“Now,” Kaelen breathed.

The hooded figure screamed—a sound of pure, raw fury—and brought the God-Killer down.

They reached the pedestal as the first of the throne room’s guardians materialized—shapes of shadow and jagged metal, coalescing from the corners of the room. Sera spun and engaged them, her twin daggers flashing, buying seconds. Kaelen stood at her back, cutting down any that slipped past.

“And if we fail?” The question came from Sera, younger than the others by a decade, with cropped hair and eyes that still held a dangerous amount of fire. She had been a baker’s apprentice before the queen’s shadow fell. Now she was a thief, a scout, and the only person Kaelen trusted to pick a lock made of solidified nightmare.

The throne room was a cathedral of despair.