Page 198 of Powerless

The blade finds its target,guided there by my hatred, my heartbreak, my heartlessness. It sinks into the center of his throat, instantly ceasing his raspy breaths.

I’m shaking all over, staring at the corpse of a killer who’s staring back at the creature who just became one.

The king’s head is lolled to the side with my father’s dagger lodged in his throat, his eyes wide and watchful. A tear slips down my cheek, mingling with the beads of rainwater rolling down my face. I wipe it away with bloody hands, unsure why I feel like crying.

Is it regret?

No. Not regret. Not remorse. Not anything remotely close to guilt.

It’s relief.

I take an unsteady step towards him, intending to grab my dagger and bolt.

Something catches my eye.

I spin towards the movement despite my body screaming in protest. My eyes land on glossy, unblinking ones. The girl is small with dark skin and even darker hair. She blinks, her eyes clearing before a look of horror settles on her face.

And then she’s sprinting.

A Sight.

I blink in the rain, staring after the retreating form of the girl who likely just recorded me killing the king. I barely have time to process this before I hear heavy footsteps echoing down the stone tunnel to my right.

I hesitate.

My dagger.

I need it. I have to have it. I—

Whoever is heading through that tunnel is coming fast. I need to get out of here now. I have no idea whether this person is friend or foe, and I have no intention of finding out.

I don’t have a moment to spare. Not a single second to grab my prized possession, and my breaking heart is my most painful wound right now.

Then I’m running.

Every part of me is on fire. My body is screaming, streaked with blood, staggering with weakness. But I can’t stop. Once I make it farther down the road, there will be woods to my right and—

A knife whizzes past me, skimming my forearm with its sharp blade.

I whip my head around and stumble to a stop at what I see.

Every bit of his body is covered in blood. His hair is a mess of inky waves, sticky with sweat and streaked with blood. A thin blade is gripped between his fingers, his hand raised and ready to send it flying towards me.

And something snaps into place at the sight of him.

I’m suddenly back in my old home, hidden behind a cracked door as I watch a sword plunge into my father’s chest. The sword held by a boy with wavy black hair, a boy with gray eyes full of fear, a boy who just became a murderer.

I shudder as my eyes sweep over that same black hair, those same gray eyes, and the same murderer before me. The sight of him now suddenly has the memory of that night clearer than it ever has been before.

Pieces of the puzzle that is my scattered memory begin to fall into place.

That night so long ago, my mind made me believe it was the king who killed my father, made me blame the man I already hated. And in a way, it was the king who killed him, just not by his own hand. It was his son who sunk the blade into my father’s chest.

My breath shudders as I stare at him.

It suddenly all makes sense.

The attraction. The connection. Thefamiliarity. I was so easily drawn to him because deep down I knew him, recognized him, remembered him. He was familiar to me.

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