He dodges it, then shoves me to the ground. I lose my grip, and the knife goes flying. Quickly, I crawl toward it, but he steps on my arm. I scream. He lifts his foot just as he grabs a handful of my hair to yank me to my knees.
I reach for his hand to attempt to get him to let go, but he pulls harder, then grabs my chin with his free hand.
He spits in my face. “You’re a traitor to your own people.”
The words slam into me. I don’t know which people he’s talking about. The rebels? Iskvalandians?
Tears stream down my face, but rage burns in my chest. I spit back at him, then I swipe at his face with my fingernails. He releases my hair with a yell, but kicks me in the chest, sending me to my back.
A blade goes flying over my head and impales him in the chest. Anya is standing next to me, a bloody knife in her hand. She’s still shaking, but she moves forward, then slices my knife across the man’s throat.
She pushes him, and he falls to his knees, then to the floor. Anya collapses next to him, her chest rising and falling with rapid, jagged breaths. She stares at the dead man, and I know whatever compelled her to get up is gone.
I make it to my knees and stay like that while I survey the destruction.
The younger man is standing by the door, staring at me. Jaw open, eyes wide, he’s frozen in place. Wetness appears on the front of his trousers.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “You should go before I pull my knife from your friend’s chest.”
He climbs over the chair and flees into the hallway, but I hear a thud a second later and then Brevan fills my doorway. Theyoung man didn’t make it out of here alive, and I can’t say I feel sorry for him.
Brevan shoves the chair aside and is on his knees in front of me in a heartbeat. He holds my face, turning it from side to side while examining it, then scans the rest of me. His brows are knitted together in worry. He runs his fingers down my arm, over the scrapes and cuts from the shattering door, then looks at my blood-soaked nightgown. “Whose blood is this?”
“Theirs.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
He leans his forehead against mine, then wraps his arms around me. “Thank the gods you’re alright.”
“You’re the one who saved me.”
“I wasn’t here. I should have been, but I wasn’t,” he says as he leans back so he can look at me.
“If you hadn’t taught me how to use those knives, I’d be dead.”
He looks at the bodies on the ground. Both with bloody necks. One still has a knife in his chest. “Good throw.”
“That was Anya.” I pull away from him and look for my friend. She’s sitting in the back of the room with her head to her knees.
Without a word, Brevan helps me up and follows me at a distance when I rush over to her. I sit next to her, but don’t touch her. “Anya, it’s over.”
I look up to Brevan for confirmation that I’m telling her the truth. He nods.
“Tell me what you need,” I say. “Do you want me to hold you?”
“No.”
“You saved my life,” I tell her.
“I know. But I took his.” She doesn’t even look up at me.
I lean my head against the wall. I’d done the same. I killed someone. A rebel. Someone who was supposed to be on the same side as me. The guilt is tearing Anya apart, but I can’t find that within me.
Maybe I’m just as much of a monster as those I came here to kill. I look up at Brevan, seeking some kind of reassurance.
Brevan reaches for me, then catches himself and pulls his hand back. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
