They reach the hall. A crack thunders behind them—the first pillar to break. Then a heartbeat later, a second snaps in two and a wall collapses inward. The woman’s Threads are shrinking fast, shadowy lines that will soon end in death.

The first Hell-Bard is still trapped inside. The one Iseult had controlled and kicked. His death and the Stonewitch’s will be marked on Iseult’s conscience, branded on her heart for the rest of her days. She should care, but right now, she doesn’t.

All she wants is to get to Safi. All she wants is to destroy the Emperor who would dare hurt her family.

But Safi is nowhere near—her Threads are streaking away, fast, fast, and surrounded by shadows. As if the Hell-Bards carry her.

Worse, more shadows approach. Storm clouds rolling in, and Iseult knows Caden cannot help her. Not without losing his own life, and that is too far. Even for her tainted soul. So she does the only thing she can think of to help him: she grabs his Threads too.

A clasp, a tug, a burst of heat in her palms and elbows. He falls to his knees. Iseult tears off her black bag and takes his longsword. Then she finally bolts after Safi and the Emperor. There are Hell-Bards ahead. Six people Iseult must cleave. They chose the wrong person to try to control. She knows how everyone imagines her: the quiet one, the hidden one, the one who blends and melts away.

No more. She is done with scarves and shadows. Why must she hide while Safi displays? Why must she feel nothing while Safi feels it all? Stasis has taken Iseult nowhere. Stasis has held her back, kept her separate from the world. But rage … Oh, it will carry her far.

Esme was right all along.

She is done being the left hand. It is time to become the right hand too. It is time to become the fangs.

The rear guards notice Iseult’s clattering approach. A barked command from their emperor, and two break off to face her. But Iseult has no interest in them. She dodges the first attack, then slices into the second. Swords have never been her best weapon, but she does not need finesse here. She has magic, and these poor, indentured Hell-Bards have no idea what is coming.

Like with Caden and the others, Iseult grabs their Threads. It is messy, but the result is instant. They drop.

The result is instant for Iseult too. So much heat, so many flames. They scorch up her bones and into her skull, and suddenly, it’s too much to hold on to. Her vision turns to fire. Her knees weaken beneath her.

Cleave them! she screams inwardly, trying to pull the Threads to her mouth. Cleave them, you fool!