She slipped the knife out of her boot and stepped silently into the room. Nomi knew Serina was better suited for this task, seeing as Nomi had no idea how to use a knife. But even if her sister had been standing next to her, Nomi would have shouldered the duty of this undertaking. She had given Asa his opportunity, if not his power. She had to be the one to take it away.

She snuck up to the bed curtains and peeked inside. The silken sheets—black and shimmering—were smooth, unwrinkled. No one was in the bed.

Nomi’s stomach flipped. She’d been so prepared to see Asa asleep in this bed, his dark hair mussed. She’d expected the memories to come flooding back; she’d braced for weakness and doubt. She’d imagined it would be difficult to see him in the flesh again, to resolve the capricious murderer with the man who’d promised her the world.

But he wasn’t here.

She backed away from the bed, toward the secret passageway. She’d have to wait for him to return. She wasn’t abandoning her mission now. As she turned, a flicker of movement caught her eye.

There, through the doorway…

She slipped out of her boots, knife in hand, and padded barefoot across the cold marble. Before she reached the doorway, she could hear his voice: soft, persuasive.

She snuck a glance around the corner.

Asa stood on the balcony beyond the doorway, facing a girl with a curtain of black hair, her head bowed. His hand rested at the joining of her neck and shoulder. Even from the other side of the terrace, Nomi saw the tension running through her.

Oh no. Maris.

“I saw you,” Asa was purring. He was taller than she was by a few inches, and he used that height to loom, to assert his power. In his shadow, Maris cowered. “You belonged on Mount Ruin, didn’t you? You had your own secret. Your own… aberration.”

Nomi bit back a gasp.

Maris said nothing, but her hands clenched at her sides.

Asa’s lips thinned. He twisted his hand into her hair and yanked, driving her head down. Maris stumbled to her knees, crying out.

Nomi tightened her grip on the homemade knife and charged.

The short distance benefited her. Slap, slap, slap… three footfalls and she’d reached them. He was just turning toward her, mouth opening, when she used her momentum and her fury and all her broken pieces to drive the knife into his gut, to the hilt.

Asa staggered back a step.

But he didn’t falter the way she expected him to. Infuriated, he launched himself at her, yelling and cursing, his eyes wild as an injured animal’s. Her legs caught in her cloak as she tried to back away.

She fell down, and he followed, sprawling on top of her, her knife still protruding grotesquely from his side.