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His deep breaths carry to me like beating wings on the wind.
I reach down and pause for a moment, wondering what my instrument of death will be. The cutlass? As tempting as shooting him from a distance is, the pistol can’t be an option. I don’t dare use something so loud. What if that could push through the wax-covered ears of the sleeping men below? Besides, this is personal. I should be right with him when I end his life.
I slide a hand into my boot, brushing my leggings, and pull out the dagger there. The hilt is small in my hands, but sturdy, the blade wickedly sharp. My fist closes over the smooth metal handle.
Everything is ready.
Everything except me.
I think of my crew once more for strength and open the door.
***
First, I spot my mother.
She is strapped to a chair with ropes. They bind her shoulders to the chair’s back, her thighs to the seat, her ankles to the chair’s legs. Her wrists are bound together behind her back. Her mouth is gagged, and her face is lightly swollen, starting to show the signs of the beating Kalligan no doubt gave her.
She looks up at my entrance, and her eyes widen.
I raise a finger to my lips, even though she’s gagged.
She nods and watches me while I turn my attention to the bed. Kill him first. Then free her.
Kalligan lies on his stomach, his head twisted so it faces the door. And me. But his eyes are shut in slumber. One arm is tucked under his pillow. I know it grips a large dagger. He never sleeps without one near. Like a dangerous child with his doll.
I can give him no more thought. There is no time or room for guilt and indecision to set in. No emotion. Just action.
I tiptoe to the bed.
One quick swipe.
Now.
My wrist flicks outward. I force my eyes to remain open the whole time. No chance for error.
I tense just before the metal sinks into flesh—
Except it doesn’t.
It meets metal.
The hand under the pillow arcs outward, catching the blow on the blade it holds.
“You should have gone with a pistol,” he says.
That much is clear now.
He pushes back against my blade and rises in the same motion. Somehow, him standing makes everything easier. It’s not difficult to fight someone who is also trying to take my life.
This changes everything. It’s not about stealth anymore. It’s about beating an opponent I lose to at swordplay as often as I win. Kalligan is immune to my song. We’re matched in strength. I have him beat in speed, but he’s trained me all my life. No one can anticipate my moves like he can.
“Put down your weapon, Alosa,” he says. “Beg for my forgiveness. I might give it. After I’m satisfied with your punishment.”
“I am not the one who needs forgiving.”
“You would judge me? Because you’re so pure? You’re just like me. There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do to get what I have.”
“That’s not true. I wouldn’t hurt innocents. I wouldn’t…”
