The doll’s eyes seemed to follow me. Mocking my failure.
I knew what I needed to do, but it would hurt. Was it too much to hope for a bloodless solution, just once? By Sirauk’s cursed depths, I had not come this far to be foiled by a pane of glass. My magic lay dormant, unaffected by my efforts. I could not fathom how it had escaped my cuffs, and I did not have time to waste hoping for two impossibilities in the same night.
I grabbed the slit on the bottom right of my tunic and yanked down. I tore the amount needed to completely wrap my elbow and lower arm.
Sweat beaded at my forehead. I closed my free hand around my other wrist and raised my cushioned elbow to shoulder level. “No broken bones,” I ordered. Life with Hanim had made for some strange habits, including speaking to my body as though it could hear me.
I swung my elbow into the glass as hard as I could. Pain exploded into my arm, reverberating through me until I tasted it behind my teeth. Using my grip on my wrapped arm to angle my right side forward, I hurled my body weight behind my elbow at every hit. If I stopped now, I wouldn’t start again. The agony radiating in my arm wrestled with the reality of confronting the Nizahl Heir without a weapon, and I swung until blood soaked the tunic strips.
A crack formed in the glass. Small, barely consequential compared to the sheer size of the weapons cabinet. I drew my arm back, choking down a whimper, and slammed my elbow into the fissure. The bottom half of the glass shattered. I turned my head as shards rained onto the ground, covering my face with my bloodied arm. Bloodied, but not broken.
I shoved my arm through the pane, reaching for the rusted axe behind the Lukubi doll. My nails scraped the handle, my fingers struggling to close on it. Had I mangled my elbow to miss the Awaleen-forsaken axe by mere inches?
Footfalls sounded outside. A low murmuring rumbled at the door. I craned for the axe, but I would need to break more of the glass to reach it.
I swore and grabbed the first weapon I could fit through the jagged edges. A short blade, half the length of my battered forearm, sharp despite its years. Not as good as an axe by half.
Twin footsteps grew loud, then faded in the distance. The two guardsmen assigned to my door departing on their Commander’s orders. I tucked the blade into the waist of my pants. The handle burrowed into the small of my back.
He was here.
I peeled the wet strips of fabric from my arm and flicked them aside. I had played his game from the moment he stood over me at the river. The boring, unassuming village ward. A girl either na?ve enough to perform burial rites on a fallen Jasadi or clever enough to hide her magic for five years. Until my magic reacted, I was simply Sylvia.
My magic tore the illusion of Sylvia to pieces and rebuilt her to represent one word only: Jasadi.
I straightened my shoulders. The chase had ended, and the Nizahl Heir was merely another monster at my heels.
The door opened.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The shadows in the room silhouetted the Nizahl Heir. The lanterns flickered with the rush of wind accompanying his entrance. He shut the door behind him, removed his coat and lifted it to the hook. Ease in his movements, as though we were two companions meeting for a meal.
I was sweating to rival one of Felix’s overworked horses. I feared the slickness of my palm against the blade’s smooth handle.
This was not like the soldier in the woods. I could not assess him for weaknesses to exploit or avenues of attack. I was a bird flying into the heart of a windstorm, and the millisecond of surprise between my attack and his defense would decide the outcome of my flight.
When he finally glanced up, it was to look beyond me, closing in on the cracked opening in the war cabinet.
My blood beat in my ears.
The Nizahl Heir’s gaze met mine. Whatever he saw brought a cold smile to his lips. Relics of every kingdom’s gruesome history surrounded me, and only this man drove ice through my heart.
“There you are,” he said. “We meet at last.”
I closed the distance between us in a single bound. Terror churned in my veins, carrying the momentum of my swinging knife. Had my opponent been any other, my aim would have been true. I had acted fast, and I would have struck him at an angle from which there was no recovery. My greatest trouble should have been pulling the dagger from the stubborn clutch of his corpse.
But my opponent was not any other.
Arin caught my knuckles in a flash. Without a flicker of hesitation, he snapped my wrist to the side.
I choked on a scream at the crunch of bone. My limbs went lax in the bright bloom of pain. The dagger clattered, falling from my grip.
He pulled me closer, sliding his hand to my elbow. His breath touched my temple. From the outside, my body curving into his, it could have resembled a lover’s embrace.