Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Thumps sound outside our door, and another explosion makes the walls shake. Anya backs away, eyes wide with fear. Her hands tremble and sweat beads at her brow. I hurry over to her, but I only make her retreat farther.
I keep my distance but try to soothe her. “It’s alright. We’re safe in here. They can’t get to us.”
Something slams against our door, and she yelps, then folds in on herself. She’s balled up on the ground, a shaking, trembling mass. Her breathing is too fast, and I worry she’ll faint.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “We’re safe.” Tears slide down my cheeks, but I quickly brush them away. I don’t want her to see me upset.
It’s not the rebels attacking that has me afraid. It’s the sight of my best friend as a shell of herself. She used to be fearless, unstoppable. I thought she was getting better, but this must be sending her back to whatever it was she endured.
Another thud against the door sends me looking for the knives Brevan gave me. I’m not a fighter, but I will protect my friend.
Something cracks inside me. These are rebels. I’m supposed to be on the same side as them. Would I really kill someone if they came through that door? How could I do that? How could I turn my back on my own?
They wouldn’t know me. And if I told them, they wouldn’t believe me. Or if they did, how would I maintain my cover?
Another pounding on the door and another explosion. I set my jaw and grip my blades tight. Too tight, I realize. I loosen my grasp and hold them the way Brevan showed me.
There’s yelling outside the door, but I can’t tell who it’s coming from. Which side is winning? What if the rebels win and I can leave? Brevan would be heartbroken. But he also might be dead. I don’t want that.
The lines are blurring. I can’t figure out which side I stand on anymore. The emperor and prince aren’t here, so if I want to complete my mission, I’d have to stay. But Lee said to hold off.
My mind is a tangled mess, and my insides feel like they might explode. I want to scream. I want to break something.
The door shatters, and I turn and lift my arms to shield my face. Splintered wood slams against me. Three men peer over the chair that’s still in place. I don’t recognize any of them.
“Look what we have here, boys,” a middle-aged man with a gray beard says.
“It’s the princess. Must be our lucky day,” a younger man with startlingly blond hair says.
The third is a brunette who might still be a teenager. His face is full and round, not yet outgrown from his childhood. “Let’s take her back with us.”
I hold my weapons. “Leave us alone.”
“Oh, shit, there’s another one back there,” the blond man says. “Let’s keep ’em both.”
They climb over the chair and rush toward me. They’re making crude comments as they get closer, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I threaten.
“Did you hear that, Charles?” the blond says to the older man. “She doesn’t want to hurt us.”
“Then put your knives down and come with us. We’ll make it easier on you,” Charles says.
“I swear to the gods if you get any closer, I will gut you like a fish.”
The youngest man speaks in Iskvalandian, “She thinks she’s a fighter.”
The blonde man responds in rapid Iskvalandian, “She’s bluffing.”
They’re talking about me as if I’m not here. Telling one another that I’m faking my fight. That I’m supposed to be weak. I am not weak.
“Quit doing that,” Charles says. “You know I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“You’re from Iskvaland.” My brow furrows. I didn’t know there were any rebels from Iskvaland. That would explain why I didn’t know them. Maybe they were from a different group.
I shout at them in Iskvalandian. “Leave me alone, I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s my final warning. I don’t want to harm them, but I want to live more.
Charles lunges for me, and I crouch low, then sweep my leg out like Brevan showed me.
He goes down. I hate that Brevan was right about balance.
Then I shove a knife into the old man’s throat.
Blood trickles down his neck. He claws at it trying to pry out, then blood fills his mouth, pouring out the sides.
His arms fall limp, and his eyes go glassy. His chest stops moving.
“You bitch!” The blond man charges me, and I try to yank out the knife, but it’s stuck, so I leave it and swipe at him with my other knife.
He dodges it, then shoves me to the ground. I lose my grip, and the knife goes flying. Quickly, I crawl toward it, but he steps on my arm. I scream. He lifts his foot just as he grabs a handful of my hair to yank me to my knees.
I reach for his hand to attempt to get him to let go, but he pulls harder, then grabs my chin with his free hand.
He spits in my face. “You’re a traitor to your own people.”
The words slam into me. I don’t know which people he’s talking about. The rebels? Iskvalandians?
Tears stream down my face, but rage burns in my chest. I spit back at him, then I swipe at his face with my fingernails. He releases my hair with a yell, but kicks me in the chest, sending me to my back.
A blade goes flying over my head and impales him in the chest. Anya is standing next to me, a bloody knife in her hand. She’s still shaking, but she moves forward, then slices my knife across the man’s throat.
She pushes him, and he falls to his knees, then to the floor. Anya collapses next to him, her chest rising and falling with rapid, jagged breaths. She stares at the dead man, and I know whatever compelled her to get up is gone.
I make it to my knees and stay like that while I survey the destruction.
The younger man is standing by the door, staring at me. Jaw open, eyes wide, he’s frozen in place. Wetness appears on the front of his trousers.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “You should go before I pull my knife from your friend’s chest.”
He climbs over the chair and flees into the hallway, but I hear a thud a second later and then Brevan fills my doorway. The young man didn’t make it out of here alive, and I can’t say I feel sorry for him.
Brevan shoves the chair aside and is on his knees in front of me in a heartbeat.
He holds my face, turning it from side to side while examining it, then scans the rest of me.
His brows are knitted together in worry.
He runs his fingers down my arm, over the scrapes and cuts from the shattering door, then looks at my blood-soaked nightgown. “Whose blood is this?”
“Theirs.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
He leans his forehead against mine, then wraps his arms around me. “Thank the gods you’re alright.”
“You’re the one who saved me.”
“I wasn’t here. I should have been, but I wasn’t,” he says as he leans back so he can look at me.
“If you hadn’t taught me how to use those knives, I’d be dead.”
He looks at the bodies on the ground. Both with bloody necks. One still has a knife in his chest. “Good throw.”
“That was Anya.” I pull away from him and look for my friend. She’s sitting in the back of the room with her head to her knees.
Without a word, Brevan helps me up and follows me at a distance when I rush over to her. I sit next to her, but don’t touch her. “Anya, it’s over.”
I look up to Brevan for confirmation that I’m telling her the truth. He nods.
“Tell me what you need,” I say. “Do you want me to hold you?”
“No.”
“You saved my life,” I tell her.
“I know. But I took his.” She doesn’t even look up at me.
I lean my head against the wall. I’d done the same. I killed someone. A rebel. Someone who was supposed to be on the same side as me. The guilt is tearing Anya apart, but I can’t find that within me.
Maybe I’m just as much of a monster as those I came here to kill. I look up at Brevan, seeking some kind of reassurance.
Brevan reaches for me, then catches himself and pulls his hand back. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
I fight my own urge to touch him. “Thank you.”
He nods, then leaves.
I sit with Anya in silence for a long while. Finally, she looks up and turns toward me. “How long have you been in love with him?”
“Brevan? No. It’s not like that. I’m attracted to him, sure…” I begin.
She gives me a look that only a best friend can give. “You know it’s going to end badly.”
“I know.” I set my hand on top of hers.
After another stretch of silence, she says, “I’m sorry I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken,” I tell her.
“I am. And it almost got us both killed tonight.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. You defeated your fear tonight. You fought yourself, and you won.” I squeeze her hand. “Then you even saved my life. Someone who is broken couldn’t do that.”
“I shouldn’t be like this,” she says. “I shouldn’t have panicked. I never used to do that. Not before….”
“Shhh. Don’t you worry about that.” I know she doesn’t want to tell me what happened, even if I wished she would share. “You’ll be back to the way you were when you’re ready. It won’t last forever.”
She takes a deep breath, then looks around the room. The bodies are still on the ground, crimson puddles surrounding them. “I guess we’ll move to my room.”
“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” I stand up. “Brevan?” I call.
“Yes, Princess?”
“Can you please check on my ladies?” I ask. “See if anyone is hurt. Let them know I’ll be in Anya’s room and to not come to mine.”
“Let me escort you to your new room, and then I’ll check on them. You shouldn’t be in there with the dead.”
I step over the bodies on my way out, leading Anya by our clasped hands. I don’t even bother to say a prayer for the dead. I don’t need Brevan’s gift to know their intentions were bad.
They might have been working for the rebellion, but I have to wonder about their motives for choosing that path. Some men just seem to like to fight and would join whichever group allowed them that pleasure. I’ve seen it in the Night Legion for years. I never thought I’d see it with the rebels.