Another memory jarred loose. Rain and mud and fire, me huddled beside the motionless body of my mother, hoping she would wake up soon so we could go home. A shadow falling over me, as I gazed into the stern, younger face of Lucas Benedict. And all the confusion, shock, pain and disbelief melted into a sudden blinding, fiery rage.

“So, we come full circle,” the Patriarch was saying, raising his sword as he closed in. “Talon’s wayward son shows his true colors at last. And now, I will finish what I should have done all those years ago, and send you to your masters where you belong!”

He lunged, bringing that sword down at my neck. I forgot my pain, forgot my mission, forgot everything but the image of my mother’s body, lying there in the mud. I reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and turning my body so that the blow missed me by millimeters. For just a moment, the Patriarch was off balance, and I slashed at him with everything I had left.

He turned, managing to block the blade, but the force hammered through his guard, and his own sword struck him in the face. Without a sound, he tumbled backward, hitting the ground on his side, the sword coming free of his grip. Almost immediately, he pushed himself to his knees, but before he got any farther, I staggered forward and put the tip of my blade against his throat.

“Yield.”

He froze. The metal point hovered at his neck, resting against his skin. He stared at me almost in shock. Blood streamed down his face from the gash in his forehead, staining the collar of his white uniform. My leg shook, pain hammering through my muscles from the abuse, but I stood tall and kept the sword steady as I locked eyes with the Patriarch.

“Yield,” I said again, and his face darkened, his expression twisting with hate.

“I will not.”

“Then I’m sorry.”

I raised the sword to sweep it down through his neck. It would be quick, I told myself. One more death on my hands. One more unforgivable sin, but perhaps it would be enough to end the slaughter. Or at least, start things in the right direction.

“Stop!” the Patriarch hissed, just as I was about to bring the blade down. I looked at his face and saw it was white with the sudden realization that I had been entirely serious about killing him. “Stop,” he said again, slumping in defeat. “I concede. The fight is yours.”

Relief swept through me, taking with it the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright through most of the fight. I staggered back from the Patriarch, thankful it was over, feeling my wounds throb and my leg threaten to buckle with every step I took. I saw Tristan and Gabriel Martin walking toward us, neither of them looking particularly happy, though Tristan did manage a tiny nod as our gazes met. Shuddering, I let my sword fall, thumping to the salt. It was over. What happened to the Patriarch now was out of my hands. I would worry about the aftermath, and what it meant for the Order, when I was a little less bloody.

“Garret!”

That voice did bring a smile to my face. I turned, and saw Ember and Riley coming toward me from the opposite end of the arena. Ember was out front, grinning at me, Riley following a few steps behind with a look of reluctant relief.

Still smiling, I took a few steps toward them, then paused as Ember’s eyes went wide, her expression shifting to alarm.

“Garret, behind you—!”

I turned as shots rang out in the stillness.

EMBER

He’d won.

The breath rushed out of me, making me kind of giddy with relief. I’d kept telling myself he would win. I mean, it was Garret. The Perfect Soldier. He had saved us from an ambush, led a counterstrike against the Order of St. George and had marched into an entire assembly of those who wanted him dead, only to come out of it triumphant. Even after he’d been wounded, I knew he could still pull it off. He’d done it before. He had to win.

But then the Patriarch started talking, telling him things that made my heart pound with shock and horror. I heard Riley swear in disbelief, saw the blood drain from Garret’s face as the Patriarch told him he was once part of Talon. That his parents had been servants of the organization. For just a moment, Garret had faltered. And the Patriarch instantly took advantage of it, lunging in and stabbing the soldier while he was off balance. This time, the wound wasn’t a glancing blow, but sank deep into his leg, making me cringe. Garret staggered and fell, crumpling to the unforgiving salt, and the heat flaring through my veins was immediate and intense.

He’s going to die. For a moment, it took everything I had not to Shift. Not to burst into dragon form, fly to his side and char the Patriarch into an unrecognizable husk. No! Stop it, Ember, I told myself, biting my lip to keep the dragon in check. You can’t help him. You’ll forfeit everything we worked for if you interfere now. And you made him a promise.