She was thinking about how sick and tired she was of men like them doing whatever they pleased. Korsiris had been the first such man she’d ever known to have reaped destruction simply because he could, not that she’d ever even laid eyes on him, only heard the rumors and then watched his fires burn Last Dawn to the ground.

And yet, somehow, these men reminded her of him. Except for one big difference:

Korsiris had actual power while these men were sacks of air to be popped.

As they’d done with the boy, the two thugs made a move to subdue her from behind. This time, however, they failed. She didn’t even bother with her daggers, instead pivoting to hammer her fist into the first thug’s groin and then, when he doubled over, offering him a knee to the face that sent him to the cobblestones. By then, the second thug was upon her, hands sliding around her on either side and then upward with the intention of locking both her arms behind her back.

Before he could, however, she surprised him by darting forward, directly toward one of the alley’s walls and then proceeding to run up the wall, using his hold on her body to support her. When her momentum reached its tipping point, she sprang backwards and vaulted over him, yanking his arms behind him with a vicious crack that broke both arms at the joint. He howled in pain and she provided a stiff kick in the back such that he crumpled beside his pal.

She hadn’t wanted to kill either of them. If so, they’d already be dead.

For their leader, on the other hand, she had different plans. She turned to find him holding the same knife he’d used to kill the man in the tavern. He brandished it with undisguised glee in his eyes, as if the defeat of his two buddies had only made him relish what he would do to her all the more. As if this was his opportunity to prove his dominance over the world, that even amongst his own ilk he reigned supreme, like a god amongst gods.

Bryony extracted one of her throwing knives in an instant, almost like a magician producing a white dove from her sleeve, and then sent it his way before he could so much as cut the air in front of him. He stood, stunned for a moment, as he looked at the weapon lodged in his chest on the side where his heart was slowing, flooded with the very blood it was supposed to be pumping to the rest of his body. His fingers lost all strength and he dropped his dagger, joining it on the ground a moment later.