The sound of hoof beats thundered louder. Alyzza's curse told Carroway that the old witch heard it as well. As they watched, fighters on horseback streamed toward the city gates at a gallop.

"Welcome home," Jared Drayke said to Tris. "What took you so long? Planning to use grandmother's magic to just wink me out of existence?" Jared moved from his place near the tall window, and fingered an amulet beneath his robes, a null magic charm. "Your magic won't work on me, boy. I've a few protections in place, and a sorcerer in my employ. I've spent the better part of a year trying to find you, brother dear. And then I realized that in time, you'd come to me. All I had to do was wait.

"The doorway was spelled for you alone. As for your friends," Jared shrugged. "My mage has use of them. Tonight, we raise the Obsidian King."

"I have no intention of letting that happen," Tris said, advancing steadily, his sword ready. "I came to kill you—and destroy Arontala and his orb." With or without magic, he added silently.

"Still the dreamer. How pathetic." Jared took a step toward Tris. "In here, without your magic, you're just the same boy I've thrashed before. I could always whip your ass."

"I've seen what you've made of Margolan, how many people you've killed to get a throne that would have been yours in time."

"In time," Jared spat back. "In time. Only if Bricen couldn't find a way to have me removed from the succession. He threatened that, you know. He threatened to set me aside, and pass the crown to you. And if he'd known you'd become a mage he would have certainly done it. I couldn't allow that." Jared drew his sword. "And so I took matters into my own hands."

"You've destroyed Margolan. You have to be stopped."

"By you, little brother?" Jared gestured toward the window to the courtyard below. "Did you see my garden?" Tris was close enough to see what lay below; it made his stomach churn. Stout, sharpened pikes, braced in the ground, stood in an obscene tracing of the crest of House Margolan. Impaled on each pike was the corpse of a victim.

"It's full now, but there'll be a place for your friends, I guarantee," Jared said smoothly, madness glinting in his eyes. "Some—the strong ones—are able to remain aloft and keep from piercing anything vital for more than a day. Quite fascinating, the dance-like motions, up on their toes—"

"You're a demon, just like Arontala."

Jared shrugged. "Arontala understands the power in death. I see the beauty. And speaking of beauty... I suppose I should thank you for bringing back my bride."

Tris felt his blood rise. "She'll never be yours."

"Oh, I'll take what's mine. Maybe I'll leave your body in the room the first time—just to relish the victory." His voice hardened and his face contorted with anger. "And every time I have her, I intend to make her pay for loving you." A smile twisted the corner of his mouth. "Of course, the first brat she whelps will have to die. Can't have a question of paternity when the throne is at stake."

"You're not going to live that long."

Jared raised his sword. "If you want the throne of Margolan, then win it, if you can. The only way to claim your inheritance, boy, is to take it over my dead body." Jared lunged in attack, swinging his heavy sword for Tris's head.

Tris countered the powerful blow, though it nearly tore Mageslayer from his grasp. Jared scythed a dagger dangerously close with his left hand as Tris parried two-handed, beating back Jared's advance. The clang of steel echoed in the throne room as the brothers circled, their swords glinting in the torchlight. Jared's blows fell with the wild strength of madness. A fierce press drove Tris toward the open fireplace. The heels of his boots crunched on the burning embers and he felt the heat at his back.

Tris held Jared off, struggling to remember every trick Vahanian had taught him. Jared let up just for an instant and Tris dove, rolling, with a wicked slash at Jared's heel that scored a deep cut and barely missed hamstringing the king. Jared howled in rage and dove after Tris, delivering a pounding set of strikes that Tris was hard-matched to counter.

"You've been practicing, little brother."

Tris regained his feet and launched the offensive, anger fueling his strength. He delivered great, hacking blows that drove Jared back toward the open window.

The point of Jared's dagger connected with Tris's forearm, slashing deep and giving Jared the opening he needed to turn the attack. This time it was Jared who delivered a sequence of sword blows that forced Tris against the wall by the window, breathless. The stench from the bodies beneath made the night air sickly sweet. Tris felt familiar warmth radiating from the gash on his arm; Jared's blade was tainted with worm-root. He clenched his teeth on the rope vine. While Jared's null charms had already put his power temporarily beyond reach, the wormroot threatened to slow his reactions, something he could not afford. Whiskey had never blunted Jared's skill with a sword; Tris knew from bitter experience that Jared was more vicious drunk than sober.

"You've had an apt teacher," Jared taunted. "Your mercenary friend? No matter. You've shown far more potential than I ever dreamed—challenging the throne, raising an army against me, bedding my bride-to-be."

"I have no desire to kill you," Jared assured him, driving the point of his sword closer, so that Tris pressed against the cold stone of the wall, "at least, not yet. Tonight, the Obsidian King returns to Margolan. He'll need a body to inhabit. Arontala will be that vessel, one with powers already in place. You can be the final meal for the Obsidian King's spirit before he returns in all his power. Perhaps he'll let some bit of you remain to witness the grand event."

Tris worked his fingers up inside of his sleeve for the dagger concealed in a sheath above his wrist. It fell into his palm, and he flicked his hand just as Jared shifted. The dagger embedded itself in Jared's shoulder, not his chest as Tris intended. Jared roared with pain and anger, slashing at Tris with all his might. Tris managed to deflect his wild blows— barely—but the force of one strike tore Mageslayer from his grip and shattered Jared's sword. Tris felt the full effect of the wormroot hit him as the blade skittered out of reach to lie beneath the window. Jared yanked the knife from his shoulder and threw it to the ground. His eyes burned with pain and madness, heedless of the blood that stained his tunic.

Tris dodged as Jared dove for him, upending a table to put distance between them. Jared seized a poker from the fire and swung it wildly, keeping himself between Tris and the fallen sword. Tris looked about for anything he could use as a weapon. He grabbed a pitcher of water from the table and hurled it at Jared's head as Jared vaulted over the table. Tris tried to duck out of the way of the poker, but its glowing tip seared into his left shoulder. He cried out and dove under Jared's swing with a vicious kick to Jared's groin. His foot connected, and Jared howled with pain and rage.

Tris reached the hearth first, grabbing a bucket of ashes from beside the fireplace. He threw the hot ash at Jared as his brother headed toward him at a dead run. Jared narrowly missed the heavy bucket, but the ashes formed a smothering cloud. Jared cried out, throwing his arms up to shield himself.

Tris used the diversion to run for his sword, but something hard clipped him on the side of the head and he fell, blood starting from his temple. A candlestick clattered to the ground beside him. Blinded by the blood that flowed from the gash on his brow, Tris struggled to his feet. Barehanded, Jared dove for Tris and tackled him, landing on Tris's back. Tris felt ribs crack and gritted his teeth as the world around him swam red with pain. Jared, taller and heavier, had the advantage hand-to-hand. Tris gasped as Jared's dagger plunged into his side just below the edge of his cuirass. Jared shifted and a cord jerked around Tris's throat, the belt of Jared's robe. Tris struggled for breath as it tightened.