I gritted my teeth. Reasoning was out of the question, then. “You should.”
If there was one thing I was going to do, it was survive. I had lived through far worse. I would not die; I would not let them capture me after finally experiencing the sweet taste of freedom.
Rivel did not preface his next attack with a warning. He swung at me viciously, knife jabbing the air wildly and without strategy. Lorian had not trained me to defend against such attacks. My role as ship doctor meant I saw little combat, so he’d taught me to fight honorably. A duel of swords, purpose, and seldom foul tricks. Rivel was nothing like him. When he realized it would be difficult to get a hit in, he began throwing furniture around. Lamps. Mirrors. Glass shattered at my feet.
His feral attack provided one boon—he was making a ton of noise. If I couldn’t kill him myself, if I could hold out long enough, someone would find us.
“It’s no fun to play with prey that only runs.” He sneered. “Too bad I’ve backed you into a corner.”
Stepping back, I felt my body press into the wall behind me. I cursed to myself. I hadn’t noticed that the way he’d been guiding me to dodge had been intentional. He’d maneuvered me to a spot nestled between the fireplace and a large dresser, and he was drawing nearer and nearer. If I attempted to run past him, he’d have the perfect opportunity to stab at me, and I’d have little space to move out of the way.
I can help you.
“NO!”
You need me. You can’t do this on your own.
Stubbornness and possibly stupidity drove me to make the attempt I knew was impossible. I wasn’t giving in to the voice. I could do this on my own.
I rushed forward, dagger in hand, and he—he let me pass? Wrong. A sharp yank of my hair ripped me back. Rivel’s fingers twisted into a fist around the strands as he dragged me to him. Pain pricked my scalp as I brought my hand to his, attempting to pry his fingers free. With a harder tug, he pressed me against him, forcing my face upward until it was close enough to smell his rotten breath.
He whispered against the curve of my ear, “this is for my father.”
At the moment I’d felt his knife plunge into my side, I’d curled my fingers around his neck and dug deep for my magic—my power. Not the voice’s. Mine. And it answered.
Rivel brought his hand back again, taking aim, when a gargled scream tore through his throat. His knife clattered to the ground into the pile of glass beneath us as he released his grip on my hair and began to claw at my hand around his neck.
I dug deeper.
Free from the position he’d had me locked in, I could swivel my body around to face him, improving my grip. He struggled against me weakly until blood pooled in the corners of his mouth, and his eyes turned glassy, his body growing limp. And when I could no longer support his weight, I watched him slump to the ground, lifeless, my chest heaving.
Isn’t it a beautiful sight? You should have let me have a taste.
Looking down at him—for the first time truly seeing what I’d done—bile rose in my throat. It hadn’t been just a strangulation; what I’d done with my magic had covered his entire neck and chest with dark tendrils of magic. The places where the pads ofmy fingers had dug into his skin had left deep gouges, pooling and dripping with blood. I glanced down at my shaking hand and found it there, too. Gore—coating my fingers. Under my fingernails.
I’d done it. Without help, just like I’d wanted and needed to, yet I felt sick. Disgusted with myself because I didn’t need to lose control to become a monster; I was perfectly capable of it all on my own. No one deserved a death so brutal….
I was still standing over his body, staring down at the horror I’d caused, when the door swung open.
“Nairu!”
Alandris’ voice brought me a relief I hadn’t thought was possible. So much so that the dam holding back every emotion threatening to overwhelm me broke, and a sob wracked my chest. Through my tears, I looked at him, standing now right at my side. “I—I did this.”
“Are you injured?” He took my bloodied hand in his, turning it over until he’d scanned every inch. “Is this his blood?”
I nodded. “His.”
The frenzy in his eyes lessened, though his face went taut. “I will take care of this. Go to my quarters. Wait for me there.”
“W—wait.” I pulled the crown from my head and held it to my chest. “It’s enchanted. You wouldn’t have remembered me clearly, or that I was there waiting for you.”
The corner of his mouth quirked into a strangely melancholy smile. “I would always remember you.” He turned his attention to Rivel. “Go, Nairu.”
I started to move and abruptly halted. “Is there a key? To your quarters?”
He didn’t turn back. “Turn the knob. It will open for you.”
I was halfway to his quarters when the adrenaline began to fade, and I remembered the wound in my side. Rivel’s attack had been sloppy. He had stabbed at an angle, resulting in a long gash—too shallow to grievously injure, much less kill.That didn’t stop it from being agonizingly painful now that the buzz of battle had worn off, and it wouldn’t stop it from needing stitches, either,—which would not happen with my hands shaking as much as they were.
