My fingers tighten, and I wrench free his soul. He convulses once. I heave him off me as he goes limp, dead before his body strikes the ground. Coughing raggedly, I turn my head to examine the orb of light clutched within my fingers. It lingers for a moment. Then I close my fist, and it dissipates.

Nearby, Prince Meilek has dispatched the others and disarmed Jonyah. They’re both frozen now, staring at me and the dead knife thrower. I struggle to my feet and wonder why my leg won’t hold me. Blood oozes from my thigh. I swear, slapping my palms over the wound and applying pressure. A wave of nausea washes over me.

Stumbling over the uneven ground, I collapse beside Phaut. Her shirt is saturated. A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. Pressing my hands to her shoulders, I close my eyes.

Please. Please please please.

My magic stirs within me, but it’s weak. Pain sharpens beneath my ribs, and my thoughts immediately go to Saengo. She’s hurting. I have to save her before it’s too late. Like I should have saved Phaut. Tears blur my eyes, and I dash angrily at them.

I slam my palms into the ground. I’m supposed to be able to restore a soul to life, aren’t I? Work, damn it!

But nothing happens. I had gripped the bright warmth of the knife thrower’s soul in my palm, and yet I can’t save Phaut. Dirt slides beneath my nails as I sink my fingers into the earth, seeking purchase. I curl over Phaut’s side. I can’t breathe. The world tilts into a dizzying spiral.

I can’t break down. Not now. Not with Saengo still depending on me.

“Are you all right?” Prince Meilek asks softly.

Although everything hurts, I force myself to look up. He’s still standing by the shore, his sword pointed at Jonyah’s chest.

“I think you’re bleeding.”

My thigh throbs in agreement. With a groan, I reach for the throwing knife still embedded in one of the musicians lying nearby. I wrench it free and wipe it off in the grass. Then I tug off my sash and cut into the fabric. With a few sharp motions, I tear the sash into several long strips.

As I bandage my thigh, hands shaking and stained, magic thrums beneath my skin. I can touch souls, so why can’t I—

My fingers go still. Oh, Sisters. I hadn’t just touched that knife thrower’s soul. I had ripped his soul from his body. A single word rings through my ears.

Soulrender.