I have a day to finish this fanfiction 'cause I'm flying to Russia on Wednesday (what the random?). Thanks to authors and besties Kate Wicker and Taylor Hayes for late nights of mental collaboration to pull this ending together before I leave.

Let me know of typos or other awkward mistakes. I was tired.

…

Yates looked up with a smile as Mara approached, but upon seeing Fastion, the smile dropped and he pulled himself up to his greatest height. "We were wondering where you went," he said, watching the Black Shield warily. Mara smiled in response and proceeded to the door. Yates dropped his hand on the handle with a frown. "And where are you going?"

Mara sighed. "Let us pass, Yates."

"Nope." His eyes fell on Fastion. "You're planning something and I don't think the captain would like it."

"Yates, please—"

"Mara," Ty murmured. He gestured and Mara reluctantly joined him a short ways down the hall. Yates meanwhile leveled Fastion with the sternest glare he could muster, but it quickly dissipated beneath the Weapon's steady, undaunted gaze.

"Mara, what are you thinking?" Ty hissed. "You can't go back out there, especially not with him."

"If you want all of this to end, I have to go back out there—especially with him. Ty—we could use you. We are going to lead as many Weapons as we can away from the throne room. Someone has to go in and rescue the king."

Ty looked horrified. "Was that going to be you? By yourself? Mara, are you insane?"

"I wouldn't be by myself if you helped us," she insisted. He leaned away.

"I don't know. We need to speak with Captain Mapstone."

Mara shrugged. "Go, then, though I doubt Lord Spane and the others will let their only line of defense abandon them. Fastion and I are leaving now." She rejoined the other two men. By this time, Yates had turned his back on the Weapon's unwavering, unnerving stare and currently busied himself with the cracked door. He watched in some despair as Mara opened it.

"Mara, are you really going?" he asked.

"We're useless if we stay here."

"But you're sick, aren't you?"

She smiled and patted his outstretched hand. "I'll see you later, Yates." Fastion placed a hand on her back and led her through the door. Had he glanced at the Riders, he would have seen their furious glares.

"Do you think he's done something to her?" Yates muttered, watching them hurry down the stairs. "Some sort of magic?"

A worried frown creased Ty's brow. "She seemed in control of her senses."

Yates continued to glower, until a thought occurred to him. "Wait. No. You don't think…he and Mara…?"

Ty looked at him slowly. "What?"

"Well—they were together a long time. Maybe…?"

"I doubt Black Shields allow themselves any extraneous relationships." Ty closed the door. "I imagine they would be considered distractions. If it was a choice between her and the king, the king would always come first." His words cast a dark shadow and he rested a hand against the wood, whispering, "I hope she makes it through this."

A short time later, Fastion and Mara each hid beside a respective suit of armor. "How are you going to get their attention?" she asked.

"I will simply let them know where I am." His eyes shut.

Mara moaned and thumped her head against the wall. A brief moment passed, then Fastion shuddered and reached out a hand. Mara grasped it. "What is it? Did it work?"

"Yes. They're coming." He shuddered again, some hidden pain causing him to buckle and shrink. "They're so angry," he gasped. "So—confused. Mara, we must help them—"

"We will, but first we need to run. Come on!" She tugged his hand until his legs moved. They followed their predetermined course: a circuitous route swinging from one side of the throne room to the other, at which point they would separate. Mara would then do her best to help King Zachary, and Fastion—well, he said he would do his best to lose his pursuers. It struck her that logically, it would be better if she stayed where she was and let Fastion lead the Weapons away, instead of both of them running. The thought hadn't occurred to him, however, and so she kept quiet, releasing his hand to facilitate speed. He quickly recaptured her fingers, slowing to a walk. "Now what?" Mara panted.

His wide eyes displayed his obvious excitement. "Karigan's here," he exclaimed.

Something released in Mara's chest. "Good," she sighed. It didn't necessarily change anything, but knowing her heroic friend was somewhere nearby dispelled some of the strain knotting her nerves together. "Where is she?"

His brow knit together. "Gone. She disappeared."

"It must be her ability. Maybe we'll bump into her."

"She had the device." Their eyes met through the gloom.

Mara smiled. "Then let's keep going. We might just win this."

He grinned, grabbed her hand, and they ran.

…

Amberhill choked and dove into an alcove, barely avoiding a contingent of Black Shields heading the opposite direction. He calmed his breathing, then dared to step back into the open.

"That was close."

He yelped and dropped the device. The G'ladheon woman appeared beside him and rushed to pick it up. "What are you doing?" she demanded, making sure the lights were hidden.

"What are you doing?" he wheezed. "Do not sneak up on me." He craned his neck to see if anyone overheard them, then noticed the blood staining her shirt. "You're hurt," he stated. Karigan shook her head.

"It's an old injury. Nothing to worry about." She glanced over her shoulder. "There's more chasing us now."

"Shall we flee, lovely one?" He bowed, one arm outstretched. She scowled at him, but they fell into step beside each other easily. "When we reach the throne room, what do we do then?" he asked between breaths.

Karigan frowned at the ground in front of her.

"Oh good," Amberhill smiled. "You don't know. Well, let's consider. There are Black Shields chasing us, Black Shields most likely in and around the throne room as well as this second piece you speak of, and probably Black Shields imprisoning or killing the king." He made a pensive expression. "Our odds do not look good."

"You're a sage," Karigan drawled. "Do you have anything useful to say?"

He thought for a moment. "No, I suppose I don't."

They approached a corner and slowed. As they crept closer, a Black Shield burst around the turn. Karigan whipped out her sword and the Weapon checked, staring at her with clouded gray eyes. "Fastion," she said in a low voice. He blinked, holding himself very still. Amberhill's trapped breath hissed from his lungs as a second figure appeared, this one in distinct, but dirty Rider green.

"Karigan!" the young woman cried. Amberhill recognized her from around the castle—the right side of her face was puckered and scarred from flames. To his surprise, she latched onto the Weapon's arm. "Don't!"

Karigan looked from one to the other, confused but still wary. "Mara?" The Weapon moved and Karigan's sword was at his neck in an instant. "Last I saw you," she said, "you were searching for the king to kill him."

"Yes," he responded simply.

"And now? Mara?"

"He's fine." She was still clinging to him. "It's not controlling him. We're trying to stop it."

Karigan's eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Amberhill interrupted. "This is a touching reunion, but we have other problems on their way."

"We are being pursued, as well," Fastion said. He stepped away from Karigan's blade. "If they're coming from both directions, we need to find a defensible position."

"One of these rooms?" Mara suggested.

Amberhill heard the approaching threat. "Quickly," he hissed. Karigan hesitated a moment longer, then led the group through a door. Once inside, she and Fastion dragged the occupant tables and chairs and piled them before the door.

Mara, meanwhile, gazed curiously at Amberhill. "Were you not able to make it to the guest quarters, my lord?"

He looked at her sidelong. "I'm afraid not. I was detained." He dazzled her with a smile. "Which is fortunate, else I'd not have met you." He sketched a bow. "Xandis Pierce Amberhill, your servant."

"I know who you are," Mara said with a flattered grin. "I'm Mara Brennan."

He took her hand, not batting an eyelash at her chopped fingers, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Enchanted."

"What is that?" Fastion's voice sliced through Mara's amused laugh. Amberhill straightened and looked steadily at the Weapon. Having already heard those words twice before, he was careful to keep a significant distance between himself and this Fastion.

"Nothing," he answered blithely. Fastion walked toward him, his eyes shadowed in the darkness.

"That's the device," he said, his voice trembling. "You have it hidden there, don't you?"

"Fastion…." Karigan warned.

"The Raven Mask stole it from the throne room," Mara said quietly. She peered into Amberhill's face. "But the Raven Mask is dead."

"It's him. I don't know what trick you played, but I know you now." Fastion reached out one hand. "Give it to me."

"And what will you do with it? Call down your minions to retrieve it? I think not." Amberhill held the bundle tightly against his chest. "Karigan says she can stop the magic."

"Not without the other pieces," Mara countered. Karigan's brows lifted.

"You know about the other pieces?" she asked, surprised.

"Fastion and I found information about them," Mara explained. "We were trying to get to them and the king when we ran into you."

"The king?" Karigan grabbed Mara's hands. "You know where he is? Is he safe?"

"He's in the throne room with the other piece." Fastion paused. "He's alive, but in pain." His brow furrowed. "Strange…"

"What?" Mara urged. Karigan and Amberhill exchanged perplexed glances.

"There's something strange in there with him. A blank spot. There should be someone there, but—they can't see anyone."

"You can see into the throne room?" Karigan asked. "How?"

Mara looked significantly at Fastion, who avoided her gaze. "He's connected to their minds," she said. "He can see through their eyes."

"Are they in your mind?" Amberhill inquired slowly.

Fastion shifted restlessly. "Our plan was to draw them away from the throne room using me as bait, while Mara found the king."

The door shuddered beneath sudden pounding.

"And now we're stuck in here." Karigan huffed. Fastion's hand went out once more.

"Give me the device," he said, "and I will lead them away."

"You can't open that door. They'll come right in," Amberhill said, stepping away.

"I'm going to use the magic." Fastion followed the retreat. "I'll control them."

"How can you do that?" Amberhill backed into a chair and hurried around it. "It'll just use you, like it's used all the rest of you."

"Fastion…." Mara said softly, seeing the Weapon's rare temper rising. Behind them, the pounding persisted.

"If you do not give it to me," he growled, "then we will all die. Do you understand me?"

"Will they kill us?" Amberhill snapped, "Or will you?"

Karigan jumped for Fastion, but the Black Shield was faster. He used the chair as a springboard and it crashed behind him as he dragged Amberhill to the floor. The nobleman cried out and writhed beneath the Weapon's unbreakable hold. "I should kill you," Fastion snarled, crushing Amberhill's throat with one hand, "for kidnapping Lady Estora, thief, and for my brothers and sisters that died because of it." He drew a knife with his other hand and stabbed it into the carpet beside the man's head, slicing Amberhill's ear in the process. Amberhill choked and gurgled, fighting vainly to free himself. Karigan dropped to the ground beside them.

"Fastion, let him go," she whispered. The Weapon's expression—an ugly mask of hatred and fury—didn't alter as the knife was raised once again. Karigan grasped his wrist and urged, "Please, just let him go—for now. There are others things we need to do. He can wait." Fastion's sharp eyes shifted to scowl at her. She glowered right back. "Let him go."

The Weapon trembled, but he finally pried his fingers from the thief's neck and pulled himself away. Amberhill hacked and gagged and struggled for air, curling into a ball on the carpet.

Mara touched Fastion's arm and he flinched. With a gentle smile, she held out the device, which Amberhill had released at one point or another. The colors dripped from the ceiling and walls and glinted in Fastion's light eyes. "Do you know what you need to do?" she asked as he took it from her. He righted the chair and sat down, gazing through the glass panels. After a moment's consideration, he closed his eyes in concentration.

Karigan reached a hand to Amberhill and he used it to pull himself up. Smiling into his strained face, she murmured, "Next time, don't antagonize the angry Black Shield." Amberhill coughed in response, removing himself to the other side of the room. Karigan moved to stand beside Mara. "What is he doing?"

"I'm not sure," she answered vaguely. Karigan surveyed her friend's tired features.

"Has it been awful?" she asked. Mara shook her head and shrugged.

"Fastion and I were missing for the most part of it. When we did reach the main levels, however, it was—well." She pushed ragged hair from her face. "You've seen the hallways."

"I'm so sorry," Karigan said softly.

Mara laughed. "It wasn't your fault, Karigan—for once."

"I should have come back sooner. Maybe I could have done something."

"Yes—where did you go? You've been gone—has it been days?" She looked confused, then laughed again. "Wow."

Karigan scuffed her toe on the carpet. "We went to…an island."

Mara gaped. "You took King Zachary to an island? Where? How?" She paused, then added, "Was it pretty?"

Karigan was spared the explanation when the pounding on the doors suddenly ceased. Fastion's eyes flashed open. He looked at Karigan and Mara and in one quick movement, his sword was in his hands and he lunged at them. Karigan drew her own saber, but before the blades met, Fastion halted and leaned on his weapon, panting. He glanced back at the device, twinkling in the carpet, and exhaled deeply.

"Um…?" Karigan said. Fastion jumped at her voice, then pointed with his sword.

"King Zachary is dying," he said in a rush. Karigan blanched. "Go!"

Karigan sprinted to the door. She grabbed Amberhill by the shirt and hurled him at the furniture blocking the way. They tore through the chairs and tables until the door was finally yanked open. Karigan hesitated. The Black Shields in the hall watched her and Amberhill with narrowed eyes, but their swords were sheathed and they made no move to stop them. Karigan walked carefully through their midst and a moment later, the pair was gone.

Fastion sunk back into the chair. Mara knelt beside him. "What happened?"

"I was right," he muttered. He shook his head briskly and launched into an explanation. "The device is a reservoir for magic. It was empty until magic from Blackveil filled it, but because of Mornhavon's presence, it was also filled with his emotions, his desires. He wanted the king of the Sacor Clans dead."

"You said that it fed off of your passions."

"Yes. It manipulated us—used us, but it has no thoughts or purpose, only the memories Blackveil gave it."

"Which would explain its inconsistency. It stopped once the king disappeared, and after that only some Weapons were controlled while others weren't, and Travis and Erin were fine when they woke up."

"Until the second piece came."

"And…now it has thoughts?"

"No. Someone brought it. He controls it."

"He?"

Fastion sank back into the chair. "Yes. His mind was weak, but I couldn't push him away."

Mara glanced at the open door. The Black Shields peered back at her. She hurried and shut the door, then pushed a few pieces of furniture against it. "How did you get them to stop, then?" she asked, returning to his side.

"The man was weak-minded, but his desire for control was strong. The magic clung to his soul—as dark as it felt." Fastion shuddered. "Mara, it was so strange. I could see him—inside of him. He was—" He shook his head again. "I had to offer it something else."

"Mmm."

He met her eyes. "Mara, it was the only way."

"What emotions did you offer it? The ones you felt when you attacked Lord Amberhill? The ones that made you attack Karigan and me?"

He held her gaze as long as he could. "He was too connected. I had to give it as much as I could. It fed off my—anger and my hate. It was simple to turn it against him then."

Mara gritted her teeth, then jumped as the pounding on the door recommenced. "I thought you stopped them," she shouted. Fastion snatched up the device. Mara grabbed his wrists. "No! Do something else!"

"Mara—"

"I can't lose you," she cried, then she clamped her teeth over her lip. "I mean—I don't want you to become something you don't want to become. I know you don't…like it."

There was that keen, searching gaze again. One of his hands reached up to her face. "Then I'll offer it something stronger," he murmured.

Mara stood slowly, somehow unable to break eye contact. "I'll keep them busy," she responded. Fire whipped around her hands and she turned and raced to the door.

…

"Mickey?" Zachary gasped. The blacksmith leaned down to see him better, but as his legs were too short to reach the floor, he took a moment to scoot forward in the throne.

"How did you get here?" Mickey demanded. "What sort of magic was that?"

Zachary stared up at him, pain making his head swim and bringing a gurgle of laughter up into his throat. "How did you get here?" he countered. He struggled with his good arm to push himself up, but Mickey dropped his foot on the king's head.

"Stay down there," he said, "and answer my questions."

Enraged, Zachary grabbed the fat man's ankle and wrenched his leg to the side. He had dragged himself almost to eyelevel before the Black Shields jerked him back. His broken bones screamed and he fell limp in their arms. Mickey looked uncertainly at the deadly soldiers. "It's hard to imagine my little Emmi as one of them," he said.

"How dare you say her name," Zachary snarled, "you filthy bas—"

"Watch it," Mickey snapped. "They—" he pointed at the Weapons, "—do what I tell them to do." Zachary's lip curled.

"What did you do to them?"

"I didn't do anything. I just showed up and they treated me like royalty." He patted his belly with a self-satisfied smile. "I don't mind, not at all. But I do want to know where the real king is. He hasn't shown his—" He stopped and peered into Zachary's features. The king forced his face to relax, although he knew his eyes still burned. "By the gods," Mickey mumbled. Zachary was surprised at the fear in his voice. "You're the—King Zachary. You—" He stood in sudden panic. Zachary allowed a twitch of a smile, but then Mickey seemed to recall that he wore the crown while the 'real king' struggled before him. The blacksmith settled back onto the throne and stroked something at his neck, hauntingly reminiscent of Amilton with the black stone. Zachary caught a glimpse of blue among the man's exposed hair: the key. "That's funny," Mickey chuckled. "That really is. Is this yours?" He indicated the blue coat and laughed again. "Who'd've thought that you were the king. Well, it's too bad you didn't die in the fire." He fell silent for a few seconds, then decided to continue. "So you sneaked off to an island with one of your Riders, did you? Mmmm, that must have been nice. Was she as ripe an armful as she looked" He winked grotesquely.

"You took her," Zachary said simply.

"Ah—yes, yes. All the more sad you didn't burn. You could be together in death." He waited for a reaction and receiving none, frowned and shifted in his seat. "She bled to death, you know."

His mask firmly in place, Zachary merely gazed at him. The blacksmith twitched beneath that steady stare until the Black Shields suddenly threw the king against the dais steps. His forehead cracked against an edge and his vision blackened briefly. He grunted and suffered quietly, peering up at the men and women that once defended him.

"They do that, you know," Mickey said from somewhere above him. "I don't say anything out loud but they do everything I'm thinking."

Zachary lifted his head and carefully rotated his neck. He saw it then—a squat black box of some unidentifiable metal nestled in the space between the throne and the floor.

"Did they do that with you? Zachary?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" Zachary croaked.

"What's that?"

Zachary pointed at the box. "Does your cruelty give you the courage you need to toy with death?"

"If anyone's dying here, it's you. This thing? This box thing is giving me everything I want."

Zachary rested his head on the stone. "You're a fool."

Mickey scowled, but looked surprised as a large number of Black Shields suddenly left the room at a run, swords bared as they pursued some unknown threat. Zachary chuckled. "Is that something they do, as well, Mickey? Did you tell them to go?" He pushed himself on his elbow. "You have no idea what's happening, do you?"

"Shut up," Mickey snapped. He stood and paced in some agitation, then pointed at Beryl Spencer. "You. Where did they go?" She didn't look at him. He began pacing again.

"Give me the key," Zachary urged, "and the box. I can control them."

"Don't try that. You're staying down there."

Zachary's eyes narrowed, then shifted to look past the throne. "Shouldn't you have someone clean up that mess?" He gestured at the heap of bodies. Mickey stopped walking and stared at the pile with mounting distress. "But I suppose corpses don't really bother you, do they Mickey?"

Mickey turned to sneer down at him. "So you figured everything out, huh?"

"It wasn't difficult. You will be executed."

Mickey threw back his head and laughed. "Me executed? I think you're confused. See, I'm the one with the crown now. You're the one on the floor."

Zachary lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile. "You really don't understand what's happening."

"Don't. I know what you're doing." Mickey crouched and grabbed a fistful of amber hair. Yanking the king's head up, he growled, "You're one of those word-dancing aristocrats, all fluff and smiles. You're no better than me, king or not. You can't trick me." He let go and stood. With a crooked smile, he said, "And there's really no reason for you to be alive." He settled back into the throne. "So I think I'll perform my first kingly act and behead you." He waved inelegantly and three Weapons grabbed Zachary, forcing him into the stone while a fourth drew his sword. Unexpected panic bubbled up into the king's chest and he struggled against them even as cold fear numbed his limbs.

"Feels terrible, yeah? Must be how Fedir's father felt when your own papa had him killed." Mickey chuckled. "Ironic."

A flash of movement and Zachary saw Beryl Spencer racing toward him, but before she was close, everything seemed to stop. The Weapons' grips were still strong, but the executioner's sword hung suspended in the air. Beryl slowed, glancing at the Black Shields in the room.

Mickey was also confused. "What? What are you doing? I want you to kill him. Kill him—agh!" His hands flew to his head. "What—what is this—who—" He squirmed.

The restraining hands released Zachary. The Weapons straightened and turned toward Mickey. They approached him with a deliberateness that was far more terrifying than his own spluttered threats. "What are you doing?" the blacksmith shouted. "What are you doing? Him! Him!"

Beryl hurried to the king's side. She eased him into a sitting position, then they both watched in horrified awe as the Weapons surrounded Mickey. "No—" Zachary muttered. "No, not—not like this—this isn't—" He cut off with a groan as a sword sliced easily through the blacksmith's thick chest. His scream ricocheted around the throne room. A second sword struck, then a third, and a fourth. Mickey screamed and sobbed behind the wall of Weapons. Zachary could hear the blood bubbling in his mouth until the man finally fell silent—and still the execution continued. Metal cracked bones, cut flesh, thumped into the wooden chair. Blood poured freely onto the stone floor and pooled around black boots. Zachary ducked his head, trembling violently. When he dared to raise his eyes, the Black Shields had returned to their original posts. A bloody mass now occupied the throne, bits of it dangling from the various ornamentations of the chair. He looked away immediately, but forever in his mind blazed the booted feet that had survived the butchering, half-chopped head, the rank, yellow fat of a belly—

"Oh gods…" Nausea washed.

"Your Majesty," Beryl whispered. He flinched at her voice. "Majesty, please, we must go while they're like this."

He nodded and stood with her help. Cradling his arm against his stomach, he looked at the floor and the floor only. "The box," he whispered. "The box and the key."

"I will retrieve them."

"Thank you."

She left him and he closed his eyes. He heard the box sliding across the stone, then a few moments later the slippery squishing of wet flesh moving. "I cannot find the necklace," Beryl said. Zachary shuddered. The Rider continued to search. "Only the chain is here—" Her voice cut off. Zachary looked this time and felt the blood drain from his head. A black-banded blade skewered her. She dropped to her knees, turning to stare at the king with bulging eyes. He stared back. The Weapon retrieved his sword and reached past her into Mickey's remains. After a moment he withdrew the small, blue square and moved around Beryl to set it atop the device. He then took hold of Mickey's body and pulled it from the throne. He fixed Zachary with a flat stare.

"The usurper is dead," he said easily. "Your throne, Your Majesty."