Page 15 of Quicksilver

“This is nothing to you, is it? Taking an innocent life.”

A flicker of something passed over his features. Not empathy. More...exhaustion. “You aren't innocent. You're a thief,” he replied flatly. His hand clamped around the top of my arm, his grip an iron vice. I attempted to dig my heels in to slow his progress as he dragged me across the hall, but the stone underfoot was too slick.

“The Third is full of thieves,” I spat. “It's the only option open to us. We take more than we're given, or we die. It's an easy decision. You'd do the same if it meant the difference between life and death.”

“Don't presume to know which way my moral compass points, girl.” He wrenched me forward, snarling when I tried to pull myself free. My shoulder throbbed, promising to dislocate if I strained the joint any further, but there were plenty of things I would do to survive and theft was the least of them. If ripping my shoulder out of its socket gave me an opportunity to run, then I'd endure the pain.

“Easy to judge...from a position of privilege,” I ground out. “But when your family...is dying...”

“Death is an open doorway that’s meant to be walked through. On the other side of it lies peace. Count yourself lucky that you get to make the journey at all.” Shoving me forward, he threw me to the ground. I landed on my side, hard, my headsmashing against the stone, and sparks exploding behind my eyes. For a moment, all I could do was gasp through the skull-splitting pain. My vision cleared just in time for me to register Harron lifting his sword.

“For what it's worth, Iamsorry,” he said. And then he brought the blade swinging down.

Lightning tore a pathway through my side and up, into my brain. White hot, the sensation transcended pain. This was more. Raw agony, the likes of which I had never experienced, splintered my mind as the horror of it intensified. I didn't even know pain like this existed. A rush of wet heat spread over my stomach. I looked down and immediately wished I hadn't. Harron's blade was buried in my stomach, the metal plunged deep. The captain's brows drew together for the briefest second—the smallest flare of something he refused to give way to—and then his features smoothed out. “Ready, Saeris?” He closed both hands around the hilt of his sword. “This is the part where you scream.” And then he twisted...

A wall of sound and panic tore out of me, too much, the fear and vicious burn in my gut overwhelming my senses. Like a feral animal caught in a snare, I bucked and writhed, desperate to escape, but the ties binding my hands behind my back grew tighter the more I pulled, and Harron had only twisted his gleaming silver blade. He hadn't pulled it out. I was skewered to the stone, and no amount of thrashing would fix that.

I gave Madra the music she requested. I screamed until I tasted blood and my throat was raw. It was only when I started choking on blood that I understood that I was coughing it up. It spilled out of my mouth in a hot stream that wouldn't stop flowing.

“I know it hurts,” Harron murmurs. “But it's temporary. It’ll be over soon enough.”

As he stooped down over me, taking a beautiful, engraved dagger from a sheath at his thigh, I clung to those words. Soon, this would end. I would sink into oblivion. I didn't believe in an afterlife, but nothingness would do. I—

Fire erupted below my collarbone. I couldn't breathe. I thought for a moment that he'd punched me, but no. His dagger protruded from my shoulder. A ragged howl bounced around the hall, growing louder and louder with each repetition. It was an inhuman sound, chilling and pitiful.

Escape.

Escape.

Escape.

There was no room to think around the word.

I couldn't—

I had to—

I—

ESCAPE!

“You're lucky. This is faster than it will be for the others,” Harron said softly. There was a hint of kindness to his tone; he took out another dagger and looked down at it, considering its edge. “They'll burn or choke to death. Stomach wounds are painful, yes, but I made this one quick for you. Now...” He shook his head, flipping over the blade in his hand. “One last, really good scream for the queen, and we'll have you on your way, all right?”

The dagger flashed, quick as lightning. Harron thrust down, aiming to drive it point-first into my other shoulder, but...something happened. The metal tip froze an inch away from my filthy, torn shirt, hovering above me. He—he stayed his hand?

I gagged on another mouthful of blood, struggling to swallow it back down, to breathe around it. When I looked up at Harron, his eyes were wide, more alert than they had been a momentago. He stared at me, his disbelief plain as day. Shaking with the effort, he was using both hands now, struggling to drive the knife home.

“How...are you doing that?” he grunted. “That...isn't...possible.”

I couldn't answer him. I was a burning wick, consumed by pain, but there was something inside of me, something cool, and calm, and made of iron, that rose up andclaimedHarron's knife as its own.

The stillness wanted the blade, and so it took it. As if I had a third, invisible hand, I reached out toward the dagger, and I wrapped my will around it. The weapon trembled, its tip quivering.

“Stop,” he whispered. “This isheresy.”

I couldn't stop. I had no control over what was happening. I desperately wanted the dagger away from me, and so I forced against it in mind, commanding it to...

Harron gasped as the dagger glowed white hot. The metal screeched in my ears—a horrific, awful sound that cleaved me to my soul. The sound of madness. Gritting my teeth, I answered the voice inside of me, commanding me tounmakethe dagger, like such a thing was even possible. And it was. Almost as stunned as Harron, I watched as the knife liquified in the captain's gloved hand and ran through his fingers in rivulets of rolling silver.