I grab his hair and pull his head back, exposing the scarless neck. “I wish I’d had more time with you,” I breathe as my blade opens his jugular. I hold him there and watch the life leave his eyes. A puddle forms around my boots, thick and pungent, and I smile again. Fitting that his blood will leave here with me.
The relief that follows his death cleanses me in a way I couldn’t have expected. My gaze strays toward the ceiling as I inhale and exhale, in and out. I feel freer—lighter—than I have in years. As if this one act, a single swipe of my knife, removed an anchor I’d been dragging around since then.
I wish I could stay here and enjoy this moment. But I feel others approaching. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be forced to take risks I can’t afford.
After one last look at the man who deserved so much more pain, I gather my blades then spin and race down the hall toward Fhord and Thyra. I’m dreading his anger, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve rescued Thyra. We’ll be enemies again soon anyway.
I sense the guards barreling toward me—between me and my exit—before I see them. Six approach me, called by the man I just killed. They won’t have found Bolverkr yet since he’s lying in a puddle of his own blood in the opposite direction, but they’ll know I killed him. He should be here instead of me.
Even from this distance, I can tell that nobody has the talent they need to find my thoughts. But that won’t matter. They’ll know to search the shadows for me.
My body responds, the urge to fight overwhelming any thought of flight. The adrenaline that already flooded my system races through me, pushing me on as my vision focuses. I flit my eyes around the cavern, searching for some advantage against guards who’ll be every bit as skilled in combat as me. When I see the ledge a dozen feet away, I sigh in relief. That’s my best hope.
I take my time crawling up. If a single stone drops, they’ll know to look up. I can’t give up whatever surprise I’ll have up here.
They stride into the cavern seconds after I perch on the ledge, slowing as they search for me. I can feel their anger and resolve. They know I’m dangerous. They know they won’t find their comrade alive. And they’re determined to make me pay.
But I’m determined too.
My first two blades flip from my hands at the same time, piercing the throat of one guard and the temple of another. They crumple to the ground, not even a cry escaping their lips. The rest turn, finding me just as another two knives spin toward them. One finds its mark, dropping a third guard to bleed with his brothers.
These are better odds.
I drop to the ground … and twist my fucking ankle. My foot plunges into a hole I hadn’t noticed before and I nearly topple over. That’s all it takes to shift the odds again. Gritting my teeth, I breathe through the daggers that shoot up my leg when I put weight on it.
And then I grin. Because fuck them. They won’t see my pain.
They attack as one, flinging fists and legs at me. I’m outnumbered and nearly overwhelmed. All I can do is defend, spinning and ducking and scampering away more than once. My mind trips over itself, searching for an opening to do something other than respond to their assault. But they’re too fast, too well trained.
Once, almost by accident, I land a punch to the jaw. He drops back, shaking his head for a moment, giving me the smallest window to charge the others. Before I can step into my next punch, though, he drops his head and rams into me, tossing me into the wall a few feet away.
The air whooshes out of me as my lungs expand like a balloon and then constrict. I’m struggling to take a breath, even as I force myself to roll away because if I don’t, I’ll be dead. The stabbing pain in my side tells me I’ve broken a rib, or worse.Fuck. This will take a couple of hours to heal.
“What did you do with Bolverkr?” one of them demands, his voice harsh and guttural.
“Fuck you.” I’m scrambling away from them as they stalk me, searching for some escape I haven’t seen.
“Is he dead?” This guard’s hands punctuate his words, stretching out and then clenching into fists as if they want nothing more than to wrap around my throat. And then he stomps forward, giving in to their demand as he reaches out to grab my neck before I can get away.
He stands, pulling me up with him, his eyes narrowing.
My mind stills and slows, pushing out every sense, focusing on the fingers around my neck.
It’s not over yet, I remind myself as I lift my legs to kick away the guard. But another one stalks up to jerk my wrists behind me, yanking them up and away, nearly as high as my shoulders. For just a moment, I forget about the hands around my neck, focusing on the sharp pain that shoots up my arms, the throb in my ankle. Then the first guard’s fingers tighten, cutting off the last of my airflow.
Maybe today is the day I’ll die.
A wave of sadness washes over me, not for my life, but for Toffer’s and Thor’s. All the others who’ve filled my days in this world. I don’t want to disappear, leaving them wondering if I’ll ever return. And then for some strange reason, Fhord’s image erupts in my mind. I think he’ll grieve my death. I wish I could have known him better.
“Is he dead?” the guard repeats, squeezing tighter with every word before releasing his grip enough to let me speak.
“Fuck yes, he’s dead,” I croak as a cough forces its way out of my throat, bringing a new and different burn with it. I’m still trying to find any leverage to push the guard away, but my body won’t move the way I want.
I should have lied. Told him something to buy more time. But Bolverkr’s death matters too much for lies. Even if it costs me my life, I need these men to know he went to Helheim before me, and that I sent him there.
The guard in front of me squeezes again, his fingers compressing so much they nearly meet at my spine.
It won’t be long now. My mind is drifting, ready to let go.
