One glance at Harthon told me he was too occupied to help me, neither man falling as easily as the rest. Dagger man prowled toward me with a promise of death on his face. One of his knives appeared in his hands.
I’d only just begun deflecting weapons in my training.Fakeweapons.
“You can’t kill me,” I reminded him, shuffling back, my thoughts on the dead men by the window and whatever pieces of sharp metal were on their bodies.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you,” he snarled back, stalking me past the base of the bed.
At least we’d been correct about their plans to capture.
“But hurting me too much could end up killing me,” I pointed out, trying to buy myself time. My heel came up against a body, and I took one more step backward, positioning it in front of me. I quickly grabbed the knife strapped to its torso. I could treat the dagger as an extension of my fist. In that way, it wasn’t really different from what I’d been practicing.
“I’ve gotten good at hurting people. I won’t kill you.”
“How reassuring.”
He stepped toward the body, and I swung out with my empty fist. He easily knocked it away, but my knife hand was already swinging up into his torso. The blade sliced through his skin, the cut shallow. I’d hoped it would slow him down. All it did was anger him.
He punched forward, and I ducked, just barely spinning away from the dagger that came up a second later. I kicked the side of his knee. When he faltered, I jabbed the blade deep into his shoulder, a solid blow. I was pulling it out when his fist connected with my cheek, sending me to the ground in a daze.
I wasn’t supposed to let them get me on the ground.
He straddled me, his heavy weight pinning me down, and I swung up for his side. A heavy hand chopped my wrist, sending the knife flying uselessly out of my fingers as he raised his dagger. I palmed the vial at my side, the one that had fallen from the pocket of the dead body, and slammed it into his face. Glass shattered and dark liquid sprayed.
Mouth open on a silent yell, he reared away, and I scrambled upfrom beneath him. Harthon had killed one of his attackers but still grappled with the other. I needed to take care of myself, but I was trapped in a corner of the room.
Thereisthe window.
Dagger man was slow getting to his feet, swiping at the glass buried in his face. I flung the window open, saw the metal claws still anchoring the two ropes to my window sill, and cursed the fact that I was going to willingly dangle myself in the air for the second time in only a few weeks.
I crouched on the sill, palming the rope as I faced the room. Dagger man lunged for me.
I dropped.
My stomach lurched as I free fell one story. Skin tore as I squeezed my palms around the rope, lurching to a stop. Above me, the man grabbed hold of the second rope, intent on following me. With absolutely zero finesse, I released the rope again, falling another few feet before forcing myself to a stop. Pain ricocheted from my palms through my shoulders as I watched dagger man smoothly glide down the line.
He was going to beat me.
I let go of the rope, plunging toward the garden. It was only my training that gave me the grace to roll through the plants on impact, even as the air flew from my body.
No time to dwell on it.
I dashed through the kitchen door, snagging a frying pan from a stove and positioning myself just beside the doorway.
Before I could blink, dagger man came crashing into the room. I swung, and the metal smashed into his nose. Blood erupted from the area as he cried out, hands flying to the crushed bones, and I ruthlessly rammed the heavy iron into his face again.
He collapsed, unmoving. The dagger clattered onto theground.
His face was a mottled mess of grisly, bloody wounds. The kind that may not be survivable.
I didn’t feel an ounce of regret.
Noise at the opposite doorway had me swinging the pan up over my shoulder, ready to strike, but it was only Harthon and Callen who entered the room, the latter holding a lantern and dressed in his fighting leathers. North’s voice bellowed an order out in the hallway, followed by the sound of multiple hurried footsteps. Sometime between my foray out the window and now, the alarm had been raised.
I pointed the frying pan at Callen as the pair quickly approached me. “You’re letting me train with weapons tomorrow. Real weapons.”
“Your wish is my command,” he agreed, going to dagger man’s body as Harthon came directly to me.
Still gloriously half-dressed, he appeared completely unharmed, though his skin glistened with sweat. His eyes ran over me, pausing on my skinned hands and bruised cheek. The area throbbed, but I’d been hit in the face enough times over the past few weeks that I wouldn’t even consider it an injury.
