Page 73 of Skyshade
When Sairsha went back for another hit, Isla kicked her square in the chest. Sairsha flew across the rock, landing on her back. Good. She didn’t have to kill them. She just needed to subdue them, get her starstick, and leave.
It seemed they were intent on forcing her hand, though.
The men she had never spoken to shot forward, and, suddenly, she found herself fighting against two swords. Their blades sliced the night sky to pieces, and she grunted as she worked, still tired from whatever poison they had given her. She managed to hit one man in the face with her hilt, but he was relentless, returning just moments later, blood spurting from his nose.
Sairsha was on her feet again. “It doesn’t have to be difficult. This death is not permanent.”
Isla twisted away from a blow and just barely managed to avoid what would have been a nasty scar on her arm. “How many times do I have to tell you?” she yelled. She slipped her fingers into the pockets woven into her pants and pulled out two throwing stars. They gleamed as they flew, hitting one of the men right in the shins. He collapsed to the ground, and she hoped he stayed there. She whirled to meet the other’s blade. “I am not going to kill you.”
The other man came to her from behind, and she shoved him back with a hilt to the forehead. He fell back, and there was a horrible crack as his head hit the rock.
He stared back at her with empty eyes, dead.
No.
The other swung at her, and she fought back to meet his blade. This time, though, he let his sword drop. He didn’t deflect her blow.
Instead of meeting metal, her blade went straight through his heart.
Ringing sounded in her ears. She backed away. No. No.
She looked up, and the woman’s red hair had fallen from its braided crown. She was staring at her, tears glistening on her cheeks. And still, despite the blood at her feet, smiling.
“Go, Sairsha,” Isla said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please. I won’t fight you.”
“But you will.” Sairsha closed her eyes. She took a breath—
And her shadow began to move on its own. It peeled from the ground and rose, in Sairsha’s exact shape. The shadow had a sword.
It leapt forward, wicked, baring its teeth and tearing into Isla’s flesh with a bloodthirsty ruthlessness. She screamed out as the shadow’s teeth sank into her shoulder, as solid as the ground beneath her feet. It was an impossible ability, a fine-tuning of Nightshade power. She hadn’t even seen Grim do anything remotely like it.
Groaning, she managed to shove the shadow away, but it did not tire. If anything, it was invigorated. It leapt at her; sword raised high—and Isla ran hers right through its center. The shadow instantly dropped to the ground and melted right off the stone, ink swirling into the river.
“Thank you.” Isla looked up to see Sairsha’s robe soaked in blood, right in the middle. Right in the same spot she had stabbed the shadow. She collapsed.
Isla’s knees buckled.
She knelt next to Sairsha, pressed her hands against the wound, ripped off part of the robe to try to stop the bleeding. It was no use. Blood puddled in her hands, and Sairsha just smiled. “Thank you for this honor.”
And then she went still.
Her starstick was in Sairsha’s scabbard. Isla took it in a shaking hand and stood, stepping over the bodies around her. Blood coated their robes and streamed down the rock in rivulets, before being swallowed by the river.
Isla lifted her head to the sky and screamed.
SECRETS
She arrived in her room covered in blood. Lynx growled, and Grim was there in a moment. She didn’t even look at him as she passed him by. She didn’t even tell him to leave as she stripped off her clothing in a pile and turned on the bath.
“Who?” he finally asked, the word as sharp as a shard of ice.
Her head rested against the side of the tub. She stared at the opposite wall and felt nothing. “Doesn’t matter. They’re all dead now.” Her words were emotionless. He didn’t have to know about their supposed prophecy, or the promised, or the other words that had driven them to madness. A madness they had been willing to die for.
Grim portaled the crimson-soaked clothes away. She didn’t protest when he took the soap and gently helped her wash the blood from her temple, and back, and shoulders. She didn’t bristle when he began slowly washing it out of her hair.
She closed her eyes and wondered why death always seemed to follow her.
“Change your mind yet?” Isla asked. Her voice was hard. Unfeeling.
