The commandant looked so different asleep. Her black hair spilled like ink across the pillows. Her skin was much fairer than her two cousins’ and her pale brown fingers curled gently against her cheek. She looked not at all like the fearsome soldier who snapped and snarled and doled out orders. She seemed . . . young. Too young. Like a sapling that hadn’t quite taken root.
Eris stared, drinking in the sight of her.
It was only when the girl stirred that Eris remembered why she’d come. She set the scarp thistle down on the bedside table, and then—gently, slowly—slid her hand beneath the pillow.
Soon, her fingertips brushed the cool steel of the commandant’s favorite throwing knife. Eris knew it was Safire’s favorite, because she’d spent the past few weeks trailing her like a shadow.
When you watched someone as closely as Eris watched Safire, you couldn’t help but notice things.
Carefully, Eris pulled the knife out from beneath the pillow. She stood there for several heartbeats, running her fingers over the decorative hilt, smiling a little as she did.
The moment Eris turned to leave, however, something tightened around her ankle.
Eris looked down. It took several heartbeats before she could make out what it was.
A loop of slip-knotted rope. One made of twisted silken sheets that appeared to snake beneath the bed.
Shock made Eris go still. Had it been there all along? Before Safire even entered the room?
Had Safire anticipated her coming here tonight?
“Who are you?” came that voice from behind Eris. The cold tip of a blade pressed into the back of her neck, digging into the skin.
Eris felt a tug on the silk rope and knew the other end was gripped firmly in the commandant’s hand.
This was a trap. One set for her.
A torrent of conflicting emotions washed through Eris. If she wasn’t already late reporting to Jemsin, she might have been flattered.
But she was late. And while the raven following her through Firgaard’s streets today might not have been Jemsin’s summoner, it wouldn’t be long before his summoner did arrive.
A low and steady panic hummed within her. She needed to get out of here.
“Who am I?” Eris said without turning, lifting her hands to show she meant no harm . . . all the while trying to determine just how far away Safire was. “I’m just a petty thief.”
Safire’s voice was low and dangerous as she said, “How did you get in?”
If Eris reached for her spindle, would the movement provoke Safire? She swallowed, casting her gaze through the moonlit room, trying to think of how to put space between her and this girl long enough to open the way across.
She stalled for time.
“How did I get into the palace? Or into your bedroom?” Eris asked the second question a little huskily, just to irritate Safire.
The pressure on her ankle tightened as the blade against the back of her neck dug in hard, drawing warm, wet blood. Eris bit her lip at the prick of pain.
“Both,” Safire growled. Clearly sick of Eris’s games, her voice rung with authority now. “Drop the knife. Then turn around slowly and answer my question.”
Eris chewed her lip. Safire hadn’t looked upon her face since the day they’d run into each other in the hall—right after Eris stole the tapestry from the commandant’s office. Remembering the dismissive look in those blue eyes, Eris steeled herself. She dropped the knife, which clattered against the tiles at her feet, then slowly turned.
Safire stood in nothing but a tunic. Eris’s gaze trailed up the girl, whose dark hair was loose around her lean shoulders. In one hand was a knife, held to Eris’s throat now. Her other gripped the end of the makeshift rope.
When Eris met her gaze, she was surprised to find a sliver of admiration in Safire’s eyes—hidden beneath loathing and disgust, of course, but admiration nonetheless.
It made Eris want to do something drastic.
Something reckless.
“Answer my question.” Safire repeated herself, narrowing her eyes. “How did you get in?”
Eris smiled, thinking of the rumors she’d heard about herself. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in, as if to tell Safire a secret. “Didn’t you know the Death Dancer can walk through walls?”
Safire took a careful step toward Eris, like a predator warily approaching prey. “You think you’re clever?” she said without breaking her gaze. “You think you impress me?”
Eris’s smile fell away.
“I deal with criminals like you by the barrelful. Every day.” Those blue eyes narrowed. “Trust me, Death Dancer. You’re just another delinquent with nothing better to do than bring chaos to people’s lives.”
Safire took another step, moving in so close Eris could almost feel the heat of her body next to her own. “Do you know where people like you end up?” she said, drawing the steel of her knife gently across Eris’s skin, softly tracing her collarbones. Suddenly, her voice went flat. “You end up alone and forgotten in the belly of a dungeon. Which is exactly where I’m putting you.”
Maybe it was the assumption beneath Safire’s words—that she was used to having the upper hand and thought she had it now. Or maybe it was the threat of her locking Eris up and forgetting about her—forever. Like she was nothing.
Either way, it would not do.
“I’d rather rot in a cell full of honest criminals than walk free among you and your ilk,” said Eris, her knuckles bunching.
Safire stared as if Eris were mad. “You consider thieves and murderers honest?” She shook her head. “You’re delusional.”
But Eris wasn’t finished. “You helped King Dax steal a throne. Isn’t that why he made you his commandant?” She sneered at the thought. “And that cousin of yours—the Namsara—didn’t she kill a man to make her brother king? Sounds a lot like thieving and murdering to me. And yet here you all are, sleeping in silken beds, eating off silver platters, doling out judgments on everyone but yourselves.”
That steel was back against her throat, pressing hard. It brought Eris out of herself—out of her fury—and back to reason.
The longer you stay here bickering with this girl, the worse your punishment from Jemsin will be.
At the thought of Jemsin, one of his lessons rose to Eris’s mind. From the early days when he’d first made her part of his crew. When she was yet too young to realize the monster he really was.
The bent elbow forms a point, you see? He’d shown her using his own arm. It fits perfectly below the enemy’s ribs.
“The former king was a tyrant,” Safire was saying, her voice sharp with warning. As if speaking against the commandant and her cousins was a felony in itself.
Never fight fair, the captain’s voice rang through her mind. You understand? That’s not how you stay alive.
“I’m not judging you for killing him, princess. I’m just wondering. . . .” Eris kept her gaze locked with Safire’s as she clenched her small fist. “Can it truly be justice when those who enforce the laws are the only ones exempt from them?”
Safire’s nostrils flared.
Before she could lash out, Eris punched—right where Jemsin showed her, all those years ago. Into the soft place beneath the girl’s ribs.