They rushed toward Raisa as the woman dropped the tray onto the table with a clatter. She turned and bolted the door behind her, then scooped a brace of knives from under the napkin, one in each hand.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, like a dream in which Raisa’s feet were fastened to the floor, her cries stuck in her throat. The two swordsmen came at her from either side, smiling because they knew that with the door bolted they’d have time to finish their work even if she called for help.

They would be on her before she could wrench open the door to Han’s suite, assuming it wasn’t locked. Raisa fled screaming into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She struggled to slide the bolt across, leaping back as blades splintered the wood of the door.

Dimitri’s staff stood propped in the corner of her room, and Raisa snatched it up, holding it horizontally across her body as the latch gave.

She smashed the end of her staff into the face of the first man through the door. It hit with a satisfying wet crunch, and he dropped his sword and went down like a rock, clutching at his face with both hands. Before Raisa could bring her staff back into position, the other two were inside.

The woman with the blades dropped her knives and picked up her fallen comrade’s sword. Again, they came at Raisa from two sides. Even given the length of the staff and her hard-earned skill with it, she couldn’t defend against both at once.

Raisa continued to shout for help, thrusting at first one assassin and then the other in order to stay out of the reach of their blades. Where was her guard? Talia and Trey should be right outside. Why weren’t they responding?

Then, beyond the assassins, Han materialized in the doorway, rimed with light, one hand on his amulet, the other extended, looking like the Demon King himself. He spoke a charm in a cold deadly voice.

The sound startled her attackers, and they started to turn.

Flame boiled through the doorway, engulfing the soldier in the lead. The man screamed and jittered in a macabre dance, batting at his burning skin.

The remaining assassin half turned, distracted by what had happened to her comrade, and Raisa took this opportunity to smash her staff into her throat, a killing blow Amon had taught her. The assassin crumpled in place, her head at an odd angle.

The terrible stench of burning flesh stung Raisa’s throat, penetrated her nose, and brought tears to her eyes. She shrank back against the wall, coughing violently. Her stomach threatened to evict its contents.

The flaming assassin lurched across her room to the window. Raisa didn’t know if he was thinking of escape or only hoping to quench the flames in the river below.