My rope unravels a little more, and I drop a few inches with a jolt.
Determination overpowers everything. Fuck this piece of trash. Fuck the rebels. And fuck the gods for not giving a shit about my home and my people enough to stop this fucking curse.
The rage propels me higher until I’m just below Dolan. I pull my dagger from the sheath at my thigh, and I run along the wall, rope in hand, until the last moment when I leap, suspended in the air for one terrifying moment. Aiming for his stomach.
The blade sinks deep into his abdomen and continues to tear through him as my weight pulls me lower.
Dolan lets out a bellow that sounds like a creature possessed, but it barely registers. He’s going to die. I’ve stabbed him. Slaughtered him. I’m trying not to panic, because I have to grab the rope.
My body doesn’t cooperate, and I lose my dagger as Dolan topples to the ground with it still embedded in his gut.
My fucking dagger.
I tell myself it’s fine. I can retrieve it later. After. But my head is swimming, and my hands are burning. And I think I’m falling.
My final thought before everything goes black is hazy.
I’m going to die a murderer.
Raiden
Her soft snores fill the cave where I’ve had her tucked away for the last three days. She still hasn’t woken up. I worry that she never will.
I brought her here without thinking. But there was no other option.
Dolan is dead. His crumpled body caught her fall, and there was no coming back from that amount of blood loss. His partner and their group of hellions will be livid, but that’s a problem for another day.
She had nearly died, too. And I risked a lot by using my magic to bring her here. It was stupid. Reckless. The potential that someone saw usbluris great, but sitting here in the dark with her is worth it.
The Underground is a series of tunnels and caves carved out to create living quarters and various other spaces. It’s been my home for the last three decades. Since my father was murdered and living above was no longer an option.
I built a sanctuary. At least, that was how it had begun.
This particular room is small, and there’s not much in the way of furniture. She lies on a bed pushed against the wall. There’s a table in the center of the room, and a tray of food that’s gone cold since being brought in for her.
Quiet moaning has me on my feet and rushing to help to prop her up on the bed. Something in my chest squeezes, knowing the pain she must be feeling.
She looks up at me, and I think she’s about to say something kind until the recognition sets in and fear flashes in her green eyes.
“Where am I?” she asks, her voice strained.
I hold a small cup of water up to her lips. “You’re in the Underground.” The look she attempts to hide gives her away, so I ask, “Are you familiar with it?”
She ignores the question, instead asking, “How did I get here?”
“I brought you.”
“No. I mean, that’s not what I—”
“You fell from the wall, and I caught you and brought you here,” I explain.
She holds her head in her hands, struck with some lingering pain from Dolan’s ax hitting her. It’s then she realizes her hands are wrapped, and she releases a low moan.
I pour the medicinal tea I’ve had refreshed and brought in every hour or so, just in case, into a cup for her, blowing on the wisps of steam to cool it.
“Drink this. It will help with the pain until you’re strong enough to heal yourself.”
To my surprise, she does as I ask without arguing. So obedient. Though it does make me wonder how much pain she must be in if she can’t even find the strength to defy me.
