Her hands move, exactly as we were taught, a perfect maneuver.
But if our Father’s warning was correct, it hurts like hell.
Kalith shouts. His fist shoots out, punching into Petra’s chest so hard that she gains air before she crashes across the room, hitting the end of the bed opposite him—smack!—and collapses at the base of it.
“Little bitch!” Kalith shouts, lurching after her. “That fucking hurt!”
Thoren is already sprinting toward them.
I’m aware of Braddock heaving himself out of his bed before I also break into a run.
I quickly catch up to my brother. Chasing after monsters in the forest has given me strength and speed and the floor in this place is far easier to run across than snow.
Up ahead, Petra has curled into a ball on the floor and Kalith is drawing back his boot, preparing to kick her. I have no doubt he’ll break her ribs.
I overtake my brother and throw myself into Kalith before his boot can connect with Petra’s chest.
Oomph!The force of my hit propels us far enough across the room that we reach the doorway.
I catch a brief glance of Thoren skidding to a stop beside Petra and hooking his arms beneath hers. I’m certain he’ll drag her out of the way now.
That’s all I see before the two Blacksmiths in the nearby beds launch themselves at me.
Kalith shouts from where he’s sprawled on the floor.
My father must have really hurt him during their fight because he’s slow to get up.
I’ve ended up on my knees on the floor, but I regain my balance fast enough to knock my elbow back into the face of one oncoming Blacksmith before I swing to the other, grabbing his wrist before he can slash a bronze dagger down my back.
Jumping to my feet in the same move, I use my upward momentum to shove him backward, my boot connecting with his stomach a second later, ramming him into the nearby wall.
The first man has recovered from my hit to his face and a thick thread of ruby-red metal shrieks across the space between him and me, twining around my neck before I can get my hands up.
If only I was as fast as they are.
“Back to your knees,” the Blacksmith snarls at me as the metal tightens around my throat.
I try to see his features. Metallic-red hair and eyes with unnatural red flecks in them.
He kicks at the back of my legs, forcing me onto my knees.
Desperately, I try to push my fingers between my throat and the rope to give myself enough space to breathe, even though the metal will likely chop my fingers off.
I’m kneeling side-on to the room and I can see that Thoren is now halfway down the aisle, crouched there, his arms around Petra. He’s looking around. If he had his bow and arrow, he’d be firing it already.
All of the other patients and the healers have remained where they were, their eyes wide. Sybil is pressed hard up against the nearby wall.
Only Braddock has taken a step toward me.
My attention returns to Kalith, who has risen to his feet and now looms over me.
I’m gratified when he stays a full three paces away from me. Far enough to remain out of reach of my fists.
“You,” he snarls, seeming to finally recognize me.
The corners of his mouth twitch upward as he glances at the ruby-haired Blacksmith. Kalith takes a step back toward the door. And then another. Easing toward the darkness in the street.
To the ruby-haired Blacksmith, he says, “Finish the human if you wish.” His smile grows. “But I was never here.”
