Page 138 of Sharpest Court

So I didn’t.

“You knew how this would end, too, didn’t you?” I made my voice soft, intimate, the words whispering like a prayer between us. “You knew that I wouldn’t come willingly, that you would always have to drag me back. So you could have had your soldiers seize me the moment you arrived on Banarrat. You could have detained me on your ship while you waited for the sword to arrive.”

Though his expression remained neutral, his hands twitched around my waist, hinting at a quiet, internal discomfort. But if he was going to hurt me regardless of what I said, I might as well dig my own knife in while I had the chance.

“Instead,” I continued, “you went through all this. And not to toy with me, or frighten me, or lord your power over me. You just wanted to pretend, for one night, that I was yours. You wanted to hold me and know that I wouldn’t pull away. And now you keep me in chains because you understand, deep down, that this is the only way you can ever truly have me.” I released a huff of laughter and saw the slightest flinch in his eyes. “It’s pathetic,” I said. “You are pathetic.”

The silence was brittle, primed to crack with one wrong move. As the column of Erik’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow, I knew I’d hit my mark.

I also knew, with numb resignation, that he would soon return the favor.

At last, he stepped back, no longer smiling. “You’re wasting your own time. I’ll learn how to operate the compass eventually.”

I didn’t know what force could have disabled the compass; I’d barely been conscious long enough to conceive a theory. But as long as he believed I was responsible, he wouldn’t draw nearer to whatever had truly destroyed his plans.

So I said, “Maybe. But not from me.”

He nodded slowly, seeming to reach his own state of resignation. Then he unsheathed his crescent knife.

And walked forward.

I went rigid, unable to keep from reacting with this most basic human dread as he sauntered all the way around me, settling at my back.

My breath hitched as his hand threaded through my hair. But he didn’t tug as I expected; the grip was a near-embrace, just firm enough to tilt my head back slightly, baring my throat.

“I hope you’ll remember,” he said, the words brushing against my temple, “that I didn’t want to do it this way.”

Despite the armor of my smugness, my heart rate quickened. I didn’t know if I was built to bear whatever agony Erik had devised for me. He believed he had the power to break me, and perhaps he did.

But he would find nothing once he cracked me open.

That thought alone hardened me. I could tolerate this pain if it meant that we would be true equals, in our failures if nothing else.

“You’re wasting your own time,” I echoed, my bleak gaze fixed on the stones before me. “Get it over with.”

He sighed, the air skimming past my cheek. “As you wish,” he murmured, making my scalp prickle with a sickening suspense.

Then, unbelievably, he released me.

I was panting—confused—as his footsteps drew further away. A door screeched open, and a sickly-smelling wind gusted into the room. There was scuffling, rattling, and—sobbing.

The sudden memory chilled me. I’d heard that same sobbing earlier, half-conscious.

A new panic took root as two men lumbered inside, dragging a trembling, long-haired figure between them. I flinched as they dumped the figure to the floor.

The men bowed to Erik and then, astonishingly, bowed just as low to me. They shut the door behind them, the last of that bitter wind tousling my hair.

“I told you,” Erik said conversationally, ambling toward the hunched figure. “I brought you a gift from Vereen. Or, more specifically, from the tunnels under Vereen. You see, my wardens keep detailed accounts of the creatures under their watch. According to the records, this particular creature spent the fifth morning of every month with three young women, playing a game of—what was it? Ah, yes.” He gave a slow, blood-chilling smile. “Double Decks.”

My knees shook as Erik’s prisoner lifted their face through a dark curtain of hair. And, with a plummeting sensation, I realized that Erik could have only discovered that the Unbreakable Blade didn’t work if he had first tested it on a Wielder.

The air caught in my throat as I whispered, “Marge?”

She flinched as if the name had struck her.

Tears stung my eyes. For as long as I’d theorized that Marge was still alive, hope and sorrow had accompanied the thought in equal measure.

Today, at last, the sorrow won out.