Arynn blinked at the sword in her hand. "All great warriors name their sword," her mentor had told her when she'd had the sword made. It was a broadsword, about the length of her whole arm, with a made of obsidian; its pommel and cross-guard dipped in pure gold. The grip and centre ridge were carved with thorns and roses. She'd named it Alaris Nightsbane. It was a weapon of destruction, as beautiful as it was deadly.

The Winter Palace was at the very top of a hill, high enough that to be pushed off one of the balconies meant death. The towering spires were made of white stone, connected to each other by narrow bridges high above the courtyard. The palace had watchtowers stationed where sentries would see any attack coming at any time and from anywhere. They had failed this time.

There were archers stationed on the battlements, bows drawn and arrows nocked. Arynn lifted her shield, heavy and golden with a serpent bearing its fangs at the centre, and crouched as a volley of arrows rained down on them. There was a curse to her left as one of the soldiers sank to his knees and clutched his shoulder. An arrow had gone right through it, with the bloodied arrowhead sticking out through his shoulder blade.

Arynn had just reached the gates, back pressed flat against the heavy wooden doors, when another volley rained down. More men fell to the ground, some bleeding out slowly while others died instantly, without pain or suffering. Something wilted inside her as she watched her men die in front of her, fighting a battle that wasn't theirs at all.

There was a killing calm she slipped into every time she went into battle. The world wasn't as bright and sounds weren't as sharp. Time slowed down enough that she could see any attack coming before they even happened. She'd been taught that the battlefield was no place for humanity and mercy. There was only death; yours or your enemy's. That choice was easy to make.

"On the count of three," said Arynn to the other men who had made it to the wall. She breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, dampening the inside of her helmet. She counted down slowly, giving her men and more importantly herself time to prepare themselves for what awaited them at the other side of the gates.

The wood splintered, leaving the doors hanging on their hinges in pieces. Arynn was the first to step through the threshold, and stopped before she could take the second step. The inner ward was completely empty, and the shouts from the men on the battlements had stopped. The troops behind her turned to each other in confusion and muttered among themselves. Keelie shoved his way to the front, to come to stand at her side, and asked, "Why is no one defending the palace?"

Arynn raised her shoulders and adjusted the steel-plated vambraces, then the gauntlets. She cursed as one of the ties snapped, and took them off entirely. There were creases on her hands where the stitched together parts of the gear had dug into her skin. She raised her eyes from her hands to the skies, scanning the towers with their winding staircases. There was a soldier standing on the highest landing of the outer staircase of the highest tower.

She pointed him out to Keelie, and asked, "How accurate is your shot?"

He pulled and arrow from the quiver strapped to his back and nocked it on the gilded bow. With one eye closed and his shoulders straight, he drew the string back and aimed. A muscle feathered in his jaw as the arrow left his hold and whistled through the air. "Pretty damn accurate," he answered as the soldier fell fro the landing, the arrow stuck in his neck.

"The fight waits on the other side of this courtyard," Arynn said to the men behind her. They stared at her back, all conversations coming to a halt as she spoke. She drew her sword, the metal singing as it left the scabbard, making the men shift into a more battle-ready stance. "I hope you've all said goodbye to your families. There's no guarantee you'll be leaving these grounds alive."

The stone walls on the ground floor of the palace were splattered with blood; royal and common alike. Her legion spared no one. Bodies hit the floor wherever her feet took her, one after one. Her cloak, made of black velvet, turned even darker as it dragged through the puddles of blood. The tip of her sword made a screeching sound as she dragged it across the floor. The hallways were too long, too dim, too silent. When she was done here, this place would look like a ghost town. She couldn't bring herself to feel anything, to break the calm, as the realization dawned on her.

The throne room was grand, with heavy crystal chandeliers and beautiful tapestries. Arynn tried not to wince at the glaring marble floor, which was lit up by the sunlight that filtered in through the windows. Orchids and lilies were wrapped around the ivory pillars in the room. Her eyes wandered to the middle of the room, where the dais sat, and on it, Queen Laura.

She was ice; hard and cold and unmoving. She levelled Arynn with a stare. Even from a distance, Arynn could see the frozen soul behind her eyes, as Laura raked her eyes over Arynn's blood splattered face and dirty armour and then dismiss her. She was dressed in a white gown, the bodice clinging to her torso and the skirts fanning out at the foot of her throne.

The first thing that came out of Arynn's mouth was, "I expected you to be a lot more beautiful."

The queen sneered, making her face contort into something frightening. Arynn had already seen the cruelty writhing underneath her pale skin; seen the vicious set of her eyebrows over her glittering eyes. There had once been something good here, Arynn tried to convince herself. Laura's heavily draped dress shifted as she stood up from her throne and spat, "Who are you?" Her face was raspy, grating over the words as she spoke each of them carefully, precisely.

Arynn kicked the heavy doors shut behind her. "Nineteen years ago, King Gadrion met a woman at one of his grand feasts. Her name was Lysane. Some say it was love at first sight. A year later, Gadrion was murdered in his bed like his father was. Lysane fled to Beckenhall, where Gadrion's most trusted adviser lived. Two days later, she gave birth to a daughter and named her Evander. Do you know what happened to the zefrim?"

"She died."

Arynn used her cape to wipe the blood off her sword. "You say it like she died because of childbirth. She was killed, like her husband. But unlike her husband, it wasn't because of a slit throat. She was strangled and then bitten to death by a serpent. And so was her daughter, according to the stories they tell in the taverns."

Laura's face became guarded. "And what does this have to do with me?"

"Gadrion was killed by a Caltain, who'd been serving in his council for years. Now I wonder if the person who killed the kark had any sort of relationship with the person who killed the zefrim. Maybe, just maybe, they were father and daughter," Arynn said amusedly.

The queen's heart stopped.

Arynn let the cloak fall back into place and lifted Alaris to the light. The blade was clean, the carved roses more visible now they were dipped in shadows. She lazily lifted her eyes to lock with the queen's, and said, "I'm going to ask you something, and I will only ask you once. Was it your whole family who betrayed mine?"

"Your family? That's impossible. Henry's entire bloodline is extinct," Laura said.

Arynn's smile was cold and unnerving as she said, "The little blond baby you sent your snakes to kill didn't die, Laura. The healers managed to save her life. She was brought to a village far away from Beckenhall and raised by the people. They hoped that one day, she would get to exact revenge on everyone who had ever wronged her. It seems their dreams have come true."

Laura's eyes were wide. "Who sent you?"

Arynn took a step toward the dais. The room, like the hallways, was too silent. So quiet Arynn could the sharp and irregular intakes of breath that came from the woman seated in front of her. "Your husband. It seems that this marriage is not at all what he'd expected. It took him twenty years to see the evil in you." Arynn paused. "That's a very long time."

Moments had passed when Arynn asked. "What made you snap? Suddenly after all these years you get the urge to kill again. What was the purpose? Lysane and her daughter, I understand. They were the only people standing in between you and the throne. But these deaths don't do anything. They can't offer you a crown like Lysane's and Evander's."

"You're a warrior," she said, pointing to Arynn's armour. The bulky rings she wore caught the light. She toyed with the emerald ring on her middle finger. "You know the thrill of the kill."

"It's not a thrill at all," said Arynn. "It's a sin."

"Yet you kill for sport."

"I only punish the guilty."

The sneer was back. If Laura was ice before, her face was now made of steel. She rose from her throne in a swift movement and took a step forward. She stood at the edge of the dais, right in front of Arynn, right in front of Alaris. It was a very daring to do for a woman who'd never had a day of combat training in her life. She spat, "You are no saint, Arynn Algerone. Nor are you a god."

Arynn's face hardened. "Evander Sidewinder told me to give you a message. Do you want to hear it?"

The queen raised her chin. "What is it?"

"She's alive, and she can't wait to do this," said Arynn, eyes glittering.

"Do what?"

Laura's eyes widened as she looked at the flower blooming on her dress, right above her stomach. She staggered back and sagged into the throne. Something hot and thick bubbled in her mouth as she tried to speak. It ran down her chin and neck, staining her dress vermillion, the colour of blood.
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