Markswoman (Asiana #1)(96)

It was then that Tamsyn chose to strike, in that in-between place where two realities clashed and converged.

She twisted Kyra around, grabbing her midriff with one arm, and choking her with the other. “Foolish little deer,” she panted. “Did you truly think I would yield to you?”

Kyra bucked and tried not to panic. No. Not now, not after everything. She could not let Tamsyn defeat her. She gripped the arm around her neck, trying to loosen its deadly hold, and concentrated on recovering her link to Tamsyn’s past. But the night stayed out of focus, and Tamsyn’s hold on her did not weaken. Black spots danced in front of Kyra’s eyes and she gasped for air.

Do it for Nineth, then, if you can’t do it for yourself. Shirin Mam’s voice, calm, compassionate, and full of love.

“Nineth,” choked Kyra, and with a last burst of strength pried the arm from her neck. She swung her assailant around and Divided the Wind, breaking both of Tamsyn’s wrists with the sides of her palms. Tamsyn cried out in pain and stumbled back at the precise moment that the bridge solidified around them once more.

Kyra took an involuntary step toward her, but it was too late. The barrier broke and Tamsyn tumbled into the rushing black water beneath.

Kyra knelt at the edge of the broken railing and gazed down at the river, panting. But there was no one and nothing to see. Tamsyn was gone. The river had claimed its victim, once and for all.

She pushed herself away from the edge and collapsed on the wooden slats of the bridge, trying to recover her breath. “Goodbye, Tamsyn,” she whispered. “You will not be mourned.”

She hurt everywhere. Her throat and palms burned, and from somewhere deep inside, the ghost of a wound inflicted in another world began to pulse.

Time to go back and face that world, that wound.

“Trishindaar,” she said, and Tamsyn’s past dissolved. For a moment Kyra fought against the drowning sensation. With an enormous effort of will she closed her eyes and yielded herself to the currents of time.





Chapter 33

Last Twist




Pain, red pain that held her in its bloody embrace. Why wasn’t she dead yet? Kyra closed her eyes, shivering. Cold. She was so cold. If life were to end now, she would welcome the release. The duel was over, although she could not remember now why it had been so important.

She heard the sound of running footsteps. People bent over her, talking.

“She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“She will live! She’s young and strong, and the blade missed her lung.”

“Out of my way, young man. I think I know a little bit more about healing than you do.”

“Stay alive, Kyra!”

“We must take the katari out now, before it puts her beyond our reach. Mumuksu, you will staunch the flow of blood when I remove it.”

And on the borders of the group gathered around, the uneasy whispers, the fear-filled thoughts: What did she do to Tamsyn Turani?

Where has the Mahimata vanished?

What black magic is this?

Someone applied pressure to her side. Someone else grasped the hilt of the blade. Kyra’s eyes flew open and Navroz’s face crystallized before her.

“Yes, it will hurt,” said the elder. “But it must be done now if we are to save you.”

She pulled the blade out: carefully, slowly.

The pain rose to an unbearable crescendo, obliterating everything else. Kyra could hear an agonized screaming echoing in the hall, and feel the gushing wetness of blood pouring from her wound.

Darkness, and in the darkness a vision: a blue-skinned, four-armed figure with a vermilion-streaked forehead. In three of her hands she held a lotus, scissors, and a sword. The fourth was held out in benediction.

Kali. The Goddess . . .

And Kyra knew no more.





Acknowledgments




This book would not exist without the help of several wonderful people. First and foremost, my editor at Harper Voyager, Priyanka Krishnan, who made me reach deeper within myself for the truths of my characters and the world they live in. Thanks also to the team at Harper Voyager for all their hard work in making this book possible.

My deep gratitude to my agent, Mary C. Moore of Kimberley Cameron & Associates, for believing in my story, and to Pooja Menon for passing it on to her.

Thanks to my sister, Prinks, for being my first reader, to my mom for proofreading, to writer Karl Schroeder for his gentle encouragement, to Amy Goh for the lovely map, and to the friends who shared this journey with me: Charlotte, Ariella, Erika, Valerie, Debbie, Lesleyanne, Victoria, Kristin, Vanessa, and Marie-Lynn.

For all you math geeks, Kyra’s pyramid of palindromic primes is taken from “Palindromic Prime Pyramids,” by G. L. Honaker and C. Caldwell, in the Journal of Recreational Mathematics, 30:3 (1999–2000).

Lastly, thanks to you, dear reader, for picking up this book and taking a chance on it. Until we meet again, the Goddess be with you.