Page 179 of Daughter of the Serpent

It wasn’t hers. It was something deeper. Something older.

Her body responded before her fear could stop her. Her hand shot down, fumbling for the dagger Hallva had forged. The metal sang against her skin as her fingers curled around the hilt - and it hissed like itrecognized her. Like it was something alive.

It was now or never.

She struck - hard, fast, savage - aiming for his kidney.

He twisted, but not fast enough. The blade sank deep into his side with a sickening crack of bone and a splatter of hot blood across her chest.

Bjorn roared, animalistic, twisting as she yanked the dagger free and stabbed again - this time lower, harder. The blade bit deep. Blood gushed, coating her hand in warmth.

He screamed - a guttural, rage - filled bellow - and finally his weight shifted. She shoved free, tumbling onto the earth, choking andgasping as she clutched at her bruised throat. Her lungs burned with every breath. Her entire body trembled.

Another of Bjorn’s company lunged for her - blade flashing silver in the fading light.

There was no time.

She staggered backward, feet scrambling against dirt and moss. Behind her - nothing but the cliff’s edge. Jagged rocks below.

Certain death.

Bjorn’s voice thundered behind the chaos. “You bitch- !”

She turned. He stood now, blood gushing from his side, lips curled back in a snarl. Smoke hissed from the open wounds, as though the blade had burned his insides from within.

He hurled her dagger to the ground, his hands trembling.

“What did you do?! Whatisthis?!”

“The immortal blade of Hallva…” the other man gasped in answer, his eyes wide. “How doyouhave it?”

Bjorn stumbled, sagging against a nearby tree.

“You have to get to the healers,” the second man urged. His eyes were cut with fear, worry - as if he was antsy to make his escape, to not linger.

But Bjorn only spat blood into the dirt. His eyes locked onto Sylvie, madness and hate boiling within. “I will finish hernow.”

His voice was raw with fury. “She will not step one foot on that ship tomorrow. Not as one of us. This creature - this cursedthing- is unworthy!”

She coughed still, ragged and gasping, her lungs clawing for air as the world spun around her. Every breath was fire. She staggered backward, eyes darting through the shadows of the trees.

She had to move -fast- before Bjorn made good on his promise.

Blood smeared his side where her blade had struck, but he was still standing. Still snarling. Wounded, yes. But not beaten. Not yet.

And then - movement.

Figures slid from the trees like prowling wolves in the dark, eyes gleaming. Steel flashed. Boots crunched overrock and fallen leaves.

Her pulse stuttered - not from fear, but from memory. The old Sylvie - the girl who would have backed away, trembling, who would’ve let her fear dictate her fate.

But now - that girl was dead.

Axel had burned her to ash, and from it something new had arisen.

She’d spent months breaking down the walls she had built around herself. The doubt. The fear. The weakness. Every bruise, every scar was proof of the woman she had become.

She wasn’t the serpent’s daughter, the spawn of Lafar, the daughter of shame.