Andre dragged the knife down my throat to my chest. I focused on his revolting face, willing another pattern to emerge. Any pattern.
And there it came, glowing brighter than before. Taunting me.
I didn’t hesitate. Clenching my fingers, I jerked the cord sharply, and the coals in the forge careened toward us. I braced for the pain, elbowing Grue in the stomach and twisting away. When the coals struck their faces, my own skin burned. But I knew this pain. I could endure it. I had endured it.
Gritting my teeth, I seized Andre’s knife and plunged it into his throat, slashing through skin and tendon and bone. His scream ended in a gurgle. Grue lunged toward me blindly, bellowing with fury, but I used his momentum to drive the blade into his chest—and his stomach, and his shoulder, and his throat. His blood sprayed across my cheek.
When their bodies thudded to the floor, I collapsed right along with them, pawing at Grue’s corpse for Angelica’s Ring. I thrust it back on my finger as a knock sounded on the door.
“Is everything okay in there?”
I froze at the unfamiliar voice, panting and shaking. The doorknob rattled, and a new voice joined the first. “The key is broken off.”
“I heard shouting.” Another knock, louder this time. “Is anyone in there?”
The doorknob rattled again. “Hello? Can someone hear me?”
“What’s going on here?”
That voice I knew. Strong. Confident. Damnably inconvenient.
Leaping to my feet, I staggered to the water barrel, praying the door would hold against Reid’s strength. I cursed quietly. Of course Reid was here, now, with magic lingering in the air and two corpses burning on the floor. I slid a little in their blood as I tipped the barrel. The water cascaded over them, diluting the worst of the smell. The embers hissed at the contact, smoking slightly, and a sickening, charred scent swathed the room. I tilted the barrel and doused myself too.
The voices outside paused as the barrel slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Then—
“Someone is in there.” Without waiting for confirmation, Reid kicked the door. It bowed under his weight. When he kicked again, the wood gave an ominous crack. I lunged toward the forge and pumped the bellows feverishly. Coal smoke poured into the room, thick and black. The door splintered, but I kept pumping. Kept pumping until my eyes watered and my throat burned. Until I couldn’t smell the magic. Until I couldn’t smell anything.
I dropped the bellows just as the door exploded.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating Reid’s silhouette in the whorls of smoke. Massive. Tense. Waiting. He’d drawn his Balisarda, and the sapphire glinted through the shifting smoke. Two concerned citizens stood behind him. As the smoke cleared, I better saw his face. His eyes swept across the scene quickly, narrowing at the blood and bodies—and landing on me. He blanched. “Lou?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My knees gave way.
He moved forward quickly—ignoring the blood, water, and smoke—and dropped to his knees before me. “Are you all right?” He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. Pushed my wet hair from my face, tipped my chin, touched the marks on my throat. His fingers stilled on the thin scar there. The cold mask of fury cracked, leaving only the frantic man beneath. “Did they—did they hurt you?”
I winced and caught his hands, halting his assessment. My hands shook. “I’m fine, Reid.”
“What happened?”
Quickly, I recounted the nightmarish experience, omitting any mention of magic. The water and smoke had done their job—and the charred flesh. With each word, his face grew stonier, and by the time I finished, he trembled with rage. Exhaling heavily, he rested his forehead against our knotted hands. “I want to kill them for touching you.”
“Too late,” I said weakly.
“Lou, I— If they’d hurt you—” He lifted his gaze to mine, and once again, the vulnerability there pierced my chest.
“H-How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I came to buy one of your Christmas gifts.” He paused, jerking his head to send the two citizens away. Terrified, they scuttled out the door without another word. “A knife.”
I stared at him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pounding through my body. Or his disobedience to the Archbishop. Or my own wretched realization that I was afraid. Truly afraid, this time.
And I needed help.
No. I needed him.
Whatever the reason, I didn’t care.
One second, we knelt together on that bloody floor, and the next, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled away for a fraction of a second, startled, but then he fisted the fabric at the back of my cloak and crushed me to him, mouth hard and unrelenting.