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The waft of magic they stir raises the hairs on my arms.
As I force my breaths to even out, mastering the pain in my leg, Julita’s presence stirs.
You are, you know, she says quietly.
I arch an eyebrow in a question Wendos can’t hear.
A friend. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. However this ends… Thank you.
Tears that have nothing to do with my fractured shin form behind my eyes. I didn’t ask for this mission, and there are plenty of things I’ve criticized Julita for, but she didn’t have to say that. She must know by now there’s no need to say anything to get me to keep fighting.
She simply wanted me to know.
I dip my head in silent acknowledgment. Then I lean forward to reach for the sheath in my boot.
If I’m only going to get one chance, I want my favorite knife.
The blade slides out easily, my fingers curling around the familiar hilt. But I can hardly hit Wendos with it when he’s out of sight.
He’s underestimated me in his arrogance. I have to take full advantage of that fact, whatever way I can.
The daimon on guard only intervened when I got close to Wendos. He indicated in the conversation I overheard after the ball that he can’t direct them too specifically.
It’s possible that a thrown knife could get past them. I just need to be in a position to actually throw it.
As I shift my legs, I grit my teeth until my jaw is aching nearly as much as my shin. My power twitches inside me, reminding me that I could heal my leg if I wanted to.
But at what cost?
If I could be sure it’d be Wendos’s bones broken in my place, that’d be one thing. For all I know, the backlash will hit some innocent person.
Or one of the men hopefully climbing the stairs beneath me, sending them toppling to a snapped neck.
How much good would it do me to fix my leg anyway? I already know that throwing my whole body at this asshole isn’t the answer.
With the threat to my life no longer immediate, I can tune out the nagging of my magic, if only some of the physical pain I’m in. I can’t put any weight on my one foot, so I angle myself around until I’m squatting on my knees.
My cloak seems likely to trip me up in my current position. It isn’t as if I need to hide my dress here.
I untie it and let it slip from my shoulders onto the lower stairs. Then, with my hand braced against the wall and tears I can’t blink back welling in my eyes, I lurch up one step.
Then another.
Then another.
Each impact radiates a sharper agony through my leg from foot to hip. The pain crackles through my thoughts, dizzying me. I bite my lip to hold back a whimper.
Without consciously intending to, I find myself picturing Casimir. The affection in his voice when he told me he wanted me. The sparkle of his eyes when he thanked me after our ride through the woods.
He doesn’t know the worst of me, no. But he’s been there for the parts of me I have let him see. He’s made a place for me.
They all have, in their own way.
Stavros, handing the sword to me a couple of hours ago. His bemused shock when he realized just how famous a thief I am.
Alek’s anguished apology at my bedside. The firmness of his arms, carrying me from the library to help me hide my pain from prying eyes.
Benedikt and the flippant ease with which he can shatter any tension. The mischief in his smile after he shielded me with a kiss.
