Though some of the knives are more ornate than others, the craftsmanship of each one is exquisite, and though every single variation of length and thickness is on display, it’s the few more unusual specimens that grab my attention. Several short push daggers with broad bone hilts and stubby blades. Devious tools, they could be easily hidden in waistbands to be drawn quickly for combat when space is limited. My mother did her best to patch up more than one wound from such a weapon when we were living in the fifth ring. Anyone who can wield a decent punch can do some serious damage with one of these. But given that I’m hoping to stay far away from any adversaries, punching won’t be an option for me.
I move on to the next specimen – a masterpiece that’s double-ended with a punch blade for extra, well, punch. I also wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of these, but that doesn’t stop me from running my hand across the cool metal. That tickle of excitement grows stronger. Whether I plan on using it or not, I can’t resist seeing what it feels like to hold. Wrapping my fingers around the central hilt, I lift it.
‘Let me guess. You’re wondering which one of those is going to be the one that kills you,’ a male voice drawls.
Ice fills my veins.
Kyor is here, with an array of weapons at his fingertips.
And this time, there’s no fire bead to save me.
Chapter 18
How fucking stupid could I be? Why did I think that wandering around in the dead of night was a good idea?
Kyor is standing only a few feet away and still wearing his shirt from the ball, though now it’s entirely undone, revealing even more of those circular tattoos. I seriously consider trying to stab him, and my hand squeezes the hilt as blood thrums behind my ears. One quick swing of my wrist and, if the Gods are on my side, he will finally get what he deserves. At the thought of the Gods, Oel’s name rings through my mind. As the God of Order and Logic, he would likely tell me that, logically, me killing the prince like this would not be the best idea. Besides, like Kyor, I don’t want to risk Etta’s disfavour by starting something outside of the trials. If he dies in them … well, that’s a death I’m not going to waste tears on. But stabbing him now while he’s clearly drunk? No. No matter what he did, I won’t stoop to his level.
‘I’m surprised to see you up,’ I scoff, trying to swallow my fear. ‘I thought you’d been sent to bed for the evening? Told off for your inappropriate behaviour?’
He scoffs. ‘If you think that’s me being inappropriate, then you’ve got a lot to learn.’ The way his lips quirk, it’s clear he’s toying with me.
He takes a half step towards me, letting his eyes trail down my body, only for them to stop at my thighs. A frown mars his forehead. ‘That dagger.’ He nods his head to it. ‘Where is it from? That’s notone of ours.’ His tone is censorious, and I hear the undertone of ‘where did you steal it from?’
‘It’s mine,’ I bite back and purposely hold my tongue from explaining further. I don’t need to justify my belongings.
Rather than responding, he turns towards the weapons and runs his hand across the metal in a manner that’s remarkably similar to how I was caressing them only a few moments ago.
‘There should be another knife here.’ He strokes a gap. ‘A two-inch blade with a hammered metal hilt that has bone inlay. Great for holding between your knuckles. No one has permission to take these – not unless Zelle says so – but someone’s taken it. And another one there.’ He points lower in the cabinet, to where swords hang in a frame. It doesn’t look like there’s anything missing to me, but when he slides a panel across slightly, he reveals more than enough room for another weapon. ‘A seax. Twenty inches. Three hundred years old. Leather grip. It was replaced less than six months ago, and it was here yesterday.’
I have to say, I’m impressed. From the slight slur to his tone, it’s fair to assume he’s still drunk, and yet he can remember all that detail. Or maybe impressed isn’t the right word. Maybe angry is.
‘Funny …’ I tilt my head. ‘You can remember all that, and yet you immediately forgot your mother crying out and begging mine to save your younger brother andnother.’
His eyes jolt up from the swords, and the next thing I know, my back slams into the wall of the cabinet, his hand around my throat and the blade that was in my hand drops to the ground in the shock. The blunt edges of the weapons in the rack press into my spine as his eyes meet mine with so much fire it almost obscures their iciness.
‘Don’t.’ His hand remains on my throat with constant pressure. Enough to hold me in place but not choke me. In fact, there’s more than enough freedom for me to reach down and grab the dagger strapped to my thigh. I move slowly, not wanting to alert him. My fingers find the cool metal easily and it takes all my willpower not to simply whip it out. Given that he moved faster than I even thought possible when he pinned me here, I have to take my time and do this right. If I don’t, it might be the last thing I do.
Slowly, my fingers curl around the copper. Only when I’m sure my grip is completely secure do I unsheathe it. My eyes remain unblinking on Kyor’s as I slowly bend my elbow and twist my wrist, pointing the tip of theblade upwards. Do I want him dead? With every fibre in my body. But do I want to kill him like this? No. But only because I think that would limit my chance of winning the gifting. And then there’s the slight issue that I would’ve murdered the heir to the throne. But as maiming him would likely come with the same consequences, there seems little point in holding back.
When he speaks, his voice is brisk, calm, and instructional. ‘If you’re going for the heart, don’t go for the centre. You’ll hit the sternum and the bone’s too thick there. Go to the left, between the ribs. That’s the best shot.’
My breath stalls and my entire body braces. He knows. He knows I’ve got the dagger in my hand. I try to swallow, to think of something I can say or do. A way to distract him. A way to get out of this alive. But there’s nothing. He’s got dozens of weapons within his reach. Or maybe he’ll choose to simply tighten his grip around my throat or use whatever magic he has to end me. Yet he merely continues to stand there. Waiting.
Is he trying to goad me so he can be justified in killing me?
‘Aim to the left a little more,’ he continues. ‘That’s the side of the heart that pumps all the blood to your body. I mean, sure, if you hit the right side, my lungs are going to fill with blood and it’s going to be a less-than-pleasant ending, but you should always aim for the left.’
I don’t respond.
‘Rose doesn’t feel like the right name for you. You’re much too prickly to be a Rose. Too sharp. Thorn. Yes … Thorn fits you perfectly. Your parents should have named you Thorn.’
Blood rushes to my ears, and before I’ve even drawn breath, I’ve raised the dagger and pressed it against his chest. Just to the left of his sternum, where he instructed. I can even feel the dip between the ribs.
‘You don’t get to mention them,’ I spit, the words sharp and fast. ‘Your lie ruined us and killed them both.’
‘Then take your vengeance,’ he spits out. ‘I’m not stopping you. Come on, Thorn. Do it. You want me dead, so fucking own it.’
I push the hilt in slightly, just enough to pierce the skin, but I don’t go any further. He’s right, I do want him dead. But I also don’t want the consequences. I’d accept a public execution, but … Kay. I came here to better her life. There’s no chance of that happening if I’m dead, slaughtered for killing the king’s heir.
