For a second, the wound looks serious, but then he plucks out the knife and sends it into Roman’s stomach. Roman doubles over. “You know, I’ve decided not to kill you outright. I’ll plant you in the garden next to your sister.” He jerks his head toward me. “But I’m going to make you watch her die first.”

His sword swings in a high arc. It would’ve been faster to just run me through, but he clearly wants the drama of cleaving me straight down the middle.

He’s stronger than me. But I have something else: the desire to get revenge. My own for my mom’s death, and the magic’s for his abuse. We’re both going to get it.

I raise my hands, and I finally let go of everything inside me—the pain, the rage, the longing—and the magic latches on to it, interprets it as a command, and burns through my veins and into my fingertips. I gasp as the blade bites the tender spot between my thumb and fingers on both hands. But it doesn’t cleave through. The magic heals me as fast as the blade can cut. Rivulets of blood trail down my skin, coating my wrists, and my arms shake, but I’m holding strong.

Roman’s blade sinks into his neck, and Lucius stumbles back, but it’s not enough. I’m worried nothing will be enough, and my troupe hasn’t come, and I don’t know if it’s because they abandoned me or if they just can’t reach me.

Lucius tosses Roman to the side and raises the sword again, and the glint in his eye is sharper than the blade. Something tells me I won’t stop it this time.

“Lucius.” The voice is calm and quiet, but somehow it’s enough to freeze Lucius. He lowers his sword, and there’s tension in the easy smile he plasters on his face. He’s scared.

Relief flutters in my chest.

A cold hand wraps around my wrist, but I don’t jump. It’s not the icy bite of Lucius’s touch. It’s the soothing balm of Roman’s. He runs a thumb over the spot he drank from earlier, and I shiver. I can feel my own power in his touch.

“It’s okay,” Roman says. “They’re here.”

CHAPTER 37

At least one part of our plan is going right.