The survivors moved.
Fear had broken their formation, but it had not changed where they were trying to go. They drove themselves toward the open alcove with their swords raised while the men in black closed around them.
Metheea could no longer follow the fight as it happened.
The chamber reached her in pieces. Steel flashed near the windows. A body struck the floor. Yise caught an assassin's wrist and turned the blade into the man beside him. Polo drove another attacker away from the alcove before a black-clad fighter took his place.
The pressure beneath Metheea's skin made all of them look distant.
Her scales shifted along her ribs. Each one lifted beneath the torn fabric of her gown, caught against the cloth, then flattened again. Another surge travelled up her spine and struck the palace wards.
The mana returned through her harder than before.
Her body had become too small to hold it.
A sword rose in the crowd.
Metheea lurched forward.
