“Maybe we should have done this with the stick,” Dess said.
“She’ll stop short of stabbing you,” Oskaren said. “Or maybe she won’t.” She shrugged. “No great loss.”
Dess grit his teeth, and this close, Thia could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his irritation.
“Okay, I’m going now,” she said.
Dess lowered his teeth like he was about to sink them into her neck. Thia drove the knife forward. And halted just before it hit him.
“Not bad,” Oskaren said. “A little low. You’ll want to weaken her enough to decapitate her—or for one of us to—and for that you’ll need to hit her heart. Again.”
Thia did. And again and again until finally Oskaren said, “That’s the spot.”
Dess released her. “Consider me weakened.”
“Do it again,” Oskaren said. “From the beginning. Grab her, bite her—Thia stab him, all in one.”
They attempted it. Thia felt she’d hit the right target again, but Oskaren was shaking her head. “Like you actually want to kill her, Dessfar. You’re giving her too much room to move her arm.”
“But I don’twantto kill her,” Dess protested. “Look at that pathetic little face.”
Thia glared good-naturedly. “I’ve got a knife, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m—argh!” She let out a cry and nearly dropped the blade as rough hands yanked her sideways and pinned her to a chest that was suspiciously softer than Dess’s. A warm mouth pressed against her neck, teeth scraping her skin. Heat pooled in Thia’s belly, her toes curling.
Dess said, “Oskaren, don’t—” And the reminder of the audience zapped Thia back to reality and the task at hand.
She twisted, squirming in the strong grip to get as much of her arm free as possible. Then she struck with all her strength.
Oskaren was closer than anticipated, or maybe Thia just wasn’t paying attention. The knife halted a breath too late and the tip sank into cloth, into skin, before she remembered herself and yanked back. Oskaren released her, hands flying to her side in shock.
Thia stumbled forward. “Oskaren. I’m so sorry. I—”
Oskaren dodged her touch. “Leave it.”
“Just let me—”
But Oskaren was already gone, hastening for the trees while her blood dripped from Thia’s dagger.
THIRTY-ONE
“YOU CAN’T RESIST,CAN YOU?”
Oskaren had stopped near a creek only a few yards into the trees. Thia, unable to prevent herself from following at the thought of someone, even Oskaren—especially Oskaren—wounded because of her, paused a few feet away. She stared at the girl’s back while Oskaren undid the buckles of her jerkin, attention on the water.
“You hurt, I heal. You have to let me make sure you’re not going to die.” Especially if it was her fault.
“I can assure you, I am not.” There was something off about her tone. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t even her usual brand of cool. It was flat. Dead.
“Well you sound like you might,” she retorted.
Buckles finished, Oskaren dropped the jerkin to the floor, leaving her in a beige, long-sleeved undershirt that pulled out the warm tones of her brown skin.
“Fitting punishment, I suppose,” Oskaren said, and Thia frowned.
“Punishment. For what?”
