~ 7 ~
SAbrI
The woman—who, against all logic, has to be Anya, because how else would she know those embarrassing things—slams her hand against the wall.
There’s another wretched grumble of stone and time grinds to a standstill.
What—
As I fall, all the chaotic and conflicting thoughts in my skull vanish. In their place comes the sharp but almost gloriously simple voice of instinct. I tuck inward to protect my head and neck as I plummet through the darkness.
It seems to be some kind of tilted tunnel or shaft that we’ve fallen into. My armor clanks each time I hit against the floor or sides of the space. Finally, there’s a heart-wrenching moment of free fall before I collide with the ground. The force steals the air from my lungs.
The multiple impacts and hefty landing are sure to leave bruises tomorrow—but I don’t feel even a spark of pain. Adrenaline and fury vie for dominance in my veins and my heartbeat is pounding like war drums in my ears.
Shaking my head to regain focus, I heave myself back onto my feet. Small rocks and sand shift beneath my boot. My hands are empty—I must have dropped my sword in the fall. As I scan for it I realize we’ve fallen into a very different place from where we were before.
A wide expanse stretches in front of me. Unlike the structured ruins of the temple, this place is natural, with walls made from packed earth and stone. Surprisingly, it’s not dark; there’s a green luminescence coming from mushrooms along the walls. Their hazy glow reflects on the rippling surface of an underground lake a few feet away.
Something moves between me and the lake.
Anya.
She’s already up. It makes sense; unlike me, she was prepared for the drop.
Tricky! Conniving!
I clench my fists as I take a step toward her, the rage thundering back with a vengeance. I don’t even bother to stop and find my sword. Anya might be a little taller than me, but she’s thinner—I don’t need a sword to deal with her, especially now that the mushrooms are giving ample light to see.
“Hope that knocked some sense into you.” Anya just stands there, as cocky as can be. “Ready to talk now, old friend?”
I force a tight-lipped smile.
Something flickers across her face—Anya’s face, it’s really Anya—which is all I need before I lunge.
She caught me off guard, but did she think I’d back down? Of course not. If anything, I’m angrier than ever.
Anya lifts her hands, but I don’t give her the chance to pull another trick. I grab the front of her shirt and heave. She’s even lighter than she looks—it’s easy to knock her backward into the water.
The tug on my breastplate barely registers as Anya pulls me down after her. I follow eagerly, causing frigid water to splash around us. My knees sink into the sand and the muck as I wrestle with Anya.
She’s frustratingly slippery. My fist tangles in nothing but wet fabric as I grab at Anya. She manages to twist away once, then twice, before I finally lock my fingers over her shoulder. I slam her down into the water.
“Alright!” she yells, her voice carrying through the underground cavern. “That’s enough! I give in!” Even as she cries for surrender, I can feel her reaching down toward her belt where her daggers are waiting.
I don’t let her get them. I snatch her hands, fighting against the slippery cold of her skin for a firm grip.
“Awww come on,” she moans, “stop!”
I do not stop. I catch one of her wrists and slam it upward. The force of it pushes her back, dunking her head underwater. She flounders, pushes, and comes up gasping.
I’m not exactly sure what I’m trying to do, whether I should be restraining her or going for the kill. The emotions are too much; I can’t think. Maybe the pain from the fall is affecting me after all, because everything hurts a lot now.
I knock her other hand away and clench my fingers. I could knock out her and give myself some much-needed time to make sense of all this. I pull back, aiming for her head, but one look at her face sends me off target. I bring my fist down on her chest instead.
Anya’s body rocks in on itself as all the breath explodes out of her.
“G-gods, you’re fuckin—” she chokes, and something in her expression makes me feel like I was the one who took a hit to the chest. “Stop, Sab !”
My childhood name on her lips has me jerking to a halt. I can’t swing again—I can’t move at all.
Maybe taking advantage or perhaps out of desperation, Anya makes a grab at me. It’s a sloppy swing, but she’s equally winded and half-submerged underwater.
I feel a tug around my neck, followed by the sound of a chain snapping. I look down.
Anya, panting and flushed, has my heart necklace in her hands.