Gates of Thread and Stone(76)

His hands snatched my wrists. His grip was unforgiving. His eyes narrowed. Then he let go, and I darted back to avoid the hit that barely missed my chin. His attacks came fast, pushing me across the room. I tripped. Pain stabbed my face. My vision went dark at the corners. I found myself back on the floor, looking up at the glass ceiling. I blinked rapidly, letting the rising heat in my face burn away the daze.

I let the humiliation feed my anger. Think, Kai.

“You are your father’s daughter,” Ninu said. He tugged at the loose sleeves of his shirt and smoothed down the wrinkles. “But he was a better strategist. It’ll come with experience.”

I shut out the questions that rushed forward. I didn’t know what to believe, but whether Ninu was telling the truth or not, I couldn’t let him or anything else distract me.

It took me longer to regain my footing this time. As he waited for me, I trailed my mind along the threads, deliberating. Time flowed in a current that didn’t ebb or swell but was constant. I could push against it, slow it down, slip free of its net. But what would happen if I tried to break it?

“Giving up already?”

I ignored the taunt. I imagined my hands skimming the current the way I once had at the river’s bend in the North District. Then I slid my left foot back and sprang forward. Ninu blocked before my fist could land, dodged before the knife could find skin. He deliberately didn’t retaliate, and whatever powers he possessed, he wasn’t using them except to interfere with mine. His restraint was insulting.

I imagined pressing my hands against the threads, letting them tangle around my fingers. Around me, time slowed. I imagined digging my fingers in and pulling. Wrenching. Ripping. The threads were so tightly knit that they barely gave. But it was enough.

Time warped around us. Motion became a dizzying whirl. For one brief moment, the threads dragged me backward.

I immediately altered my attack. I dropped to my haunches and struck.

I think I was as shocked as Ninu when my knife sank into his stomach. Red bubbled up around the blade. His hand lifted to grab mine. I let go of the handle and twisted out of reach.

His fingers replaced mine around the handle. He regarded me with the same air of approval that Mason had after I’d managed to hit him.

So. Not his descendant then. Drek!

I had stabbed him, but was this enough to win? I shifted my weight, considering another attack.

“Good job,” he said. “You’re a fast learn—” He stopped. His eyes lowered to the knife.

With a quizzical tilt to his head, he pulled the knife free. Blood rushed from the open wound, blossoming across his shirt like one of Irra’s roses.

In his hand, beneath the fresh coat of red, the blade glowed. He dropped it. Instead of falling, the knife hovered in the air. I watched, stupefied, as the blood on the blade thinned, then disappeared, as if the glowing metal had absorbed it. Light encased the weapon. I had to squint to look at it.

Avan called my name, but I couldn’t look away. The shape of the knife changed, elongating into a staff and then flashing brightly as a curved blade materialized at one end, translucent and shimmery like starlight. When the light receded, I realized it was a scythe.

I reached out tentatively, then flinched when it flew away.

There was a muffled smack as the staff hit its owner’s palm. Both Ninu and I looked at Kalla in confusion. Kalla rested her weapon against the floor and traced a glossy fingernail along her alabaster cheek. Her features shifted. Her eyes grew larger, chin sharper, red lips plumper. Her hair spilled down her shoulders in a tumble of white waves.

“You,” I said, backing up. The memory of her reeled through me—a nervous and pale young woman, half dressed, her thin arms offering me a battered knife and a map. “You’re from the Raging Bull.”

Ninu sank to his knees, his bloodied hand pressed against his stomach. Then his gaze lifted to meet mine.

“I wanted my life back,” he said. “It wasn’t a great life. But it was mine.” He closed his eyes.

Kalla twirled the scythe in her hand, and it vanished in a flare of light. She didn’t look at her brother.

“The Infinite are incapable of killing one another directly,” she told me, brushing her long hair over her pale shoulder.

“Your knife—”

“My scythe,” she corrected me. “I am the second oldest of the Infinite. My weapon can kill anything.”

“But why?” I asked, inching toward Avan and Reev. Avan looked as bewildered as I felt, but Reev hadn’t reacted in any way to seeing his Kahl stabbed. “You’re Ninu’s right hand. Why would you help me?”

Death smiled. “Time has ever been my ally.”





CHAPTER 38




I SKIRTED AROUND Ninu’s body, now sprawled on the floor, and rushed to Avan.

“Are you—?” I cut myself off. It was an idiotic question. Of course he wasn’t okay. “I’m sorry.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “Why are you apologizing?”

His hand came up, fingers grazing my sore jaw. You’d think I would be used to getting punched by now, but the pain felt new each time. I leaned into his touch. I didn’t know what any of this meant, but I prayed Kalla was on our side.

Reev looked around, his eyes slow to focus. Then he hissed in his breath, reaching back to claw at his collar as if it pained him.