Ashlynn’s mind was still reeling from the impact of Owain’s last blow and the implications of the twisted sorcery he’d somehow activated when she heard Isabell’s voice call out.

"Ashlynn, handle Owain and that cursed throne!" Isabell’s confident, clipped voice rang across the stones of the Great Hall. "We’ll manage the rest!"

"Keep them safe!" Ashlynn shouted back as she struggled to her feet.

Good. Isabell was thinking and acting. If anyone could keep people safe from the twisted power of a chained and tormented Ancient Oak, Ashlynn believed that the Hemlock Witch, whose powers with wood were second only to her own, was the best person to rely on.

Still, that left her with a very dangerous Owain Lothian and the source of his stolen power to deal with, and Ashlynn wasted no time in charging forward to re-engage with him now that Isabell had taken command of the rest.

-CLANG!-

Water’s Edge met Fallen Claw in a blow that held enough strength to cleave through stone, but neither blade bent nor broke as Owain met her charge with a forceful beat of his own.

-CLANG CLANG!-

Ashlynn swept her sword through tight arcs, hammering at Owain’s defenses again and again as she tried to find an angle or opportunity to thrust for the widened gap in his visor. She was seeking the quickest end to the duel she could think of, and she abandoned all of her restraint to achieve it, moving with a strength and speed that no ordinary human could ever match...

And still, it wasn’t enough.

-SKIIIIEEEEK!-

Owain pointed the tip of Fallen Claw toward the ground, keeping the blade parallel to his body and bracing the flat of his blade with one hand as he blocked another of Ashlynn’s blows, but this time, as if he’d begun to grow intoxicated by the feeling of wielding the power he’d stolen from his people, he did more than just defend himself.

Owain pressed forward, using his advantage of height to force her blade down as Fallen Claw slid along Water’s edge, locking their swords together, guard-to-guard, and bringing his face just inches away from hers.

"This is where it ends, wife!" Owain spat, staring into Ashlynn’s eyes through the narrow slit in her visor.

Owain’s taunt was accompanied by a sudden surge of strength as the shadowy vines wrapping around his body swelled with power. Steel scraped against steel as Owain thrust downward, and pain exploded in Ashlynn’s thigh as Owain’s sword found the gap between plates of armor, parting links of mail, and sinking deep into the flesh of her thigh.

-CLANG!-

Like an unstoppable juggernaut, Owian slammed the pommel of his sword into Ashlynn’s helm, wrenching the blade free of her thigh to strike again. He stayed close inside her guard, keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on the blade, battering her guard aside to thrust at another gap in her armor, this time targeting Ashlynn’s other shoulder.

Pain flared in Ashlynn’s mind once again when the tip of his blade bit into the meat of her shoulder. The chainmail and arming jacket beneath the worn steel plates of her armor offered no more protection against this version of Owain than her wedding dress had offered her on the night he’d nearly killed her, and blood flowed freely from an increasing number of wounds on her body.

Too much. He was just too much...

Ashlynn had known going into this battle that Owain was a better swordsman than she could hope to become in the short amount of time she had. She’d counted on the superior strength and speed she’d gained as Nyrielle’s seneschal to balance the scales and tip them in her favor, but now that she’d lost that advantage, Owain’s greater skill became a decisive advantage that he used to ruthlessly and systematically dismantle her defenses.

"Nyri," Ashlynn whispered, speaking so softly the name couldn’t be heard over the clatter of armor and the clang of steel against steel.

In the High Pass, when she’d fought against the ghosts of the Frost Walker Ancestors, Nyrielle had been furious because she hadn’t reached out for her support through their bond. Furious and hurt, because Ashlynn had risked her life rather than ask for help.

This time, even though there was a part of Ashlynn’s heart that desperately wanted to do this by herself, to claim her vengeance with her own hands and her strength alone, she threw aside the pride that would only doom her and reached out through the bond of blood that tied her heartbeat forever to her lover’s.

"Nyri," she whispered in her heart. "I need your help."

Across the Great Hall, the dark blue jewel in Ashlynn’s cavalier hat glittered under the light, and Jocelynn’s eyes, hidden from most by the hat’s wide brim, slowly darkened from their pale, seafoam-green to a deep, midnight blue.

Jocelynn’s heart hammered in her chest, torn between watching the chaos unfolding across the hall where Ollie was pushing his way through the crowd to reach Melsinde Otker and the battle that raged in the center of the hall where Owain had just stabbed her sister yet again, this time catching her at the gap between the bottom of her breastplate and the top of the tassets that covered her hips.

Her eyes, however, her dark, midnight blue eyes, seemed suddenly unable to turn away from her sister’s duel as the world around her grew cold, as if she could feel the spectre of death walking through the hall. Her hands clutched at Ashlynn’s coat, pulling it close around her while she prayed that death had finally come for Owain.

"I see," Nyrielle’s voice whispered in Ashlyn’s heart. "You’re overmatched, my darling, and he’s borrowing strength that isn’t his own. Since he’s stooped so low, I’ll lend a hand of my own," she said.

For a moment, Ashlynn had the feeling that Nyrielle had wrapped her soft, feathered wings around her, embracing her and sheltering her from all the hurts of the world. But then, the feeling sank into her flesh, bringing with it a boon that only a True Vampire could share with their Seneschal.

In the time since Ashlynn had escaped from Owain, she’d poured countless hours into learning the sword and more methods of fighting beyond it as well. Still, there was a limit to how much she could learn in the short time she had, and her reflexes and instincts, as sharp as they’d become, still left much to be desired.

Now, however, Ashlynn felt two long centuries of tempering and training suffusing her body as her heart slowed to match Nyrielle’s slow, steady beat. The air within her chest grew as cold as death, and the blood flowing from her wounds slowed to a trickle.

-CLANG! SKREEEEEETT! CLANG!-

Ashlynn’s body moved almost unconsciously as Owain stabbed at her again, using the point of Fallen Claw like the tip of a spear aimed directly at the gap in her visor. This time, however, instead of batting his attack aside with quick, excessive force that would only create another opening, Ashlynn met Owain’s attack at precisely the right angle, sliding along his blade just enough to lash out with the hilt of Water’s Edge, pummeling his visor yet again and pulling it even more askew.

Behind the bevor protecting her own face, a slow, predatory smile spread across Ashlynn’s lips as Nyrielle lent her just what she needed... Not the crushing power to overwhelm, but the benefit of hundreds of years of victories and defeats and all the lessons that had come from them.

"I’ve sharpened your sword, my darling," Nyrielle whispered across the vast distance that separated them. "Now it’s up to you to hunt your prey..."