The Knife's Edge

Chapter Twenty-Five

A VISION OF DEATH

Vera knelt before the fire. She warmed her hands on the flames, but the cold was bone-deep. She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. She looked over her shoulder.

They sat in a small room. It was bare, save for a wood chair whose legs and back she had already used for kindling. An entry at the far side of the room showed a black night. She loathed the night, for it meant coldness and hunger. Somehow in the day, she could distract herself from the pain of her gnawing gut.

Within arm’s reach, Kirin lay fast asleep. He was curled, arms wrapped around his small body, shivering in his sleep. Her heart panged. Why did he have to be so quiet?

So unassuming in his pain and suffering? With every waking moment Vera felt her anger and bitterness grow. But Kirin never said a word. Instead, he merely pushed forward. Twice he had nearly been caught for stealing a loaf of bread for the two; and the price for theft in Farbs was steep—the loss of a hand or even death was the toll for quick fingers. And still, he would smile and give her the bigger half. She envied his perseverance.

Quietly, she removed her cloak, wrapping it around his tiny, gaunt frame when a figure entered, head scraping the ceiling. Immediately, her heart darkened. She pressed herself against the wall. “Who are you?” she asked.

It spoke and the walls quaked, “A nightmare.” The voice was like thunder. She couldn’t see its face within its hood, but she knew it was smiling. It loomed, its frame nearly filling the room with malevolence.

“Leave us alone! If you’re looking for food or money, we don’t have any...”

“Enough,” it said coldly, cutting her off. “This is a dream. Break this foolish illusion, Vera, or I will break it for you.”

As if waking, she looked around. Instead of rags, she wore her midnight black dress with its long slit at the top of her thigh. Instead of the cloak around Kirin, it was the thick cape she had fashioned from the hide of a disobedient verg. She shook her head, and rose to her feet. She eyed the man before her, and suddenly it all made sense. He’d found her. A dark dread, a thousand times more terrifying than before seeped beneath her flesh. She breathed and it misted in the suddenly frozen air.

“Kneel,” he breathed.

Without hesitation, she pressed her face to the hard clay ground. “Master...”

“A touching image,” he said, head turning to take in the small room, “You disappoint me.”

“Master, I live only to serve... I—”

He interrupted her. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”

She looked up, catching his gaze. He meant Kirin. “He is nothing to me,” she seethed.

“Truly,” he replied, eyeing the cloak that warmed the boy.

“A dream and reality are far different things,” she retorted.

“Is that so? He tried to save your life that day, but still you are wish to finish him and retrieve Morrowil?”

Vera neared the sleeping Kirin. Grabbing the ruby-throated dagger from behind her back, she smoothly unsheathed the blade and drove it towards his chest with a cry. The boy gasped, eyes opening as blood spouted from his chest. Vera cut with ruthless precision. Two cuts. She severed the major veins and his eyes flickered, closing as the last of his breath fled. “Do not doubt me. Nothing matters but the blade. I will bathe in his blood before it is done.”

The figure sneered, but still she couldn’t see his face. He waved his hand and the boy disappeared like smoke. “That is yet to be proven.” Suddenly his fist clenched, muttering beneath his breath, and terror filled Vera.