A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

My gaze shot to the knife in his hand by his side. He was planning on helping me, by what, throwing his blades at me? A sliver of fear ran down my spine but then dissipated with the breeze, my grandmother’s tale coming back to me.

“Did he carry a sword to chop off heads?”

“No, he only had knives. He was a skilled knife thrower, you see . . . the best in the land.”

Did he think that I wouldn’t trust him, that I thought he would miss? He was too good to miss his target. I knew that with a certainty. It wasn’t easy to get used to the idea that I would have knives thrown at me, but for some reason, I trusted him impeccably. “Fine. Let’s get this over then,” I told him.

Involuntarily, my heart beat fast while he turned his back, taking a few steps further away—is that really necessary? I wondered with a sense of unease—but before I even saw him throw it, a sharp burning sensation pierced my arm. I gasped, looking up to see the edge of the blade had cut into the sensitive skin underneath my arm. The warmth of blood trickled down my shoulder and into the sides of my dress, the sheet catching it before it could drip between the cracks and into the water, keeping me from any Shadow magic.

I turned my horrified gaze to him. “Why would you do that?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I missed.”

“You didn’t miss!” I choked out. “You did it on purpose.”

“Yea, I did,” he admitted, his expression emotionless.

I swallowed, nerves erupting in my stomach while I tried to hold my arm up so that it didn’t rub against the sharp edge of the blade. “Weston,” I breathed, shaking my head uneasily. “I don’t want to do this.”

“You won’t ever figure this out sipping wine in your whorehouse.”

“I didn’t ask for your help! And I don’t want it!”

“Well, you have it.”

I gritted my teeth. Wouldn’t leaving me like I was be easier for him to control me if he wished? Why did he even want to help me? Fear erupted in my stomach, rushing through my bloodstream at the thought of more pain. “You wanted me. You had me. Why can’t you just leave me alone now?”

“I thought you didn’t need to be saved, Princess,” he said harshly. “That’s not the way it looks right now.”

Anger rushed to the surface.

“If you’re so confident, then be the hero of your story. Save yourself,” he told me. “Fast-travel.”

“What?” I breathed.

“Fast-travel. Do it now. You have three seconds.”

When he said, “One,” panic immediately ran through me like icy water, a cold sweat rising underneath my skin.

“Two.”

“Wait!” I cried.

He didn’t even say three. Hot pain erupted in my side, sharp and searing. A hiss of agony escaped my lips, the backs of my eyes burning as I looked down to see the edge of the blade had cut my skin, black blood seeping down my hip and bare thigh.

I brought my anguished gaze up to Weston, resentment filling my chest. “I don’t want to do this anymore!” I cried, pulling on the chains.

“Then. Save. Yourself,” he growled. “Fast-travel.”

“No,” I said panicky. “You don’t understand. I can’t do it!”

“I didn’t know you were so weak. So pathetic.”

His words struck a chord in me, my rage burning a hole in my chest.

Three seconds later, searing agony cut into my thigh. I choked on the pain, not letting myself cry out. But when he came forward to pull his blades out of the wall, I shook my head. “No more.”

He didn’t look at me. “Seems like you’re nothing but the damsel in your story, after all.”