Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy, #1)(117)
A shadow fell across the floor. Linn spun.
Her pursuer’s eyes were molten silver; his white cloak flapped behind him in the slight breeze that stirred between them. Linn clutched her last remaining dagger tightly.
The yaeger stood, as though he had been carved from rock and marble—and Linn recognized the precision in his stance, the years of training etched into the corded muscles of his back. Only his eyes flickered like a ripple across a moonlit pond. “I am not your enemy.”
“You are not my friend,” Linn replied.
“I do not wish to hurt you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
His eyes shifted to her empty weapons belt and the gash across her midriff. It was shallow, but Linn had left the blood to make it look worse than it was. The best advantage in a fight was to be underestimated. “You are wounded, and you are out of weapons. You will not win this fight.” He took a step closer. “My men are storming into the Grand Throneroom as we speak. The Blood Witch is a murderer and a monster. She will not triumph. Please, come quietly and save yourself.”
Their gazes held for two, three seconds. Linn remained quiet.
The yaeger’s arm shifted slightly. Linn forced herself to flinch. To appear afraid.
Within the blink of an eye, she lashed out. Her throwing knife was a silver blur. It struck the marble wall, a hand’s throw from the yaeger’s face, and clattered to the ground.
The yaeger’s eyes flickered with an emotion Linn could not read—it might have been surprise, or anger, or even admiration.
Slowly, with infinitely precise movements, the yaeger unbuckled his shoulder straps and shrugged off his white cloak. His eyes fastened on her as he drew two swords from their sheaths. “You have chosen,” he said. “Shame. I would have preferred not to kill as talented a fighter as yourself.”
“You won’t,” Linn said quietly. Every muscle in her body was tense with anticipation.
A hard, impregnable wall clamped down upon her Affinity. Linn’s insides churned; for a moment she thought she would throw up. It was as though one of her senses had suddenly been shut off—as though she had lost her ability to smell, or taste, or hear, or see. The winds that had been whispering at her back suddenly died. The silence was unbearable.
Linn reined in her nausea. Action, and counteraction.
Linn slashed her arm out, feinting. The yaeger flinched and shifted to his left. In that fraction of a second, Linn sprang backward, spinning and plucking two daggers—one in each hand—from the unconscious guards. In an extension of the same motion, she flung them at the yaeger, one after the other in rapid succession.
By the time she heard the plink of a dagger against his blackstone sword, Linn had already turned and was sprinting toward the open door. She heard the soft sound of metal slicing through flesh, followed by a grunt. At least one of her blades had found its mark. It was far from a killing blow, but anything that slowed him down would help her right now.
Linn burst into a night of wind and stars. Up here, high above the shelter and protection of any walls or buildings, the Cyrilian winter winds whipped at her face and snatched at her hair. She reached out to them, but felt nothing. Her Affinity was gone.
Beyond the balustrade, the city of Salskoff glimmered with torchlight and festivities. The Tiger’s Tail snaked all around the Palace, its frothy white water visible from even up here. A wave of dizziness and fear twined around her as she looked down at the tiny, faraway lights, at the vast emptiness of space and air and nothingness in between. Even the thick Palace walls below the watchtower were too far down—Linn might have aimed to jump had she had her winds.
She sensed him before she heard or saw him. He came from the darkness, a white blur in the moonlight, swords glinting as they slashed. Linn ducked and spun at the last moment. She’d intended for his momentum to carry him into the balustrade, but instead of careening off balance, he stopped suddenly and twisted in her direction, jabbing a blade at her.
Linn reeled back, throwing her weight into her upper body and then her head. Even as she flipped backward, she felt the sharp bite of his blade on her side. Her landing was slightly off; she took a step to adjust her balance, and then the yaeger was upon her again, his two swords cutting this way and that, his eyes calculating her every step and move.
She was going to lose. She had neither blade nor Affinity on her side, and even if she’d managed to cut him earlier, he had cut her right back.
Her moves were slowing, and every duck and dodge was more difficult than the last. She’d barely avoided the slice of one blade before another was bearing down upon her. She was becoming sloppier, her nerves fraying fast as she anticipated blow after blow after blow.
The second sting of his sword was deeper than the first, and Linn nearly gasped aloud. She stumbled, the pain blotting out all rational thought and training for a fraction of a second. That was all the yaeger needed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his foot kick out; she leapt back, too little and too slow.
The yaeger’s foot slammed into her abdomen, sending her reeling. The cold marble balustrade slammed into her back: a firm reminder that she was out of space.
The yaeger stepped toward her. Linn leaned back, trying not to think about the fact that half of her body was hanging over empty air. A wingless bird, her Wind Masters had called her after she had stopped flying. How can a bird be afraid of heights?