I hold up my knife and ready my stance as he barrels toward me, aware that my weapon is no match for his. As he gets closer his movements become more deliberate and his face more focused. He slashes at me with so much force that the air moves. I barely manage to jump out of the way, avoiding his blade with just inches to spare.

As he raises his arm again the distinctive hum of a bowstring comes from behind him. But before he can turn, I hear the thud of metal hitting flesh. His eyes bulge and he stumbles, dropping face-first to the floor, an arrow sticking out of his back.

I peer down the hallway, and from the shadows comes a tall guy with broad shoulders and a serious expression.

“Matteo?” I say in disbelief. He has a half-empty quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder and a longbow in his hand.

“November,” he says, and we share an awkward nod, neither of us knowing what to say, and no time to say it if we did. For the briefest moment there’s a glimmer of understanding between us, but then we’re both moving again, him into the great hall and me chasing after my dad and Jag.

I pick up speed, not stopping to assess my surroundings the way I normally would. Instead, I race down the hallway, through the door at the end, and into an empty banquet hall. But the only person in the room is a dead guard with an arrow sticking out of his back that matches the arrows in Layla’s and Matteo’s quivers.

I move as fast as my legs will carry me around tables set with fine china, push through another door at the far end of the room, and burst into an enormous kitchen. The staff doesn’t jump, but there is a general air of nervous tension that tells me something happened here. And what’s more, they look from me to the side door, as though someone just passed through that way and they expect me to do the same.

I fly across the kitchen and through the door, stopping short as my boots hit grass and the cold air pricks my sweaty skin. There in the middle of the open courtyard is a small crowd of Strategia, and all eyes are turned to my dad and Jag.

On the ground, not far from the side door, are two dead guards. By the way Jag glances at them disappointedly, it’s clear he came this way because he thought they would be here. Both of them were shot with arrows. Thank you, Layla and Matteo.

My dad stands in front of his father with a knife in his hand and his back to me. Jag lifts his own blade. I want to let my dad know I’m here, but I don’t dare call out his name for fear I’ll distract him.