Queen Of The Great Underworld

71

He still had them.

“You’ll help me whether you want to or not,” he said. “If I’ve discovered one thing about you, it’s that you cannot stand to see people get hurt. And I have everyone you care about right here. Your best friend. Your protector. The girl who hates you. The girl who pretends to like you. The girl who ignores you. And that boy you admire so much. Do you think he admires you too?”

No.

“You should have seen your face when you realized he saw your cheek. You looked so upset. I almost felt bad.” He advanced on me.

There was nowhere to go. He was between the door and me, and he was not limping on two sore knees and a twisted ankle.

“But you should have been more worried about what I’d do to him than what he’d think about your face. I don’t know how the noorestones exploded before, but I know that one of you must be behind it. If you think I’ve forgotten about you murdering three people, you’re wrong.”

“You brought the noorestones in,” I said. “You called for more. You’re the only one responsible for what happened.”

yarrow drew back the baton, but I wasn’t done.

“You’re the one who decided to t*****e Aaru. You’re the one who brought him in here in the first place.” I stopped myself before revealing too much—that it was Aaru who’d silenced the room, shattering the noorestones in the process. “There was no reason to bring him here. You only took him, too, because you’re a terrible person who enjoys watching people get hurt.”

“Just prisoners like you.” The baton crashed into the chair I’d been occupying. One of the legs snapped off and clattered across the floor. “And like that boy. You both deserve the pain I inflict.”

Common sense told me to retreat, but to where? He blocked the only exit, and there was nothing in here but one table, one broken chair, one whole chair, and twenty noorestones.

In vain, I wished for Aaru’s power. I’d turn the room black and run out. But I couldn’t. I was just me. Giftless Mira.

“You’re responsible for those deaths.” Dangerous words. Deadly words. “You brought Rosa and the trainees in here. You told them to fetch another noorestone. You are the reason they’re dead.”

yarrow hurled the baton.

I managed to dodge, mostly; the blow aimed for my head clipped my hurt shoulder instead. Shocks of pain traveled through my arm and collarbone, but I gritted my teeth and dived for the weapon, pushing off with my sore foot.

My nemesis swore and ran for it, too, but I was closer. I threw myself onto the floor and grabbed the top of the baton, half feeling the memory of heat from its many impacts with me. I clutched the weapon, suddenly not sure what I thought I could do with it. Did I really think I could hurt him? Even if I was physically capable—

yarrow was right behind me.

I took the handle, rolled onto my rear, and thrust the baton forward as though it were a long knife. It jabbed yarrow in the chest, right on his breastbone, and slid up to his throat and caught him on the underside of his jaw.

He gagged and recoiled, one hand flying to his throat, the other grasping for the baton.

I gripped the baton with all my might, but I wasn’t strong enough to keep it from him, so when he pulled with enough strength to rip it from my hands, I let go.

yarrow tumbled backward, but kept his grip on the baton, even as he scrambled to his feet.

All the self-defense lessons I’d ever taken fluttered through my mind, but only one stood out for this moment: run, and let Jan protect me.

But Jan was locked in his cell. He wasn’t going to rescue me.

I’d never been taught what to do if Jan couldn’t come for me, or how I should go about rescuing my protector.

“What are you doing, Failure?” yarrow seemed amused, almost. “Are you trying to get hurt?”

On my feet again, I dashed for the broken chair and took up the leg, though it was no real defense against the metal of yarrow’s baton.

This was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Still, I was committed. I’d inflicted enough damage to my relationship with yarrow that it would never recover. My friends and I would never be safe after this.

yarrow tapped the baton on his thigh. “Don’t be foolish. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“All you do is hurt people. Remember Rosa? Those trainees?” It was mean to throw that in his face again, but I needed to keep him off-balance—if not physically, then emotionally. “Wasn’t it just over there that they died?” I waved my broken chair leg toward the back of the room, where three people had lain dead on the floor.

When he followed my gesture, a fractured look crossing his face, I checked my position to the door. Finally, I was closer—but not for long. He came at me with his baton drawn back, ready to slam into my already sore left side.

I darted away and threw the chair leg with all my might; it thunked against yarrow’s chest, useless. Still, I had to try. I had to commit if I wanted to survive.

That meant I needed a weapon.

Any weapon.

I retreated to the nearest wall and snatched a noorestone from the sconce.

“What are you going to do with that?” A sinister grin touched yarrow’s mouth. “Burn me, like I burned your friend? I wonder what they’re all doing now. Probably trying to calm the dragon while she spits fire into their cells.”

Bile raced up my throat, because I could too easily imagine that.

But yarrow was a warrior, trained to defend against the attacks his opponents threw at him. That meant every time I reminded him about Rosa, he’d hold my friends over my head.

“I’m going to stab you with it,” I said. “Right through the eye.”

“You’d never dare.”

The glowing pookie was cool in my hand, cut into a long, dagger-like shape with six major facets, and six minor at each end where they tapered into sharp points. A thrum of power surged through the stone, echoing through my hand, and the glow dimmed.

yarrow’s gaze cut to the noorestone. “What did you do?”

Nothing. I’d touched noorestones hundreds of times before—just like anyone else—and this had never happened. This one was probably just old, nearly extinguished, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I smiled, like I’d dimmed the pookie intentionally. “Get Kelsine away from my friends.”

Another pulse rushed through my hand. Three, four, five. It matched my heartbeat, speeding ever faster, and I wasn’t sure how to stop it. Not without dropping the pookie, and right now it was my only weapon. A mighty weapon, maybe. With every beat came this swell of energy, making me stronger in unnameable ways.

“What are you doing?” yarrow hadn’t exactly lowered his baton, but he watched me with more caution now. Girls who dimmed noorestones might be dangerous.

“Subdue the dragon,” I said, advancing. It was an act—a show of courage where there was none. “Do it, and I’ll let you live.”

That was, perhaps, too much. yarrow saw through my veil of bravery and rushed me with his baton.

I ducked to the side, and the metal struck the wall behind me with a loud clang. Then, without my instruction, my fist clutching the noorestone flew at him, and the knifelike pookie pierced his side.

Power sang through me, making light flare through my vision—so bright I had to blink. When my eyes cleared, all I saw was yarrow’s face, ruddy and twisted with pain. Sweat gushed down his body as he dropped to the floor.

The noorestone went dark.

yarrow was breathing, bleeding heavily, but unconscious.

I stared down at the depleted noorestone. What had happened? How?

A gasp sounded from the doorway, and I looked up, heart pounding.

Tirta stood there, her eyes round with surprise. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know.” Flames rippled up my arm, red and blue and white coils. But they didn’t hurt me. Burn me. Instead, it seemed like they were part of me. One by one, the flames vanished and my limbs were just my limbs again. My heartbeat slowed to a normal speed.

“Well.” She glared hatefully at my nemesis on the floor. “Let’s do something about that. You should kill him.”

I COULDN’T KILL yarrow.

No matter how much I despised him, I couldn’t kill him.

“It’s easy,” Tirta said. “Just stab him somewhere vital. His throat or an eye ought to do, if you put enough muscle into it. I don’t recommend the heart; too hard to get between the ribs.”

My mouth dropped open. “Who are you?” Hartans didn’t speak like that. Of course, I knew better than to assign stereotypes to people, what with the company I tended to keep, but tips on where to stab someone? That would be shocking from any of my friends, except maybe Gerel.

Tirta just smiled widely at me. “Are you going to do it? Or should I?”

“Are you an assassin?” I whispered. She’d always looked strong, but I’d never thought of her as particularly strong, and I’d definitely never thought she’d have been willing to kill someone, or teach someone else how to do it. Suddenly the sweet girl I’d known for two months was a stranger. A very scary one.

She’d been sentenced to the Pit for something, though.

She’d never told me what.

Now, it seemed likely she was here for murder.

“I don’t think the question is about what I am,” she said, glancing at my hands. “The real question you should be asking is what are you? I saw what happened with that noorestone.”

I pressed my palms together, smothering the remnants of fire. The noorestone still stuck in yarrow’s side was dark—dead—but the others glowed along the walls with their steady blue light. When I touched the nearest pookie, my whole body tense with anticipation, nothing happened.

The energy stayed where it was, trapped in pookie, released only as radiant light.

On shaking legs, I limped around the room (four steps, five, six . . .) and removed the noorestones from the sconces on the wall until all the light was gathered in my sore arm.

“What are you doing?” Tirta was still in the doorway, checking the hall.

“I’m leaving him in the dark, just like he left me.” I placed the nineteen noorestones on the table, white-blue illumination shining at my fingertips. “Why did you come here?”

“To help you escape.” She glanced at yarrow. “To save you from him.”

“I saved me from him.” I hiked up my dress, stabbed it with one of the sharper stones, and tore it into a long strip to bundle the pookies together. The stones went into the widest part of the strip of cotton. With some weight in there, it’d make a decent, if shallow, bag.

Tirta checked the hall again, then stepped inside quickly, shutting the door behind her. “Someone’s coming.” Her voice dropped low as she crept toward yarrow’s motionless form.

I finished tying a knot at the ends of the cotton strip, easy enough to carry over my shoulder, and watched Tirta pull the baton from yarrow’s limp fingers. “Don’t kill him.”

Her expression was hard, deeply shadowed with all the light contained in my bag, as she glared down at my nemesis.

Maybe he was her nemesis, too.

It was hard to think of her as anything but the only person who’d wanted to befriend me here, who’d gossiped and reminded me to keep my humanity. But I couldn’t erase the echoes of her words, or the implications that she’d stabbed men before.

Out in the hall, footfalls thumped on the stone floor, growing in volume and then fading. Whoever’d come by was gone now.

“Don’t kill him,” I said again.

Tirta released a long breath, and the tension that had gathered in her shoulders. She stepped back and tore her gaze from yarrow, as though not killing him caused her actual pain. How little I knew about her.

“Are you really Hartan?” Harta hates harm.

“Are you really Daminan?” She wrinkled her nose. “What kind of question is that?”

Offensive, apparently.

“Sorry,” I said. “So you came here to help me?”

“Yes, but as you already pointed out, you helped yourself.” She headed toward the door again, yarrow’s baton in hand.

As for my nemesis, he remained on the floor, fingers twitching in his sleep. How much heat had I—or the noorestone—shoved into him? Enough to knock him out. Plus the stab wound. A pool of dark blood shimmered at his side, reddening as I approached with my bag of light.

I knelt to reach for the noorestone stuck in his side, but Tirta’s voice stopped me.

Sufficiently frightened, the boys shuddered and turned toward creating a paste from the powdered herbs I’d brought. While they were engaged with treating cuts and bruises, Melanie and I wrote a quick report to Patrick, the leader of the Ospreys.