The hilt of his dagger. Boralas carries it everywhere, although I’ve never seen it used. It’s heavy as I tug it free, my fingers protected from the copper by the silken handle. Boralas pushes into me more, pressing me down against the table, and my eyes close as I grip the weapon in my hand as tightly as I can.
My stomach roils. “Boralas.Please.”
He pauses for a moment, as if to listen to my pleas. He enjoys them, I think. Further proof of his power under this roof.
I tried.
I take a breath, inhaling the bitter scent of oranges. “You should have taken the money.”
No more.
The navy-blue silk he wears offers no resistance as the knife slams into his side.
Not a single day more will I give him. Any of them.
I thought it would be harder, somehow. Although everything I’ve seen tells me that it’s not very hard at all for people to inflict pain. But his body is like butter beneath the blade.
In the end, it’s surprisingly easy.
I am nothing if not a product of my environment.
A grunt. His breathing turns heavy, choking. “What—”
Again.
Blindly, I twist my arm back and forth, hitting him wherever I can reach. His weight grows heavier, our harsh breathing mingling in the heated air, and when I push back again, I meet no resistance.
Boralas slumps, his knees hitting the floor with an audible thud as I push him back. His lips move as I twist around and stare at him, clutching the dagger in front of me. Thick, scarlet liquid sticks to the blade, drops scattering over the floor as my fingers tremble. “You were right.”
Glazed eyes meet mine as I suck in a shuddering breath. But I don’t look away. Instead, I lean forward, making sure he can see my face.
Making sure it’s the last thing he sees.
And my voice, when it comes, is ice and rage anddeath. “I am exactly what you made me.”
The knife falls from my hands, clattering against the wood floor as I stagger back. The wood of the dressing table beneath my hands feels different from a moment ago. Less harsh, at least in comparison to the carnage in front of me. The rasping coming from Boralas slows, his hands twitching.
And then there is nothing.
The glint in his eyes fades to a dull hue, a candle blown out at the end of a night.
The sound of his head hitting the floor pulls me out of my dazed reverie. My face jerks away from Boralas, to the open doorway and the sound of voices beyond. The chain at my ankle announces my movements as I dart across the room and push it closed with shaking fingers.
I press my back against it, trying to think.
Trying not to stare at the body on the floor in front of me.
He’s dead.
And if I am not already dead, I will be after tonight. The Masters of the Guilds, the twelve councils that form the ruling coalition of Terrosa’s city territories, do not look kindly on murder within their walls.
Johan, as leader of this territory on the coast of Terrosa, will not grant me any mercy. If anything, his punishment will be all the harsher. Masters are not above being removed from their position if their activities bring the Guilds into disrepute.
It will be a noose at noonday in the square opposite the market. A baying crowd, and a hot sun, and no sign of the starsat all. A rope around my neck, hot copper around my hands and feet, and a short drop to a long afterlife in Ellas.
It’s not the first time I’ve considered what it might be like. Once, I thought that would be better.
But I have a promise to keep.
