A sharp cry.
Aya turned on the sound of it—metal biting metal, too close, too sudden—and her sword met a halberd mid-swing. The impact rattled her arm to the shoulder. She pivoted, boots skidding on polished stone already slick with blood, and drove her second blade up beneath the guard's chin.
He fell without a sound.
"Shin—stay close," Seth barked, his voice cutting through the chaos as he dragged Shin backward by the collar of his armor.
Shin was on his feet but barely. Blood soaked the left side of his ribs, dark and fast, his breath coming in sharp, shallow pulls. He raised his sword anyway.
"Don't," Aya snapped, stepping in front of him as another blade flashed from the right. She caught it, twisted, broke the man's wrist with a sharp turn of her hilt, and kicked him back into the marble balustrade.
The court hall of Ceadel—the inner hall—had become a killing floor.
