Dropping my shield, I yank the knife from the man’s throat and fling it, but not at the knife thrower. The blade buries in the back of one of Prince Meilek’s opponents, allowing him to steal her sword. Then I lunge for the knife thrower who stands between Phaut and me. She lies just beyond, the shape of her indistinct in the deepening night.

I twist to the side as the point of a small blade narrowly misses my shoulder. Neither of us breaks stride as I dive for his legs and his fingers find his last throwing knife. I’m too close, with too much momentum to properly dodge.

Pain spears my leg as I barrel into him. We tumble into the underbrush and crash against the base of a tree. He jams his fingers against the knife in my thigh. The pain makes me gasp. I smash my fist into his bloodied face. Sticky warmth coats my fingers. I need to reach Phaut. Why won’t he just die?

Tears blot my vision. I punch him again. He catches my wrist, but I rotate my shoulder and smash my elbow into his jaw. We roll, stones digging into my spine. The knife thrower, at least twice my weight, ends up on top.

I grope for the knife in my thigh and rip it free, hissing through the pain before stabbing the blade into the man’s side. He roars, but instead of falling off me, his hands close around my throat. I slam my knuckles into the hole in his side again and again, but his eyes grow crazed. He doesn’t relent. His fingers crush my neck with the ferocity of a dying man.

I claw at his wrists and forearms. Black spots dance in my vision, and my blood roars in my ears.

“If I die, you die, too.” The knife thrower spits into my face.

I rake my nails down his cheeks and his neck until my hands find his chest. The burning heat of my craft razes through me. A glow forms behind my fingers, like sunlight searing through clouds. Something pulses against my palm. My hand closes around it, and the grip around my neck loosens.

I throw my head back, air rushing into my lungs in long, wheezing gasps. Each breath is like razor blades down my throat, but I don’t release the light in my hand. I know exactly what I’m holding. Above me, the knife thrower has gone immobile. When I regain enough breath to meet his gaze, the soul cupped in my palm illuminates his eyes, stark with fear.

I see Phaut’s eyes, her fear. The regret in her face for failing to protect me, when I’m the one who failed her.