Simon was behind it, near Trina. Thorne was beside them, and Tenger was on the far edge of the stage. Slowly, I rose to my feet. The audience had gone entirely silent. None of us knew what to do next.
One to Vanquish.
Trina and Tenger both believed those words had been carved into the dungeon wall by Risha, speaking about Trina. But they weren't.
Suddenly, everything made sense. My mother, the last fugitive Endrean, who had betrayed Lord Endrick and stolen the Olden Blade, had carved those words.
Anaya had not been Risha Halderian's servant. It was the other way around.
My mother had claimed the Olden Blade.
My mother had been the Infidante.
And when she had carved those words into the walls, it was never about her. She knew her fate. What if she had described the one person she would have thought about endlessly in her final days?
Her infant daughter.
Me.
This was impossible.
Above the roar of the audience, Thorne whispered in my ear, "There's a reason the Olden Blade didn't glow before. It's already been claimed."
I tried to protest, but immediately felt uncomfortable beneath Thorne's steady gaze. "It wasn't me. There was no glow when I touched it."
"But you did touch it?"
"It burned my hand. It rejected me."
Thorne took my hand, softly rubbing his thumb over the burn. "If the Olden Blade had rejected you, my lady, you'd be dead now. You claimed it."