The two women shot to their feet, swords drawn. Anji felt herself shoved aside as Gina’s sword came flashing down into the cushion where Kit had been sitting a heartbeat before. Kit rolled over the back of the couch while Anji slammed herself to the floor. Metal clanged, deafening in the small space, as Kit and Gina swirled among the various pieces of furniture, grunting and slashing with their short swords. Gina’s movements were fluid, like a dancer’s, but she was impeded by the number of things in her way. Kit moved like a boulder rolling down a hill, not caring for the couches and chairs she had to avoid, knocking over a shelf that came clattering to the floor. Anji got to her feet, reaching for a dagger that wasn’t there. She felt a speeding rush of panic as Gina struck Kit a glancing blow that sliced into the Hawk’s shoulder. Kit ignored the wound and pressed another attack.

Gina grunted and kicked the table on its side, trying to get inside Kit’s considerable reach. She edged forward, sword raised, but hopped back with a cry, holding a hand to her stomach.

“Yield and we can leave,” said Kit, her chest heaving. “I’ve no wish to kill you.”

“Stop with the formalities,” Gina said before lunging at Kit.

As Anji got to her knees, she felt a sharp, biting pain. Gina’s discarded dagger, still covered in Bras’s blood, the blade’s edge digging into her skin. She snatched it from the floor just as Gina cried out and backed away once more, her steps clumsy and lopsided now. She swiped at Kit, who pushed ahead with her sword raised for a final blow.

Devas pounced across the room toward Kit, a dagger of his own raised high. He stumbled on an overturned couch cushion but barreled ahead, his girth propelling him toward the Hawk.

“Kit, look out!”

But Anji was already bounding toward Devas, the dagger held firm in her hand. She stepped onto the splintered couch and leapt onto Devas’s back just as he began bringing his dagger down toward Kit.

Anji slammed her knife into Devas’s chest—once, twice—feeling the blade separate tendon and muscle. A jet of hot blood sprayed out from the wounds, coating Anji’s fingers. Devas crashed to the floor under her, gurgling and twitching. He made a feeble attempt to wrench Anji off, but she was already clambering away from him, watching with wide-eyed horror as he choked his last breath.