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There. Elma’s finger brushed against metal. The knife was still here, wedged between the mattress and her bed’s frame, exactly where she had left it. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to wrench the knife free without making noise, Elma braced herself. There would be no time to hesitate. If she could move quickly enough, from her position on the floor she might be able to bury the blade in Edvin’sknee. And when he stumbled to her level, she would drive it into his eye, piercing the brain.
Rune would be dealt with afterward.
“I suppose I ought to let you do the honors,” said Edvin grudgingly.
“Not at all,” Rune said. “We’re both here now. What if we took turns?”
Bile rose in Elma’s throat. In a moment, they’d turn their attention to her, and her chance would be lost. Her heart beating so fast she thought it might burst, she wrenched the knife out from under the bed.
She leapt to her feet and rushed at Edvin.
“What—” Edvin said, turning as she charged him. Almost lazily, but with uncanny speed, the tall assassin extended his arm and slammed a fist into Elma’s side before she could reach him.
Her knife clattered to the floor as she tumbled sideways toward the far wall, choking for breath, her lungs emptied of air.
“A fighty bitch,” said Edvin, leaning over her. “I see why Rune likes you.” There was a metallic ring as he drew his sword.
Elma tried to speak, to curse him, tell him to go back to the frostbitten hellhole he had crawled down from, but she struggled to breathe. Her lungs were compressed by both the blow to her ribs and the knowledge that she was about to die. She only managed to cough weakly.
Edvin paused to glance over his shoulder at the other Slödavan. Rune stood motionless, his gaze fixed on Elma.
“Well?” said Edvin. “Want to have some fun?”
Before Rune had a chance to respond, Edvin thrust out his free hand, grabbing Elma by the throat. His fingers were long and deft, his grip strong. Slowly, almostplayfully, he lifted her up by the throat, until her feet were dangling above the floor.
Her neck burned, her lungs screaming for air. Scrabbling weakly at his hand, she kicked out with her feet, trying to catch the assassin in the groin. But he was far too nimble. And she was losing consciousness.
Through the fog of her vision, Elma watched as Rune strolled forward to stand next to his countryman. “Enough,” he said.
“You’ll have your turn,” Edvin growled, his fingers tightening on Elma’s throat, his eyes bright with bloodlust, “when she’s dead.”
The edges of her vision were darkening. Her lungs screamed in pain. Death knocked, but she would not open to it willingly.
“I said,enough.”
“It’s not your call to make,” said Edvin. “Not anymore.” His gaze was locked on Elma’s.
Elma’s vision fled at last. She hated that the last thing she would see in this world was Edvin’s cruel face, gleeful at the sight of her death.
I’ll never see home again.
The thought drifted into her mind unbidden, a painful reminder of who she was, what she had given up, even in death.
I’ll never have a chance to be a good queen.
A single tear welled in her eye, ran down her cheek.
“Oh, Edvin,” came Rune’s voice from so far away. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
The bright sound of steel rang in the darkness. There was a horrible squelching noise, a grunt, and then the fingers loosened around Elma’s neck, and she was falling, crumpling to the ground in a heap. She coughed violently, gasping,clutching at her throat as her lungs filled with precious oxygen.
There was another horrible, wet grunt, and then athudas something heavy hit the floor. Then, nothing but silence and pain.
“Elma.”
The voice was close, inches from her. She choked again, useless in her agony, her gasping lungs. And as her vision swam slowly back into focus, the darkness giving way to light and shadow and shape, a pair of hands grasped her face.
“Are you hurt?”
