impact
Training kicked in, and I didn’t have to think—my body just sprang into motion. I ran at the man, knocking him to the ground and grabbing his wrist. I slammed it into the floor, forcing him to drop the sword.
He tried to crawl toward it, and the satin of his uniform made it easier for him to slip out from underneath me. But I knelt on his back, pressing my knees into his kidneys as I pinned him in place.
With one swift move, he tilted to the side and thrust his elbow up, hitting me squarely in the chin. It was just enough to throw me off balance, and he scrambled out from under me. He grabbed the sword, but I was already on my feet when he jumped up and pointed it at me.
There was a split second of shock when I realized who it was—Cyrano Moen, Linnea’s personal guard.
Cyrano tried to run at me. I dodged to the side, avoiding the blade of the sword, then I grabbed his arm. I turned him around, bending his arm at a painful angle, and he let out a yelp. If I applied more pressure, I would break his arm, and that caused him to release his sword again.
I took it from him this time, letting him go so he fell on the ground. Cyrano lay before me, panting, and I hoped this meant the fight was over. In the background, I heard Linnea crying and demanding to know why he would do this.
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the spare dagger in his boot.
“Drop it,” I commanded, and his hard blue eyes were locked on mine. He had to know I meant it, but there was a determined mania in his gaze that I didn’t understand.
He slowly got up, still holding the dagger, so I repeated, “Drop it.”
“Cyrano!” Mikko’s voice boomed from somewhere behind me. “Do as she says!”
“I’d like her to make me,” Cyrano snarled, and then he lunged at me.
In my days of training as a tracker, I had run a sword through hundreds of dummies. They were built to have the same feel as a troll, so we’d know how much resistance a body would give and how much force we’d need to get the sword through.
Still, I can’t explain how different it felt, or even what the difference was, when I pushed the blade straight through Cyrano. It was easier than I expected—the flesh gave way, and when the bell of the sword handle pressed against his stomach, I felt the warmth of his blood as it spilled over.
The only light came from a desk lamp, casting too much of the room in shadows. Everything seemed to have an eerie, yellow hue to it, thanks to the way the light played off the reflective glass and the water outside.
We had turned, so the window was behind me, and the light bounced onto Cyrano’s face. It cast a shadow across his mouth and body, but his eyes were wide and I could see the yellow dancing in them, like fiery waves.
His eyes stayed locked on me still, filled with that strange mania. Not until the final seconds, when I was lowering him back to the ground and pulling the sword out of him, did the frenzied look finally give way. A glassy peace seemed to come over him, and he was dead.
Linnea ran over to Cyrano’s body, pounding on his chest and screaming, demanding why he’d want to hurt her husband. She’d never been anything but kind to him. How could he betray her like this?
Her words eventually seemed to fade away, becoming a distant foggy sound, like something from a dream. Mikko came over and pulled her off.
I don’t remember letting go of the sword, but I remember the sound it made, clattering against the floor. I didn’t move or speak until Bayle Lundeen came in, asking me questions.
I answered them as directly and simply as I could, but the words felt detached from me, as if they were coming from someone else. It was my voice, it was the truth about what I’d done, but it wasn’t me.
Nobody told me that I was acting strangely or that I didn’t seem present, so I must’ve been performing normally. I have no idea how long I talked to Bayle and King Mikko. It might have been minutes. It might have been an hour.
Eventually, Kasper came and took me back to my room. He suggested I shower, since I had Cyrano’s blood all over me, and then he headed back upstairs, promising to help with the investigation.
The shower lasted a very long time. I know this because it started out hot, but when I’d finished, the water was icy cold. I walked across the hall from the bathroom, wearing only a white robe. I’d thrown my clothes away in the trash can. I didn’t need them anymore.
When I went into my room, I still felt vaguely as though I was in a dream. I just couldn’t seem to feel my body. It was as if I were floating above everything, not a part of this world, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to be a ghost.
“Bryn?” Kennet asked, and I looked over to see him sitting on my bed. His usual smile was gone, and his eyes were dark.
“How long have you been there?” I asked.