When Hermi and Commander Otho returned to the Black Fortress, the city gates were ten minutes from closing.
Riding at Hermi's side, Otho said, "We made it just in time, though the margin was narrow. You wouldn't want to face a Nightstalker out there with a fresh wound."
Hermi glanced at the Commander. On her long journey to the Black Fortress, she hadn't encountered a single Nightstalker, yet everyone in Ferramonte seemed to live in constant fear of them. The towering obsidian ramparts were built specifically to keep them at bay, as Marco had explained, which was why every gate was strictly sealed before nightfall.
"Tell me more about these Nightstalkers," Hermi inquired. If she were to lead the export wagons herself, she needed to understand every threat lurking along the week-long trek across the border.
Otho's face lit with professional interest. "There are places called Dead Zones in this kingdom. They were pockets of the mountains where no natural light reaches once the sun dips. The Nightstalkers thrive in those shadows, but their weakness is fortunately simple to exploit."
Hermi was surprised at the conviction in Otho's tone. "What is that weakness?"
"Fire," Otho replied simply. "Light blinds them, and heat sears their shadow-molded skin. As long as you keep a flame burning, you will be safe out there, Your Majesty."
Hermi thought back to her journey to the fortress. Marco and the knights had been obsessive about the campfires, guarding the embers more vigilantly than they guarded the entourage or her own carriage.
"If they are so easy to deal with, why the need for such tall walls?" Hermi asked.
"The ramparts are the second layer of defense," Otho explained. "When night falls, vigilance naturally wanes. If a fire goes out while a Nightstalker is on the hunt, it means guaranteed death."
The certainty in Otho's voice sent a cold chill down Hermi's spine, but it only urged her to learn more. By the time the stories of the Nightstalkers concluded, they had arrived at the stables. While Otho departed for his quarters in the Military Wing, Hermi began the long trek back to the Queen's Chambers in the Sovereign Wing.
When night truly fell, the Black Fortress became far more depressing than it appeared by day. To conserve precious fuel, the fortress was sparsely lit.
The passages connecting the different wings were particularly dim. Only a few flickering candles were spaced along the corridors, their weak light casting long shadows that danced like ghosts against the black stone walls.
The further Hermi moved from the stables, the more the candlelight seemed to fail her, leaving only a darkness that felt as thick and heavy as a starless sky.
THWACK!
"Ahh!"
A heavy object smashed into the nape of Hermi's neck. The force sent her stumbling forward, her knees striking the stone with a pain as blistering as the blow itself. She threw her palms out, bracing against the rough pavement just in time to keep her face from smashing into the floor.
Before Hermi could gather her senses, a heavy boot slammed into the center of her back. The pressure rendered her arms useless, and she collapsed fully onto the cold stone.
"Well now, what is our Queen doing all alone in this part of the fortress at this hour?"
Hermi clamped her eyes shut, fighting the shock overwhelming her system. Even with the agony searing her nerves, she recognized the drawling tone without having to look up. For a fleeting second, she felt relieved that it was Dante who had attacked her, and not a Nightstalker that had somehow breached the fortress walls.
Before Hermi could force out a word, another voice chimed in, hushed and hurried. "Hey, finish her! Quick! Before the guards wander over here."
"Calm down, mate," Dante muttered, his voice dropping to a low crawl. "How many chances do we get to kill a queen before she has the chance to kill us?"
A third voice joined in, thinner and more panicked than the others. "What if she screams?"
Dante let out a sneering laugh. "The way this fearsome wretch held herself at the shooting lanes, I'd wager she'd rather die than let out a single cry for help."
"You're right about that last bit," Hermi mumbled irritably.
Gritting her teeth against the weight of the boot on her back, she pushed herself off the stone once more. She twisted her neck, glancing over her shoulder to look Dante directly in the face.
In his hands, Dante gripped a longsword, fully unsheathed. Its heavy metal hilt was likely the blunt instrument he had used to strike her.
"Is this about your dead comrades?" she hissed, her voice quiet in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "If it is, then I suggest you find wherever the corpses of the former queens are rotting and take your revenge on them. I didn't order those wagons, and I didn't kill your friends."
Her words hit a nerve, making Dante's sneering expression instantly contort into a mask of pure rage. "Oh, you think we haven't done that yet? This isn't just about revenge, Queen. This is to protect those who are still alive from you."
Hermi couldn't suppress the urge to lift an eyebrow. "You're insane," she muttered. "I have zero need for such costly shopping expeditions."
Dante's brow furrowed, incredulous. "Please. Royal princesses like you, it's only a matter of time before you're demanding the next vintage wine from Olyndros at the cost of our blood."
"Even if you don't believe me," Hermi scoffed, "you are only guaranteeing that you and your two friends here will be dead by morning. The King will not ignore his Queen being slaughtered inside his own fortress."
Dante's mouth suddenly twitched into a cruel smirk. "That's where you still don't get it, Queen. As long as our brothers get to live, our wretched lives are worth the sacrifice."
He raised the longsword high above his head, settling into the pose of an executioner. The long blade gleamed coldly, catching the last flickers of light in the pitch-dark corridor.
His face wore the satisfied look of a man who believed he was witnessing justice finally being served. After a heartbeat of agonizing suspense, the blade swung down in a decisive strike of no regret.
CLANG!
A piece of stone struck the metal with such velocity that the heavy blade snapped clean in two.
Startled, Dante staggered backward, his boot finally releasing Hermi from the crushing weight on her spine. Seizing the sudden opening, Hermi scrambled from her crawling stance, throwing herself across the stone floor to dodge the shards of the shattered blade as they rained down on her.
When she finally regained her senses, her gaze snapped toward the source of the stone. There, looming at the end of the corridor, stood a seven-foot figure that seemed to swallow all the light of the hallway.