Chapter 227: Knives in the Dark

In my experience, hope was a dangerous thing. Hope made you linger a moment too long in a ruined corridor, or pause to help a stranger, or most perilously reach for someone else’s hand when you should have clung only to your knife. I’d trained my whole life to be sharper than hope, colder than comfort. Yet tonight, as I dragged Elyzara through the smoke-choked underbelly of her own palace, I realized: I’d let hope creep back in. And it wore her face.

The air in the tunnels was thick with the ghosts of old magic. My senses sharpened, tracing every echo footsteps, distant shouts, the metallic clang of a sword hitting stone. I could taste the fear rolling off Elyzara in waves, but she ran at my side anyway, stumbling only when I pulled her too fast.

Above us, chaos. A kingdom tearing itself apart with every brick and oath and heartbreak. Below, the only order left was mine: get the princess to her siblings before the rebels realized just how powerless she’d become.

We hit the first checkpoint a rusted gate, half-collapsed by time and revolution. I flicked my wrist, sending a blade spinning through the darkness. It struck the lock with a satisfying snap. Mara would have made a joke, but Mara was off making noise and trouble in the halls above. I had no patience for cleverness now.

Elyzara pressed close behind me. “Are we close?”

“Closer than their patience,” I said, voice as low as the grave. “Keep quiet. Keep moving.”

A glimmer up ahead torchlight flickering across stone. I signaled, and Elyzara dropped into a crouch that would have impressed any cutpurse. At least panic was making her careful.

Voices, harsh and urgent:

“Move the brats! The princess is stalling, but if the council breaks through ”

“Garran’s got the boy, Mira the girl. They’re headed for the river exit.”

My blood ran cold. The river exit opened into a maze of docks and smugglers’ tunnels if the rebels reached it, the twins could be spirited away, gone for good. I caught Elyzara’s eye, saw the wild edge of despair in her face, and felt an answering snarl rise in my chest.

I’d always been good at anger. Tonight, it would have to be enough.

I slipped forward, silent as a secret. Two rebels blocked the next bend. I ducked into the shadow, knives ready. When one turned a young man, face pale beneath his mask I struck, hilt to temple. He dropped like a sack of flour. The other wheeled, sword raised.

Elyzara, bless her, didn’t freeze. She grabbed a loose stone and flung it at his head. He flinched, and I used the opening to drive my elbow into his throat. He collapsed, choking, and I pulled Elyzara onward.

Aeris’s voice echoed faintly crying, calling for her sister. Arion’s voice, thinner, but unbroken. “Let us go! Elyzara’s coming for us! She’ll eat you for breakfast!”

“That’s my line,” I muttered, shoving a door open.

Inside a grim tableau. Garran, the rebel brute, holding Arion with one arm; Mira, pale and trembling, clinging to Aeris. The children were dirty, faces streaked with tears and something darker blood, but not deep. Garran pressed a knife to Arion’s throat, daring me to try anything clever.

“Not another step, Nightthorn,” he growled.

Elyzara stepped forward, reckless and brave as ever. “Let them go, Garran. You want me, not them.”

For a split second, Garran hesitated. Mira’s grip on Aeris loosened. The moment stretched, thin as spun sugar.

Then I moved. I hurled a blade at Garran’s arm, forcing him to drop Arion. Elyzara dove for Aeris. Mira, torn between orders and conscience, froze.

Garran roared and charged. I caught him by the wrist, twisting until he screamed, then headbutted him into unconsciousness. I wasn’t a hero, but I was very, very good at violence.

Elyzara held both twins, shaking. “Are you hurt? Talk to me are you hurt?”

Aeris, breathless: “Just scared. I knew you’d come.”

Arion, hoarse: “You took forever.”

I smiled, but my heart pounded. Behind us, more shouts. “Time to go.”

We fled, twins in tow, through tunnels slick with water and desperation. The rebels were regrouping, shouts and spells crashing down the corridor.

Elyzara looked to me. “What if they catch us?”

“Then we improvise,” I said, already plotting. “You three, up the ladder into the laundry chute. I’ll hold them off.”

Elyzara started to argue, but Mara’s voice ragged, furious rang out from above. “Move! NOW!”

I pushed Elyzara up, then Arion, then Aeris. As they vanished into the dark, I turned to face the rebels alone, knives in both hands, every ounce of hope burning at my fingertips.

It wasn’t much. But it would have to be enough.

Mara, Elira, and Riven crashed in behind me, and together, we formed a wall of teeth and blades.

For a moment, time stilled. The rebels hesitated then, with a scream, charged. The fight was ugly, wild, desperate. Spells fizzled and cracked. Steel rang against stone. I took a blow to the shoulder, gritted my teeth, and threw myself into the chaos.

Somewhere above, I heard Elyzara calling, “Velka! Come back!”

I fought harder.

Minutes stretched, then snapped. We forced the rebels back battered, broken, but not beaten.

I stumbled to the ladder, blood streaming from my arm. Mara caught me, hauling me up. “We’re not dying here, you idiot,” she snapped.

I managed a laugh, dizzy with pain and relief. Above, Elyzara sobbed as she hugged the twins, Riven fussed over everyone, Elira barked orders at the terrified staff, and Mara bless her held me upright.

I looked at Elyzara, who was crying, laughing, and cursing all at once. She met my eyes, and something unspoken passed between us a promise, a warning, a thread that would never quite break.

“You saved them,” she whispered.

“No,” I said, and smiled, sharp as a blade. “We did.”

And as dawn crept through the broken palace, I realized hope wasn’t something to be feared or scorned. It was a knife in the dark dangerous, yes, but always worth carrying, even if it left you bleeding.