I swear the scorpion scuttling dangerously close to my worn boots blinks in response to my question.
That’s it. I’m actually insane.
With that thought in mind, I sigh and repeat my question. “I said, if you could eat anything—and I mean anything—what would it be?”
To say my voice is raspy would be an understatement. My throat feels as scratchy as the sand crunching beneath my feet, so dry I can hardly think straight. I shake my aching head at the creature while carelessly stepping around it, practically stumbling. “Fine. If you won’t answer, I will.” I trip in the sand, tripping over my words. “I—I could go for an orange. Yeah. A fat, juicy orange. Or… or some butterscotch.”
I look back at the scorpion, finding it scurrying close behind. The sight should be far more alarming to me, but I can’t find the energy to care at the moment. “You know, my father loved butterscotch.” I make a sound that only slightly resembles a laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if I even like the candy, ya know? Like, maybe… maybe I just convinced myself I liked them because he did.”
The scorpion stares up at me.
Or maybe it doesn’t. I’ve had some trouble deciphering what’s reality recently.
Is this my fifth or sixth day in the desert?
I almost laugh.
Maybe I’m dead already. How am I to know the difference?
I stumble, sand suddenly flying up to meet me. My knees sink into the gritty ground as I pant, the sinking sun still burning my raw skin. With a shaky breath, I slowly stumble to my feet, forcing my sore legs to continue their unsteady march.
I’m tired. So very tired.
My eyelids droop, mimicking the sun as it begins dipping behind dunes for the night.
Stay awake.
Suddenly, I feel as though I’m back in the Whispers, stumbling in the dark while trying not to bleed out from the deep slice beneath my ribs. That is when he found me. Saved me.
I shake the thought away and scan the horizon for the hundredth time, my eyes tracing the outline of each shadowy building that litters the city beyond.
I’m almost there.
Where “there” is, I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m not sure which city I’ve happened upon, whether it’s Dor or Tando, but I’m not exactly in any position to be picky.
I just need to make it there.
Licking my chapped lips does nothing but add more sand to my mouth. Now would be the time to gulp down some grainy water, except that I greedily drank the last of it this morning.
I’m dying of thirst.
Maybe just dying. Maybe just dead already.
My ragged laugh at the thought rapidly morphs into a racking sob, seeming to rattle my brittle bones.
Keep walking. Just keep walking.
But I don’t want to. What I want is to lie down, shut my eyes, and rest.
My feet slow, my whole body feeling sluggish.
Keep. Walking.
I know if I stop now, I’ll never start again. Dehydration, fatigue, and the many injuries still scattering my body have finally caught up to me. If I lie down, it will be on my deathbed.
Would that be so bad?
That little voice in my head, the only one I’ve heard for days besides my own, has grown rather convincing.
What am I living for? Why am I putting myself through this agony?
Every inch of me aches. Every inch of me begs for the mercy that is giving up.
“N-no,” I stutter. “No, I can’t.” Talking to myself has never been a good sign, but it’s the only thing that will keep my eyelids from shutting out the world and my body from shutting down. “I’ve…” Another ragged breath. “I’ve survived too much to die by desert.”
I press a calloused palm to the stubborn beat of my heart, proof that broken things can still serve a purpose. My fingers trail up to the familiar letter carved there, teasing me with the reminder of just how fragile I am.
O for Ordinary.
“O for ‘on the brink of death.’ ” My attempt at a joking tone sounds scarily similar to a dying whisper. “This is not the way I imagined my end. I’m…” A fit of dry coughs has me slumping. “I’m embarrassed to not die in a more dramatic manner.”
I really thought it would be him who did the honor. Him who shoved my beloved dagger through my chest. Or maybe my neck, simply for the sickening symmetry.
He’ll be so disappointed to learn he was robbed of his revenge, that it was the desert where death finally caught up to me.
My vision is blurry as it sweeps over the city so close, catching something shifting in the distance. Squinting, I struggle to make out what seems to be a figure. I blink. Is this my mind playing tricks on me? Teasing me one last time?
My knees are suddenly sinking into the sand once again, my palms sliding out before me.
I guess I’ll never know.
My temple meets warm sand, and I hum at the feel of it.
Why was the desert never this comfy before?
My fingers clutch the crumpled seam of my vest, pulling the promise around me.
I wore it every day, A. To my very last.
“I’m just… I’m just closing… my…”
My eyes flutter closed; the world shut out by a single blink.
And for the first time in days, I don’t dread the sleep that awaits me.
A heartbeat thuds beneath my ear.
I stir in the strong arms surrounding me, my senses sluggish.
Strong arms. I’m being carried.
My eyes fly open.
I’m smothered by darkness, swaddled in a blanket of blackness that the sky has thrown atop us. With eyes made utterly useless at the moment, I focus on the feel of a rough hand beneath my knee, its twin encircling my shoulders.
It’s him. He found me.
I jostle with each uneven step, trying desperately to calm my hammering heart and force my foggy head to formulate a plan. But he’s too close, too solid, as though he’s walked straight out of my nightmares and into the very real night before me.
I suddenly can’t remember how to breathe.
He found me. He found me. He found me.
My mind screams the three words I’ve been so terrified of, drowning out any hope of a rational thought. I’m paralyzed in his arms, powerless in his hold that once felt so safe. His chest rises and falls against me, a feeling that was once so familiar. Now it is foreign. Frightening.
How did he find me?
I’m still trying to puzzle out why I’m still alive, despite being carried to my doom by Death itself. He’s holding me. He’s taking me back to Ilya. Back to Kitt and the wrath I’m sure is waiting for me—
He killed my father.
That one thought saves me from insanity.
I will not hesitate. Not again.
Forcing myself to breathe, I hone in on the hand around my shoulders, easily assessing the best angle in which to snap his wrist bone. It’s his legs I focus on next, the fatigue in his stride, the unsteadiness that will aid in sweeping him off his feet. How long has he been carrying me? Where are his men? I scan the inkiness surrounding us, seeing nothing but the city we are walking into.
I can feel a thin blade strapped to his belt, and my heart skips over itself. But the hilt is plain, smooth against my hip. I take a moment to swallow my disappointment at the loss of my father’s dagger before forcing myself to focus.
Take him down. Then finish the job you haven’t been able to.
After that, I’ll simply blend into the city, camouflaging myself with the chaos I’m so used to. No one will ever find me again. He is the only one who could, and after tonight, he will no longer be a threat to my existence.
Envisioning every move before I attempt to make it, I suck in one final steadying breath.
And then I’m moving.
A scream tears from his throat when his wrist snaps under my palm. He stumbles, all but throwing me out of his arms. I anticipate his ungraceful toss and drop to the ground, sand sticking to my sweaty palms as I sweep my leg back to catch his ankles.
He topples to the ground with a grunt. I’m straddling his chest within the next breath, my knees pinning down his arms, pressing my weight onto his broken bone.
My words cut into his strangled cry. “I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed.” I tug at the dagger on his hip, freeing it from its sheath before settling the infuriatingly dull tip against the throat I can hardly see. “I was hoping you’d put up more of a fight.”
“W-what? Look, I saw you in the desert from my post, and I thought you were dead, but when I got there you were breathing.” His words come out in a rush with a voice that is very much not his. I blink as my eyes begin adjusting to the darkness, revealing the very frightened face of a young guard. “I was just carrying you to the city, all right?” He’s panting now, pleading with me to understand.
“I…” I blink again, taking in his messy brown hair and crumpled red uniform beneath me. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Yeah, well, clearly you don’t need my help.” His eyes dart to his hand. “And if you’d get off my broken wrist, I’ll gladly leave you be.”
“Oh.” I smile sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that.” I slide off him after returning his dagger to its sheath, watching as the guard stands to his feet, cradling his hand. I’m suddenly fighting the urge to sprawl back onto the sand as the adrenaline slowly begins to seep from my body. “Thank you for coming out here for me. Truly. I’m sorry that is how I repaid you for the kindness.”
He grunts a response, stepping back toward the city we are now bordering. “I need to get back to my post.”
“Right.” Feeling incredibly awkward, I begin walking beside him at a safe distance. “Um, sorry, which city are we walking into right now?”
He throws me a bemused look. “Dor.” Another questioning glance. “What were you doing in the desert anyway?”
I swallow. Imperials may not be a problem in Dor, but there will still be guards with pressing questions for me to avoid. And I haven’t the slightest idea if Ilya’s surrounding cities know of my reputation. As I open my mouth to spew a relatively convincing lie, his gaze sweeps over my ragged body in a way that has me bristling. He scans my face, seeming to scrutinize, to search.
“Hey, you look… familiar.” He pauses, pondering what he sees. I turn away, aware of the suspicion in the subtle movement. The whisper of fingers through my hair has my gaze snapping back to his. “Silver,” he says softly, as if it were a thought that slithered its way out of his mouth. “Interesting.”
“Is it?” I ask lightly, attempting to discern what it is he knows.
“Well, such a color wouldn’t be unusual in Ilya.” His skeptical gaze has shifted into something far more confident. “But here…” The hand that slowly grazes the hilt of his dagger doesn’t go unnoticed. “You wouldn’t happen to be that king murderer, huh? You know, the ‘Silver Savior’-turned-killer?” The dagger is gripped in his hand now, angled toward me. “You are worth a pretty penny, you know. Ilya has a hefty price on your head.” I take a step away, my gaze glued to the blade inching closer to my chest. His next sentence is strung together with a smirk. “Dead or alive.”
Moonlight glints off the steel he swipes at my chest.
I twist, saving my heart from the blade but not the shoulder it drags across. I bite back a scream at the searing pain, feeling hot blood begin to gush from the gash. The guard doesn’t waste a single second before sending his knife stabbing upward toward my stomach. I dodge again, feeling sluggish as I’m forced on defense. Every bit of exhaustion and accumulated ache comes flooding back, reminding me that I slipped between Death’s fingers yet again. Perhaps he’s come to finally finish the job, claim his vengeance.
“Look,” he pants between gritted teeth, “just come quietly, and I won’t have to hurt you.”
I duck under another attack from his blade. “I’d believe you, but you seem pretty eager to repay me for that broken wrist.”
The guard all but growls at me, throwing his weight behind a stab intended to slash my ribs. The two quick breaths he always takes warn me of his swing before I see the flashing steel. I twist, grabbing his wrist before stepping behind him to roughly bend the arm against his opposite shoulder blade.
The dagger slips from between his sweaty fingers, stabbing the sand beneath us. He doesn’t scream until I grab his broken wrist with my free hand and squeeze, his severed bone jutting into my palm. The guard sinks to his knees, shaking violently as I slowly lower myself behind him, his hands still clasped between mine.
My lips nearly brush the shell of his ear as I murmur, “Who else knows about me?”
He thrashes against my hold, only earning him another twist of his broken wrist. He cries out before spitting his next words. “You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”
“Yes,” I sigh, “I know that, and you know that. See, what I’m asking is if anyone else knows that.”
He huffs out a pained laugh. “Everyone knows you’re a crazy bitch. You have quite the reputation.”
I stiffen at his words. “What about Tando? Does Ilya have a price on my head in both cities?”
“As far as I know,” he breathes, a smirk hidden in his soft words, “even Izram has a poster of your face plastered on every surface.”
I scowl at the back of his head. Stowing away on a ship heading for Izram sounded far more appealing than trekking through the Scorches. And I would have done just that if it weren’t for the fact that it’s been years since anyone has journeyed across the Shallows’ treacherous waters. This is partly due to Ilya’s immense isolation from the other kingdoms, though the dozens of shipwrecks have further discouraged anyone from the perilous journey.
But none of that matters now, because it seems my reputation traveled to Izram before I could.
“Well,” I sigh, “let’s hear it. How much am I worth?”
The greed in his voice slips between his grinding teeth. “Twenty thousand silvers.”
I nearly choke on my laugh, my whispered words more to myself than the guard at my mercy. “Kitt wants me that badly, huh?”
“He does.” The guard’s voice is suddenly cold, calloused. “Dead or alive.”
And then the back of his skull collides with my nose.
I cry out, already feeling blood beginning to gush, the steady stream spilling into my mouth.
There are suddenly rough hands at my throat.
The guard throws me onto my back, his weight pressing down on me nearly as hard as his hands crushing my windpipe. Spots begin swimming in my vision, and I’m oddly grateful that I can barely see what it is I do next.
The blade slides easily into his heart.
He blinks above me, a look of disbelief painting the blank canvas that is his face, now completely drained of color.
The hands around my neck loosen and fall away, his body following. He slumps to the ground, clutching the fatal wound delivered by his very own weapon. He grunts, his final words a growl. “Crazy… bitch.”
I’m shaking.
The dagger slips from my hand despite being held between sticky fingers.
Sticky fingers.
I look down, taking in the blood coating my hands.
No, no, no…
The feel of it has me gagging, even with the lack of contents in my stomach. I crawl toward the guard, mumbling my apologies as I wipe blood from my palms with his already scarlet-stained shirt. Lifeless eyes look up at me while I can barely see through the tears in my own.
I stare at the young man as I stagger back, the heels of my palms sinking into the sand.
I killed him.
I killed again.
In a short amount of time, I’ve managed to take the life of three people. The thought has my stomach churning once again, and I twist to retch into the sand.
I never wanted to kill anyone. I never wanted—
But I had. I did. I do.
What have I become?
The tang of blood stings my nose, so potent I would puke again if my body had anything left to give. Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I slowly stand on shaky legs to turn away from the scene.
I need to get out of here.
Blood is leaking into my mouth, forcing me to spit with every step I take into the city. I gingerly lift a hand to feel my nose, recoiling at the pain but relieved to find it isn’t broken.
One foot in front of the other.
I left him there.
One foot in front of the other.
He’ll rot in the sun.
One foot in front of the other.
I’m a monster.
One foot in front of the other.
