Page 47

I woke at dawn but not from the light—from the slice of steel and a man’s cry.

I toppled from the glorious, beautiful, warm bed to grab my axe and duck beneath the window. The scene outside made me forget about how lovely the bed was.

A man with a thin coat and dark hair sprinted down the path toward the cottage.

I wasn’t as frightened of him as I was of the girl chasing him. Even from here, I could see death in her eyes, and it aimed for him.

Before I could decide what to do, she’d thrown her long dagger and it struck true. The man fell.

My eyes shut but the image was already there.

I opened them to see the girl glance at the house. Delilah’s necklace warmed. Then a sound broke through the labyrinth, something large and vicious, and the girl looked there. I studied her as she peered in the distance. Pale hair, light skin, bright eyes, and a small frame. She couldn’t be much older than I was. From the array of weapons at her side and the fine make of her coat—or the fact that she had a coat—I guessed her to be a Pearl.

Still, strip all that away, and I wondered how different we were.

Whatever the noise was, she decided to go investigate. I waited until she was gone to run out the warmth of the cottage and into the cold, bitter day.

My stomach churned as I looked over the man. I couldn’t help him now. I didn’t have Leif’s healing tonight. It’d be better to walk away.

But he gurgled—a strained little breath—and I paused.

My eyes dipped, and I instantly regretted it.

“Askel,”

I breathed.

Askel, the man who’d led me to this island in the first place, had gotten in after all. More than gotten in, he’d almost made it to the end. But all that came to a swift end.

I knelt by his side. The dagger was in the worst possible place—too close to his vital organs to be survivable, but not close enough to make it a quick end. His brown eyes were wide as he gasped for breath.

“Askel, I’m here,”

I whispered.

We’d never been close. He shouldn’t find any comfort in my company. But his eyes found mine and something in them softened.

“Ren?”

he sputtered.

“That’s right. It’s okay. You’re…you’re going to be okay.”

He nodded, though the snow was turning red.

“My wife said I shouldn’t come.”

I remembered. I’d watched them fight before trying to steal his note. That felt like a lifetime ago, instead of a few weeks.

“I’ll tell her of how far you got, and how valiantly you fought.”

Telling him he’d be okay had been a lie, but this one was truth.

“She’ll know you were a brave competitor.”

But he was shaking his head with what little energy he had left.

“I saved a little boy earlier. Tell her of that instead.”

I nodded.

Askel continued to fight, but he couldn’t win. Before a minute passed, he stopped fighting for breath, and the light left his eyes.

I was growing tired of watching people die—especially while I could do nothing to save them.

“Rest well, Askel,”

I whispered. I stood, lifting my axe and drying my eyes.

When I turned, the girl from before was three paces behind me.

I started to swing my axe, but she threw another blade before I could. The blade slid into my stomach, and for a heartbeat, there was nothing—just the cold shock of it, like ice spreading under my skin. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry, but no sound came out. The world seemed to lurch sideways, tilting as the pain ignited, sharp and hot, blooming outward like fire racing through dry grass.

“That was really sweet of you to be with him as he dies,”

the girl said. She stepped past me to yank her first blade from Askel’s body.

“But I always return for my blades.”

I staggered back, clutching at the hilt protruding from me as though I could somehow will it away, make it vanish. My fingers touched the metal, and a fresh wave of agony surged through me, stealing the strength from my legs. I sank to my knees.

The girl stepped in front of me, wrapped her hands around the blade, and yanked it out.

“I’ll need this one now.”

I bellowed.

With a surge of adrenaline, I whipped Leif’s blade from my side to jab up. She merely swatted it away.

“Please. Don’t embarrass yourself now.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle, each one sending more pain rippling through me. I tried to press my hand against the wound to stop the blood I could already feel pooling under my fingers, sticky and warm even as the night froze around me. My cloak, heavy and useless, tangled around me as I slumped forward, one hand bracing against the icy ground.

The metallic taste of fear crept into my mouth, and my vision swam, the edges blurring like ink bleeding through paper. I couldn’t think. The pain was too much, too bright, eclipsing everything else.

Every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking the wound, and my stomach churned, nausea clawing its way up my throat. My head spun as I forced myself to lift my gaze to see the girl as she ran away.

The snow beneath me was red now, a dark, spreading stain that mingled with the icy whiteness. I blinked, and the world tilted again, shadows creeping into the edges of my vision.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not here. Not now.

I clung to that thought, to the anger of it, to the sheer defiance that burned hotter than the pain. My fingers tightened against the ground, my nails digging into the frozen earth, and I gasped for air, forcing myself to hold on.

To fight.

Because if I stopped now—if I let the darkness take me—then I was as good as gone. And I wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

A new sound came, and I looked up to see a wolf with snow-dusted fur.

Brilliant. Let them all come at once.

But he didn’t attack. He walked slowly, inspecting me with sad eyes.

“You’re not with Dimitri,”

I said, almost wishfully.

“Delilah’s?”

The wolf nodded.

“I need help,”

I told him.

“Go find help.”

The beast ran away, and my world went dark.

I woke sometime later to the feel of the cottage bed beneath my aching body, the faint scent of lavender and aged wood filling my nostrils. A coarse wool blanket scratched against my legs, a stark contrast to the warm pressure of a hand pressing firmly over the wound on my stomach. My breath hitched, but before I could fully comprehend my surroundings, my gaze caught a face staring down at me.

Leif watched me with a frown as though he were as displeased to be there as I was to see him. His dark hair flared up in little wisps, untamed as if he had run all the way here. The firelight from the nearby hearth reflected in his brown eyes, which flicked briefly to my wound, narrowing as though he believed sheer willpower might be enough to seal it.

I tried to sit up.

“You came.”

“You called.”

He moved his hand from the wound on my stomach to my shoulder, where he gently lowered me back down. His hand shifted from the wound on my stomach to my shoulder, pressing down with just enough force to keep me still. His touch was firm, but his movements were surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant.

“Sleep, Ren. The magic is still working.”

That was when I saw the onyx bottle of his potion, and it was empty.

I laid back down while struggling to comprehend what was happening. I’d told the wolf to find Delilah, hadn’t I? He found Leif instead.

“Why?”

Leif’s voice softened further, barely more than a breath.

“I don’t know,”

he said, his gaze dropping to the empty bottle as though it might hold the answer.

I slipped back to sleep.