My heart thundered. The whispers had been right. My uncle was more ambitious than my father or I had ever realized. He would kill me to get me out of the way.
But I could not let him ruin my father’s plan.
Grig and I shared a look.
The skeletons lunged for my throat. On instinct, I swung my sword, slicing through bone. The skull flew backward, but the creature kept marching forward.
Grig chucked his sack of coins at the skeleton coming for him then raised his fists. I swung my sword again, and again, but bones pressed against my arms and held me back. My arms stopped in midair and nothing I could do would move them. Uncle raised one hand and spread his fingers. The bones threw me backward. I slammed into the wall. Clay and shards rained around me. Grig lunged to help me, but the bones holding the door frame twisted forward and wrapped around his neck, slamming him back against the frame.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to his side, prying at the bones that pressed against his throat. I had to pull them off him. He couldn’t breathe.
Grig’s face turned red, then purple, his arms thrashing against the bones. Grig.
“Uncle, stop!” I slammed my sword against the bones. They shattered, and tightened closer. Harder. Sharper, shards cutting his skin. The other skeleton grabbed me with strength beyond muscle. It pressed me against the wall. Too rough. I could feel my ribs cracking.
“Uncle!” I gasped.
“Will you join me? Renounce your claim to my throne?”
My head ached. I could never do that. But I couldn’t let him kill Grig.
“I will. I swear it,” I lied. I licked my lips.
“You lie, Nephew. I’ve seen you play cards. I know your tells. And why would I allow any uprising to threaten my claim to the Throne of Honor? It should always have been mine.”
The bone at my throat snapped in two.
Then a shard of bone slammed into the base of my throat and speared my body into the wall, like a dart through a board.
“No!” Grig shrieked through too little air.
My hands formed fists. I couldn’t breathe. It was so quick. So cold. I didn’t feel the pain until blood spurted into my lungs. The copper taste coated my tongue, and speckled the pale calcium. Blue sparks crackled in my vision, and a spot of ache between my shoulder blades seemed like a heavy rock collapsing through my back.
The pain came. Harsh. Stinging like a scream that wouldn’t release. Every nerve sharpened; even my hair follicles stung.
The bone spear held me standing as night slipped over my vision.
Blood filled my mouth and I could not find air.
* * *
I awoke in the doorway of my uncle’s office, a scream still caught in my throat. I grabbed my neck, but there was no wound; the only proof of my death was a puddle of my blood, a pile of shattered bones, and one foot to my left, a bloody femur stabbed into the wall.
My mind raced as I fumbled backward. I searched my uncle’s blood-splattered office, trying to find answers, but there were none. I was alone. Still breathing. Somehow still breathing. Free from the spear that had stolen my life. I held my head in my hands. I’d died. I knew it.
In the hall behind me, my uncle shouted lies. “Guards! Guards! This assailant killed the prince.”
I tilted my head to the side and peered into the hall. The walking bone creatures held Grig’s hands above his head, their unnatural backs to me. My uncle marched ahead of them, not one drop of my blood on his robes.
I leaned against the door frame and fought for air. Every inch of my skin hurt. An ache in my skull hummed, as if a spark of lightning had left me scalded. The room stank of blood, bones, and rancid incense.
I clutched my throat.
“It wasn’t me,” Grigfen said through sobs. There wasn’t any weight behind his words. He spoke as though he knew he’d seen me die and now no one would believe his word over the Holiest himself.
But I would. I planted my bloody hands and pushed myself through the doorway.
I was alive and it was a miracle I could not explain. “Stop!”
My uncle shuffled around, his eyes wide, his color pallid.
“Holy…” Grigfen flushed. “Ryo. What…”
Uncle averted his eyes, his jaw trembling at the sight of me.
“Edvarg ne Mark.” I spat out blood that clouded my throat. “You’ve committed treason in front of a witness.”
“How is this possible?” Uncle shook his head rapidly.
The nerve of him. “I didn’t know your heart was this dark, so full of sick ambition.”
“I killed you,” he snarled. “You were erased.”
He froze. His expression lagged as he processed.
I lifted my head. “You are forthwith removed of all title, rank, and by my father’s authority I swear—”
“Your father gave away his authority.” He shook the scroll in his hand. “You are the one who has aligned with the Savak. Some blasphemy saved you.”
“It was our god—”
“You don’t speak for the Undergod. Not in my catacombs.” He spoke through his teeth. “You ask me to commit treason, to deny the Undergod. I will not. You’ve been corrupted by the Savak. I will kill you a thousand times to get the heathen out of you. It is my duty as your uncle.”
I rushed forward. If I knocked him out, he couldn’t control the bones. Edvarg’s spindly hand twisted and a wave of ghostlight tossed me back easily like I was a child still learning how to fight. His nails dug into my freshly healed wrists, stronger than his frail form led me to believe.
I raised my fist.
Grig sputtered behind me as the sharp shards of bones aimed at my best friend, cutting into his neck.
Edvarg massaged his temples as if he’d grown weary of this conversation. “Stop or I will kill him.”
I couldn’t bluff my way out of this. Not with stakes this high.
But I could try. “Let him go.”
“Yeah, seriously, let me go. I’m nothing to you. I won’t say anything, I promise.” It shook my core to hear the fear in Grig’s voice.
“He only lives if you surrender.”
My fist trembled, but I didn’t swing. If I moved, my uncle could kill Grigfen as quickly as he had killed me. The bones at his throat drew blood. Grig leaned his head back, his eyes glistening with tears, but his hands rolled and his arm muscles tensed. He was about to fight back. Any movement would spell the end of him.
“Do you promise you will let him live?” I tried to signal Grig not to attack, but his eyes were wild, past listening to reason.
Edvarg’s jaw pulsed. “Yes.”
“That’s not enough.” I stepped closer. “Swear it to your god.”
A muscle twitched on his neck. “Will you trade your life for his?”
Grig’s head shook back and forth as though he thought he wasn’t worth it, but how could he say that? I couldn’t allow him to die. Not when he was willing to die in my place.
I lowered my knife. “I will.”
Edvarg’s anger melted from his eyes. “And you, Sir Grigfen. I can’t have you blabbing what you’ve seen, so the only way I will allow you to live is if you devote yourself to the Undergod himself. Will you accept the Devout class and vow to keep my secrets? It is the only way you will leave this catacomb with your head attached.”