He blinks and shakes his head, as though he can’t believe what he just heard. “Katya—”
“I’m finished being your prisoner, and I’m finished being afraid.” I crawl to the dresser and pull out a white acolyte’s robe. The entire bottom half is burnt to a crisp, but that’s fine. I only really need enough to cover my head. I tear away burnt material, leaving only the hood and a long swath of fabric dangling from the back. Then I pull Raiden’s ashari from my pocket and hold a hand out to Aemon. “Give me your wrist.”
“What are you going to do? You can’t possibly control them all at once.”
“I’m not arguing with you right now. You owe me. Now give me your fucking wrist.”
He hesitantly holds out his hand. I take it and jab the ashari into his vein. He lets out a hiss of pain, but I ignore it, and wrap my lipsaround the wound. Sweet, thick blood fills my mouth, and I gulp it down. The tension seeps from my muscles, my head clears and that familiar buzzing erupts under my skin.
“Katya,” Aemon says, jerking his arm away.
I sag back against the wall, lick my lips and smile. This is me as I was meant to be. No more timid academic hiding behind her mother’s skirts. I am powerful beyond anything those bastards have ever imagined. I take the scrap of fabric still attached to the hood and tear it up the middle. Then I throw the hood over my head and wrap the two pieces around the lower half of my face, tying them in the back.
No gloves. This will just have to do. I stand and try to push up the window. It’s stuck. I try again, throwing all my weight behind it, but still the stupid thing doesn’t budge.
So much for being powerful.
“Here,” Aemon says, shoving the window open way too easily. He pushes up as if about to climb through.
“Get back,” I tell him, smiling to myself when he drops back under my command.
“Let me help you,” he says.
I glare at him. “I think you’ve helped enough, don’t you?” I ask, my voice saccharin sweet. “Now shut up, or I’ll make you bite your tongue off.” His eyes widen, but he keeps his mouth closed, and I didn’t even have to waste my power. Excellent.
I flatten my hands against the windowsill, push myself up and swing over one leg, then the other, and drop to my feet on the other side. I don’t see any officers hovering around, but I keep my back plastered against the wall—well, what’s remaining of the wall—just in case.
I’m overfull, brimming with magic, like a million tiny fireworks continuously exploding beneath my skin. I’ve never felt this good, this alive, this… invincible. I stride around the building, stopping just as I step around the front corner.
Bellatorae soldiers in their black uniforms lined with gold, are positioned in three lines—the first crouched, the second bent overand the third standing—each with their rifle drawn over the head of the other. All have their sights pinned on the front door.
It only takes a second for one of the officers to spot me, though. “Hands up,” he shouts, turning his rifle on me. The rest follow suit.
And I laugh. They don’t recognize death, even when it’s staring them in the face. “Hands up,” I parrot, my voice mocking. The entire regiment throws their hands into the air. “Drop the guns.”
Thirty plus guns clatter to the ground, many knocking their owners in the head on the way down.
“Now, I’m going to ask you a question and I expect…” I pause, searching the officers’ faces. I land on a young officer—a kid, really—shaking in his shiny black boots. I point at the young male. “You to answer. Did you do this?”
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation.
My hands curl into fists so tight my nails dig into my palms. But that bit of pain is good. It keeps me focused, keeps me calm.
“Why?” This time, I ask no one in particular, but an officer with chevron patches decorating his shoulders steps through the crowd. It’s a comedic sight really, this big, burly male walking around with his hands in the air.
“It was orders,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the fear I sense wafting off of him in waves.
“It was your orders to lock the people inside and burn Duje down?”
“Yes.”
“And who gave this order?”
The officer gives me a look that says,“Who do you think, stupid?”And I do know who, of course, but I need to hear it. I need to be sure before I kill him. “The king.”
Troi.
“These were healers.” I point at the burnt husk of my home. “People who spent their lives helping others, all dead, generations gone. How many future lives have you taken because there won’t be healers to cure them?”
