“Yes, you may think that you’ve won,” she says. “I certainly won’t last.” She reaches down to press her fingers into the wound. The flow of blood doesn’t slow. It runs out over her hands, painting them red up to her wrists. “But I don’t need to survive to get what I want. I just need to kill you.”
Even as she threatens me, her legs give out and she collapses, landing in a thicket of thorns that tear small red gashes in her cheeks. She hardly seems to notice. Instead she struggles to her knees, grabs the spear with both hands, and pulls it out, leaving a gaping hole in her leg that goes all the way through muscle to bone. “Thank you for returning my spear,” she says. She braces all her weight on it and forces herself to her feet.
She raises the spear, steadying herself against a tree.
But there is no strength left in her, and she drops back to the ground, the spear still clasped in her fist.
For a long stretch of time I stand there, not making a move toward Anki or away. A breeze picks up, swirling the branches above my head. Could it be the movement of her Spirit as it leaves her? As the gust fades, I force myself to slide toward her. We are too short on weapons. I cannot leave this spear—even covered in her blood—cast aside on the ground.
As I tug it free from Anki’s hand, I think again of my brother’s knife—the one I’d seen her treating like a toy—the one she took from his body when he died. And I think of Dora’s words to her daughter—You know better than to steal from the dead. Does taking this spear make me no better than Anki?
But then I turn and see Noni and Kol lying side by side on the hard ground. Both of them weak. Both nearly defenseless.
I grasp the spear. I will return it to her clan when I see them again. I am not stealing from the dead, but for now I am borrowing this spear.
Back under the trees that overhang Kol and Noni, I slide to the ground.
“Is she dead?”
I startle at the sound of Kol’s voice. “You’re awake.”
“I am.”
I drag myself to his side. His eyes are open, and in the thin light of the fading day, I see a bit of fire in them. His head is damp with sweat. “Your fever’s coming down.”
“Maybe the plant is working.”
I slide over to Noni’s side. Blood still leaks around the feverweed packed around the dart, but after seeing Anki’s leg, this doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it did.
Kol sits up. “I thought I would die today,” he says. “And do you know what I feared?” He leans forward. Through the deepening shade, I can just barely see the shape of Kol’s mouth, a straight even line with only a hint of a curl at the corners. “I feared that I would never get the chance to marry you. That I would never get the chance to be your husband.”
I flinch at Kol’s words, and I hope he doesn’t see. I’ve feared the same thing today. I’ve feared that we would never marry. But not because Kol would die, but because Chev has died, because Arem has died. I feared our new duties to our clans would tear our betrothal apart. That the need to lead separate, independent clans would mean we would have to stay separate and independent, too.
But Kol hasn’t thought of this. Or if he has, that’s not what he wants to talk about now.
“I wasn’t afraid of you living a long life without me,” he continues. “I wasn’t afraid even that you would forget me. You would marry someone else someday. It would be better if you did forget.
“But I was concerned about one small thing. I was worried I would never get to dance the wedding dance with you.”
The sun has sunk so low that it gives little warmth. Cold seeps up from the hard ground. Yet despite the chill, my body warms. My hips turn, tilting me toward Kol. I lean in, almost close enough to kiss his lips. “We could dance right now,” I say. Heat runs down my spine. I lean closer.
Just as my cool lips press against the heat of Kol’s, a sound snaps my head around.
The sound of a dart sticking into the ground.
I tear myself from Kol and spring to my feet. A spruce dart identical to the one that pierced Noni sticks up at an angle just an arm’s length away. I pivot, searching the darkness that spreads in every direction, broken by only the smallest swaths of light. I see nothing, nothing, nothing . . . but then another dart lands a bit farther from my feet, but a bit closer to Kol. My gaze flicks to the place it came from and I see her—Dora—her bright white hair glowing in the scattered twilight. She is running hard straight for us through the trees.
She must be out of darts. She shoulders a spear, and she is closing in, nearing the distance she needs to make the strike. I lunge for Anki’s spear. The shaft, sticky with blood, feels right in my hand.
I step out, putting distance between me and Kol. I know what she wants. She’s not here to kill Kol; she’s here to kill me. And despite the shadows, despite the trees, despite the way she seems to struggle to get a clear view of me, she is determined to take the shot. So I encourage it. I step out just far enough for the slanting rays of the sun to slash across my face. Her steps slow . . . she takes three sliding steps forward and releases the spear.
Even before it’s out of her hand, I’m diving back into the shade, toward Kol and toward the ground. The shot falls just short, nicking my calf as I fall.
I look up, and my eyes meet Dora’s. She smiles, the same meek smile I first saw when she climbed out of the kayak on the shore of the Manu’s camp, her arms laden with sealskin to help them rebuild the camp her son had tried to destroy.
A smile that is a lie.
Her eyes are on her spear just a few paces from my feet. She has no hope of retrieving it before I can get off a shot. Judging by her smile, she’s out of darts, too.
“You’re making a mistake,” Dora says. “I know you think I came here to kill you, but I didn’t. I came here to stop you from marrying a boy from the clan that killed your mother. She was a friend of mine, and if I have to kill him to honor her memory, that’s what I’ll do.”
Dora stops. Her eyes cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She’s thinking about escape. “Even in your last moments,” I say, “you’re still a liar.” She pauses, hesitates, just long enough for me to raise Anki’s spear. Then she turns and runs back the way she came—back toward the cliff.
As I chase her, I hear her suck in heavy, labored breaths. She’s still winded from the hard climb up the cliff from the beach. The evening air grows colder—the north wind sweeps over the cliff from the sea—and my own lungs burn. My eyes tear and my cheeks sting, but I never slow.
Within ten paces of the cliff wall, I catch up to her. I am well within range. I think of my sisters on the beach heading for the boats, maybe even coming back with them by now. I think of the possibility Dora has her own boat at the base of the cliff, maybe loaded with other weapons. How if I don’t stop her, she could reach the others faster than I could.
And I throw the spear.