Soul of Ice

Chapter Thirty-Two

She would probably regret shattering the dungeon doors, Astra mused as she carefully wove her way around the larger splinters of metal, trying to avoid cutting up her bare feet. Still, if Olan was right, and the rebellion had started, then a broken-down door was the least of their problems.

Recalling the steps the guards had taken to lead her here, Astra made her way up a long flight of stairs to return to the main palace hall, where it was silent and devoid of guards. They must've already left to where the fighting was. Astra flicked her hidden knives into her hands as she got nearer to the ballroom. The door she'd been escorted through earlier was closed, but there still wasn't any noise. Cautious, she crept forward and kicked the door open.

The screams that washed over her were terrible, almost as bad as the memory of the whistles the guards had used on her and the other wraiths. The entire ballroom was a mess of expensive fabrics, flashing blades, and red. So much blood. It was a massacre.

Her eyes took in the fights going all around her, scanning, searching—

The scene didn't look right... she stopped and studied the actual people more closely. Palace guards fighting against... the party attendees? Astra's hand tightened on her blades. On second thought, the palace guard she was staring at had black hair, a peculiarity by itself.

It took barely another second for her to piece together the information as she saw the alleged guard raise his left arm. A thick, dark green band was clearly tied around his left bicep. Pelosians, not wraiths. In fact, there weren't any wraiths in sight as far as she could tell, unless Jemma and the others were still around.

Astra furrowed her eyebrows, barely reacting as the Pelosian sliced a red arc through a defenseless woman. Gods, how had this happened? What was going on?

What if he was already dead? She should save herself, get herself out, out now. What better time to escape than this moment? No one would see, and if they did, no one would care. Go. Go now. Her feet shifted back, and then forward, then stopped again, unsure where to go or what to do.

But then if he was alive, Xernes would certainly track him down, torture him, send her the evidence. She'd never forgive herself then.

She just wanted a look. Just to check. He was alive, after all... she glanced down at a prostrate body. No, of course it wasn't him, he was alive. Alive. She had to keep repeating that. But she wouldn't know for sure unless she found him.

Hesitation would get her killed, that had been drilled into her for years, so with a forceful step forward, Astra delved into the fray, avoiding fights as best as she could and searching, constantly. Certainly Olan couldn't be expected to protect him in a mess like this. What had she been thinking, making that deal with him? This was a bloodbath.

No one bothered her as she searched about the room, save for a Pelosian brute who must've made the foolish assumption that she was an easy target. She sidestepped him at the last moment when he charged and drew her knife across his neck just as quickly. By the time the man had dropped to the ground, she had already moved on, the blood on the blade wiped off on her ruined dress.

It was against the opposite side of the ballroom that she found them. The prince of Solasia was pressed up against the wall, a huge knife his sole weapon. Several feet in front stood Olan, in a spar against six other Pelosians, a long, golden sword in his hand. An impressive and formidable weapon, though she did wonder where he could have possibly been keeping the thing. The Aerisian ambassador fought like a choreographed dance, his opponents' weapons all missing him by mere inches every time they attempted to draw blood. As she watched, one of the Pelosians fell from Olan's blade, blood blooming across his chest.