Chapter 169 Everything Goes to Hell
The plan went to hell in three heartbeats.
The first was when Oliver’s boot, slick with rain and blood, knocked loose a tile from the ledge. The second, when Vex Mordain, standing like a shark’s fin behind the dais, turned his silver-gloved hand directly at their hiding place. The third, when the Ironclaw guards, already coiled around the room’s edges, swarmed the stairs with weapons drawn.
Cornelius didn’t hesitate. He shoved his shoulder into the window frame, shattered it, and yanked Daisy through. Oliver followed, then Cornelius last, landing in a crouch on the sodden roof. The manse’s tiles were treacherous; a misstep would send them skidding into Veilseekers’ arms.
Daisy felt the chain in her blood flare, a searing pain surging along the arcane links that bound her to the Emperor’s will. For a heartbeat, she pictured the memory: the chain forged in secret beneath the palace, meant to leash her magic and tie her power to the throne. The pain doubled, sharpened by the Emperor’s voice, still ringing in her skull.
“They run,” Varian said, amused. “They always run.”
Vex’s voice, cold and uninflected: “Fetch.”
Guards poured from every entrance, even ones Daisy thought sealed for centuries. On the roof, only a straight run to the next gable lay ahead—ten feet of empty air. Rain sluiced down, blurring torchlight, turning every handhold into a gamble.
Cornelius went first, clearing the gap in a single, brutal leap. He hit the next roof, rolled, and came up with blades already out. “Move!” he shouted. “Go!”
Daisy ran, Oliver at her side. The wet tile slipped under her boots, and for a second, she thought she’d fall short, but Oliver caught her hand mid-jump, the contact burning both of them. He hauled her up, then shoved her ahead.
Cornelius held the high ground at the gutter’s lip. The first Ironclaw guard reached him, blade flashing. Cornelius disarmed him and hurled him over the edge. The next two attacked together; Cornelius met them with cold efficiency—fighting not to win, but to slow them, to buy time.
For a moment, they had distance.
The roofs were a maze: sharp angles, steep drops. Oliver led, veering left, up, through a half-collapsed dormer. Daisy followed, blood singing, the chain in her arms leaking raw light. Veins had reached her jaw, black and alive, each pulse a countdown.
Inside the attic, the world went dark. Daisy blinked. Only her own skin glowed—petals on her hands, blue and violet. Oliver squeezed through a floorboard gap and reached up. She let herself fall. His arms caught her hard, ribs to ribs, both gasping.
They hit the ground floor at a run.
She heard Cornelius above, the sound of steel on bone, and a voice—low, desperate, his—“Go! Get her out! Now!”
She didn’t want to leave him, but Oliver’s grip was iron. Guilt clawed at her with every step, a bitter knowledge that Cornelius was fighting alone, risking everything so she could escape. She wanted to look back, to go back, to help, but every instinct screamed at her to run. He pulled her through shattered portraits, over bodies of two dead guards, and out into the storm. The rain washed blood from her hands, but the chain’s ache didn’t ease.
They cut through a hedge, down an embankment, and under the stone arch that led back to the market square. Daisy looked back, hoping—no, expecting—to see Cornelius behind them. But the only thing she saw was Vex Mordain, gliding along the roof, a streak of black in the downpour.
Oliver pushed her on. “We have to move.”
They bolted through the square, the air thick with the scent of rain and trampled earth, past daisies burning brighter than before—petals luminous and vivid beneath the unsteady torchlight. The shouts of pursuing guards echoed off slick cobblestones, every footfall sending up sharp sprays of cold water. Each step was a war: Daisy’s body strained against itself, muscles aching as the singeing sensation of the chain tugged at her with relentless force, urging her back toward the unfinished ritual.
A wall of Ironclaw rose ahead, spears locked. Oliver didn’t break stride. He flung a knife, then a second, and the guards parted just enough for them to slip through.
A Veilseeker reached for Daisy’s throat. She swung her arm, and the daisy magic lashed out, a coil of black lightning that knocked the robed figure backward, smoking.
She heard a voice, not her own but inside her skull: “More, more, more.”
They reached the edge of the square. Oliver ducked down a side street, then another, weaving through alleys until they reached the banks of the old Brightwater canal.
The bridge was out. Someone had blown it years ago. Now the debris made a shaky path across. Oliver went first, testing every plank. Daisy followed. Her feet barely touched the wood. Her mind was half in the world, half in the chain’s memory.
Halfway across, she looked back.
On the far side, Cornelius stood at the edge, holding off five Ironclaws at once. His left arm was limp, blood streaming from his shoulder, but his right hand kept moving, knife a blur. For a heartbeat, Daisy remembered the nights Cornelius had risked everything for her freedom, the way he had sworn never to let the Emperor turn her into a weapon. She saw, beneath the blood and exhaustion, the half-smile he had always given her in the dark, promising that he would keep her safe, no matter what it cost him.
He saw Daisy, and for the first time, his face broke—not with pain, but with pride.
“Don’t stop,” he mouthed.
She nodded and turned away.
Oliver pulled her to the far bank, then down into the reeds.
They watched as Cornelius fought his way to the bridge, then onto it, then halfway across before Vex Mordain dropped down from the roof, landing silently behind him.
The fight was fast and brutal.
Cornelius landed the first blow, slicing deep into Vex’s side. Yet the Emperor’s Shadow did not bleed as a normal man would; instead, a black mist hissed from the wound, curling with unnatural movement before dissipating into the rain. Vex smiled, as if amused by the attack. Daisy felt her skin prickle at the sight, recalling fragments of persistent rumors exchanged in hushed voices among battered prisoners in the palace: it was said that Vex Mordain’s veins contained no human blood, only shadow, and that his silhouette distorted under any light, refusing to obey the laws of nature even in the glare of full torchlight. Observing the dark vapor now seeping from him, Daisy experienced a sudden, acute fear, recognizing that the unsettling stories about Vex’s inhuman qualities might have held more truth than she dared believe.
They exchanged blows, each strike sending up sparks. Finally, Vex feinted, then thrust his silver blade forward, plunging it through Cornelius’s chest.
Daisy felt the pain, a cold echo in her own heart.
Cornelius staggered, looked once more at Daisy, then at Oliver, then back at Daisy.
He laughed.
Then he pulled Vex forward, both of them tumbling into the water below.
The chain in Daisy’s blood went silent, stunned.
Oliver held her hard.
For a long time, neither spoke.
The rain kept falling, washing the city clean, but Daisy knew it would never be enough. Somewhere out there, the Emperor's reach was tightening, and with Cornelius gone, there was one less shield between the throne and the world outside these broken streets. She felt the weight of it settling, heavy and cold: if they failed, it would not only be their blood on the stones, but the fate of the city itself—maybe all the kingdoms bound by the chain.
They were alone, again.
And still not free.