Go, he says -- and she might correctly interpret that as run, as get away, but there's nowhere to run to. Fleeing out of the ruined front doors will send her directly into the arms of the Briarwoods' soldiers. Fleeing out of either of the servants' entrances means going past the high table, where Lady Briarwood is still on her feet with one hand raised for another spell, and Lord Briarwood is drawing an enormous greatsword as the illusion concealing it dissipates.

Everything seems to be happening at once. Lord Frederick de Rolo has started to his feet and now lurches forward, eyes wide with two distinct levels of horror, catching himself on the table. His hand knocks against his green-stemmed wineglass and it topples, shattering with a pure ringing sound; pale dessert wine splatters on the floor, carrying the faintest trail of something darker.

Lady Johanna, fumbling for her dress rapier with one hand, braces on the back of her heavy chair with the other. Percy pulls back from the table, falls to one knee and clutches at his head. Vesper screams for her father as he struggles to rise. Whitney freezes in her chair; Oliver pulls at her arm futilely. Julius lifts the heavy fruit platter and throws it at Lord Briarwood's face, and a contemptuous sweep of that greatsword sends it spinning aside, slices of citrus and melon and berries scattering over the floor.

And Cassandra is running, not away but toward the high table, screaming high-pitched terror and rage.