Lady Raven stared at the troll. The only evidence of her displeasure was the tightening of her jaw. “Welcome, Brin of Stonefall. It has been a long time since last we met. Ambrose Madigan has shielded you well the past decade, but alas, all good things must come to an end.”

Mazarine spat on the table.

Lennox took a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, and I felt compelled to rise until Phelan tightened his hold on my knee.

Even my father gave me a sharp glance. One that ordered me not to interfere or respond.

I watched, but my mind was reeling.

“You have us all together, Lady Raven,” Mazarine—Brin—said with a malicious gleam in her eyes. “Why delay? Prove your point.”

The countess lifted her hand in response. An emerald ring gleamed on her finger.

Five servants, who had been standing against the wall, stepped forward. They no longer held platters; they held daggers. And they moved in unison, approaching the table.

Mazarine was stabbed first. A servant plunged the blade into her chest, where it met her bone with a crack. The troll laughed as dark blood ran down her dress, as it seeped into the silver tangles of her hair.

Next, Aaron Wolfe. Olivette’s father. He didn’t fight or protest as a dagger split his heart. He seemed to welcome the mortal blow, and Olivette lunged to her feet, overturning her chair, screaming and screaming and screaming. Her father didn’t even look at her. He closed his eyes, sorrowful, peaceful. As if he were already dead.

The blood dripped from his chair, pooling on the rug.

My heart pounded in my ears.

An uneven rhythm.

I trembled.

Phelan’s hand remained warm on my knee, holding me steady, holding my guise in place. I drew in slow, deep breaths, but the air was full of copper, the metallic taste of blood.

The duke was next. He didn’t fight it either but surrendered to the blade. It pierced his broad chest and he only sighed, complaining how the countess had just ruined his best waistcoat.

When a dagger found Imonie’s heart, I nearly rose from the table, to lunge across it to reach her. No, no, no, my thoughts rang, until she looked at me and gave the slightest shake of her head. I had seen that look before plenty of times; she was scolding me, even as her blood marred her blue dress.

Stay there, Clem. I read her thoughts. Be patient, be shrewd.

And then my father.