I was the next barricade in his path.
I drew in a deep breath and cast a spell net over him, one that would slow his movements. I sought the key of the dream—the crux to break the nightmare—and thrust my rapier at him, aiming at his heart. He blocked it, his movements like honey warming over fire, returning to their previous swiftness. We continued to circle each other, lunging and parrying, until the cross guards of our blades met; I was in the throes of uttering another spontaneous charm to freeze him to the stones, but the force coming from him slung me back and away. My hand tingled from the jar of clashing steel and I bit my tongue, my charm dissolving. I stumbled but Phelan caught me, ushering me behind him while I regained my balance.
I watched as he engaged Knox in a fraught spar, eager to rejoin the fight.
A new spell was rising within me like a song. I took a step forward and winced when I felt a sudden blaze of pain. My belly stung with the movement, and I glanced down to see the bottom half of my bodice hung open, its ribbon laces sliced into dangling shreds. I laid my hand over the torn fabric and felt something warm and sticky. My blood, I realized with a pang of shock, staring at its red stain on my palm. Knox’s rapier must have grazed me, but the cut wasn’t deep, to my immense relief. Although a few inches deeper and he might have given me a mortal blow.
I returned my focus to Phelan, sparks blazing along his rapier as he continued to fight. Knox wasn’t slowing or wearying; he was like a storm, gathering strength, pushing us closer and closer to the dais and the throne. And when he nearly cut Phelan in half, I cast another charm to slow him down. As soon as Knox felt my enchantment hinder him, his face snapped toward me, furious. I met his gaze as steadily as I could, even as it intimidated me. Within his eyes, gold shone like two coins catching the light.
“His eyes,” I said to Phelan, my voice ragged. The gold in his eyes had become a film, preventing him from seeing through the veil of his greed. “The dream’s weakness is his eyes.”
Phelan heard. He had to lurch back to avoid being skewered by Knox’s blade, but the momentum swung around in his favor. He aimed and thrust the point of his rapier into Knox’s left eye, and the gold that covered his pupil burst and ran down his face like ichor.
Knox went still and then gasped—his moment of realization—before falling to the ground in the puddle of his wife’s blood.
Phelan withdrew his blade, watching the nightmare reach its harrowing end.
I stood a few paces behind him, staring at the blue banners on the town houses, the moon and stars and the promise of mountains, waiting for them to melt away, for the nightmare had been championed. But the banners remained as stubborn fixtures, and the flagstones and the duke’s chair refused to fade. The elements of the nightmare were firm and solid in the street.
Something wasn’t right.
Phelan was breathing heavily behind me. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw he was still staring at Knox and his wife, their bodies refusing to vanish on the stones, and I had a sickening thought that perhaps it had all been real, that Phelan and I had in some way been fooled.
Had there been more to the dream, and Knox Birch had failed to divulge it to Phelan?
“Mr. Vesper . . .”
My voice died with the wind. The world around us became silent and still, as if we were trapped in a painting of a forgotten place, and then I heard it—the clink of armored feet approaching. A heavy, methodical gait that made the flagstones tremble beneath me. Silvered footsteps I had once heard before in a dream that didn’t belong to me, but a dream I had divined.
“My gods,” I whispered. It felt like a bone was wedged in my throat as I waited for the knight of Elle Fielding’s dream to appear, his footsteps growing louder, louder, the dream rippling around me like it was under duress.
I forgot where I stood, where I was. I forgot about Phelan at my back, my entire being focused on this inevitable meeting.
And then the knight appeared, the fog swirling around him.
I had only seen his legs and feet in Elle’s dream, when she had been crouched beneath the wagon. Now I beheld his entire self, fully covered in steel-plated armor that was splashed with blood. He was tall and broad as he walked with purpose, striding toward us. But it was not the blood or the long sword that he unsheathed at his side that coaxed my horror. It was the helm he wore, a helmet forged with tapers at its brow. Seven sharp points crowned him. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt his piercing gaze.
Terror held me until I felt a warm hand take hold of my arm, drawing me back.
“Get behind me, Miss Neven,” Phelan said.
As soon as I felt his presence, his magic’s illumination overlapped with mine and bolstered my courage. I inhaled a deep breath, flexing my hand.
We walked backward in unison, to give ourselves more time to hammer a plan together. The knight followed with his steady pace; he seemed fixed on that gait. He couldn’t run, but neither could he slow. We were faster but he was persistent, and I was uncertain about his weakness.
“Who is this?” I whispered to Phelan as we continued to walk backward, our eyes trained on the knight.
“I don’t know. But he’s the one who wounded me, months ago.”
“You fought him?”
“Yes. Weapons are useless against him, as are any offensive spells.”
I didn’t quite believe Phelan, and I cast a disarming spell on the knight. My magic hissed into smoke when it met his breastplate, and he continued following us, undeterred. I tried again, desperate, to no avail.
“Save your magic, Miss Neven,” Phelan said dryly.
“He must have a weakness.” I studied the knight’s armor. “He can’t be wholly invincible.”
Phelan was quiet, but then he said, “There are two of us and one of him. I will slip behind while you engage him.”
I nodded and threw a blast of light at the knight’s feet, to cover Phelan’s movements. But it was futile; the knight sensed Phelan’s presence and turned with him, swinging his sword. Phelan ducked and rolled, barely missing the edge of the blade, and I surged forward, anger smoldering within me. I roused that fire and funneled it, and my magic streamed toward the knight, striking him in the spine and limning his armor as if he had been electrified by lightning. He hesitated, and I took that moment to study the plates of steel and chain mail, searching for a golden scale or link that I could puncture and usher his demise. There was nothing, and he pivoted so swiftly he took me by surprise.
I lurched back in response and saw his sword arcing for me. Everything suddenly slowed. My motions, my breath, my heart. A warning prickled at the nape of my neck, and this horrible encounter felt strangely peaceful. This moment before death. This moment before the knight beheaded me.
I felt a hand on my ankle, a warm hand that pulsed with both life and terror. It yanked me so hard that I went down on the flagstones with a jar, my rapier tumbling from my hand. The knight’s sword whistled harmlessly above me.
Phelan, I thought, dazed from hitting the ground. His magic clung to my ankle and he pulled me quickly to his side, over the stones.
I scrambled to my feet, swallowing the tang of iron, and I wiped the blood from my lip and watched as Phelan resorted to his rapier. The knight’s blade broke Phelan’s like it was made of glass.
Phelan stumbled back, but his opponent followed. I roused my magic just as the tip of the sword caught the front of Phelan’s waistcoat. I heard the fabric rip, heard his grunt of pain, and he was hurled up and away as if he had been struck by a giant’s hand.