Coriano raised his white blade and brought the red-wrapped hilt to his lips. “The only spirit I care about is Dunea,” he whispered, “my River of White Snow, and all she cares about is beating him.” He pointed the tip of his sword at the hilt of the Heart of War poking over Josef’s back. “Everything else is meaningless.”
Miranda growled, but Josef stepped in front of her, his enormous back and the great sword strapped across it blocking everything else from view. The swordsman looked over his shoulder, and Miranda’s blood went thin at the look in his eyes. Even when he had waded out into the sea of soldiers with nothing but a stick of building material, he hadn’t looked as large or as deadly as he did now.
“Nico,” he said. “Protect Eli and the girl.” He turned back to face Coriano. “This is my fight.”
A cold hand grabbed Miranda’s and she looked down to find Nico dragging her out of the treasury.
“We’ll meet you upstairs,” Eli said, jogging after the women. “Don’t lose.”
Josef didn’t answer, but Miranda saw him grin as he turned to face Coriano, the beam brandished before him. Coriano raised his white sword in greeting as the enormous treasury door drifted shut, obscuring them from view.
“We can’t just leave him!” Miranda shouted, fighting Nico’s grip. “Shouldn’t we help? We could beat Coriano and go upstairs together!”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Eli grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Do you think Josef’s my servant? That I can just order him around?” He was breathing hard now, and his face was more serious than she had ever seen it. “ ‘Do not postulate where you do not understand,’ ” he sneered, his voice warped into a biting mimicry of her own. “Maybe it’s time you listened to your own advice, Spiritualist. Josef Liechten travels with me by his own choice. When he says ‘This is my fight,’ that’s what it means. His fight, not ours to interfere with because it doesn’t match what we want to do.”
“But he’s your friend!” Miranda shouted. “You can’t just leave him to die! Coriano would have had him last time if Renaud hadn’t released the storm. What makes you think he’ll survive?”
“He won’t lose.” The absolute surety in Nico’s voice struck Miranda like a hammer. The girl looked up at the Spiritualist, her enormous black coat twitching around her calm, pale face. “Josef’s the strongest swordsman in the world,” she said. “He won’t lose to someone like Coriano and his arrogant white sword.”
Miranda stared blankly, trying to think of an answer to that, but Nico was already gone, picking her way through the groaning soldiers and toward the stairs. Eli shot Miranda a look that dared her to say something more and started after the girl. Miranda took one last, long look at the treasury door. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned and followed the other two through the ruined hall, past the splinters of the tiny servants’ door where Josef had made their entrance, and up the broad main stair that led back to the upper levels of the palace.
After getting lost twice, they found the door that opened into the throne room’s approach. The long hall had changed dramatically since Miranda and Marion had pushed their way through the crowd that had gathered to see Renaud ages ago. Black mourning banners hung from the vaulted ceiling in place of the Mellinorian flags, and the sconces on the walls burned low behind black shades. The edge of the newly risen moon was visible through the high windows, but the watery glass and high, swift clouds distorted into ghostly shadows what light the moon shed, leaving the lofty hall as gloomy as a cemetery forest. Eli, Miranda, and Nico crept along the wall, scurrying from fat stone pillar to fat stone pillar, but it soon became obvious that such precaution was unnecessary. The promenade hall was empty.
“Where is everyone?” Miranda said, stepping out into the dim light.
“Probably still fighting the fire,” Eli said, cocking an eyebrow at Nico. “I really hope you didn’t underestimate the situation. Henrith won’t thank us for getting his throne back if the castle burns down.”
“It won’t.” Nico glided silently through the gloom. “That furnace wasn’t smart enough to manage anything as spectacular as burning down an entire castle.”
“Comforting words indeed,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Come on. The throne room is this way.”
They half walked, half ran the length of the long promenade. The golden doors to the throne room loomed large, glowing silver in the dim moonlight, and, as they discovered when they reached them, locked tight.