Page 184 of Because I Killed Him
“What’s the matter?” Irene snaps. “Too cowardly to defend your dishonor?”
Rosamund’s gaze sharpens, and the manic gleam in her eyes dims for the first time, as if she sees something Irene doesn’t.
She bends, lifts the saber, and offers it again.
I retreat, too quickly and too desperately. That’s all it takes.
“Why, Miss Waldsten,” Rosamund murmurs, suspicion coiling in her tone, “are you so afraid to touch a weapon?”
My throat locks. “Because the duel is illegal. We are not allowed to fight.”
I swing toward the sergeant, willing him to act.
With a sharp step forward, he seizes Irene by the arm. “Your saber, Miss Hussey, or I’ll take it off you myself.”
Irene’s attention lingers on his hand, already resting on his unsnapped gun holster, and her nostrils flare in frustration. Then, slowly, she unsheathes her saber and hands it over. The sergeant takes the weapon as if it might go off in his hands, then pockets it with a breath that’s half relief, half disbelief.
“You will return to your suite, Miss Hussey. No resistance.”
Irene bites off a curse, her fingers twitching as if reaching for a weapon that’s no longer there. Still, she gives a curt nod. The Coppers close in, forcing her back, their grips loosening as they guide her toward the hoverboats.
“Lore, are you still up here?” Charlotte’s voice rises from below deck, echoing off the wooden planks. She turns the corner with her Bondactivated. When she sees all of us clustered together, her face tightens into a frown. “What’s going on up here?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Deering.” The sergeant pivots toward her. “Please return below deck.”
The moment he turns his back, Irene lunges. She rips free with a violent twist and arcs toward me. In a flash, her fingers clamp around my wrist. There’s a crack, followed by a hot sting across my skin as the Rippletone that Edmund gave me tears loose. Irene tosses the bracelet onto the deck, where it skitters and rolls to a stop.
I dive for the Rippletone instinctively, just as Irene’s leg sweeps up. I react a second too late. The kick strikes my ribs with enough force to steal my breath, the pain like something caving in. My body folds, then lifts, and the world flips upside down.
My sandals catch the railing as I tumble over. For a breathless moment, the sky tilts above me, bruised and blinking with early stars. I hear Charlotte scream, Rosamund gasp, the sergeant shout over pounding boots, and Irene grunt as the Coppers tackle her.
But I’m already falling.
I expect wind. I expect fear. Instead, there’s a metal rod slamming into my shoulder, followed by the give of a body beneath me and a startled, terrified cry.Dickie.
I crash against the gunwale of his hoverboat, which has risen halfway up the port side of the yacht. The craft lurches and flips with a shriek of tearing steel, hurling both of us into the open air. For a split second, I see Dickie falling beside me, arms wheeling, mouth stretched in a scream. The lake surges up fast, glowing blue and roaring with bioluminescent light. My head rings, my pulse races, and my mind narrows to a single, searing thought:
Dickie doesn’t know how to swim.
Dickie hits the lake first.
The impact sprays water against the hull of the yacht as I plummet twenty feet through open air. I hit feet first, the collision jolting through me so hard it feels like my legs have been rammed into my stomach. Thewater is thicker than I expect, warm and slick, engulfing my body like a mouth as I sink. For a moment, I’m suspended, weightless, with no sense of up or down. The surface is nothing but a wavering smear of gold above me.
Then, just as my lungs seize, instinct takes over. I kick upward, break the surface, and drag in a ragged gasp. The water erupts with light around me, spectral ribbons shimmering from the bioluminescent algae drifting below.
“Dickie!” I spin in the water.
He’s nearly ten feet away, thrashing but barely staying afloat. His limbs flail wildly, and his mouth gulps more water than air as his head bobs back and forth. For a brief, terrifying moment, his arms slap at the surface before he seizes up, his body going rigid with panic.
Then he slips under.
I dive and kick hard toward him. The water stings my eyes, the glow around me distorting my vision, but I close the gap between us until my fingers catch his shirt. I fist the fabric tightly and wrench Dickie upward, fighting the heavy drag of his body as I haul us both toward the surface.
We break through in a glittering spray of water. He’s coughing and choking, his hands clawing at me in blind terror.
“Dickie,breathe,” I sputter, struggling to keep us afloat. But he’s past hearing, dragging us both down as he spirals into hysteria.
Shouts resound from above. I twist in the water and spot two Blues—the same ones we pelted with golf balls earlier—on the deck of their yacht, waving and pointing, their faces stretched with alarm.
