I wedged my thumbs into his eyes. When he thrashed but didn’t let go, I remembered Iltani’s well-placed kick with the young guardsman from the kitchens, and reared back and kicked Uruku as hard as I could between the legs. He dropped to his knees with a grunt and I bolted. But he reached forward and grabbed my foot, sending me sprawling on my face.

He was on me in a flash. He straddled me from behind and once again put his hands around my windpipe, squeezing. Squeezing.

Gurgling, trying to peel his fingers from my throat, my eyes stinging and watering, I pinched both of his hands in the tender part between thumb and forefinger, the place my abum had always told me would take a man to his knees.

Howling, Uruku let go. I scrambled to my feet and ran, but he caught up to me and grabbed me again, pinning his forearm against my throat. I couldn’t breathe! The memory of being shoved from the window in the Palace all those moons ago, of falling and breaking my leg, of everything that came after, swam into my head. All of a sudden, coldness descended on me as the rotten stench of rivergrass flooded my nose. Straining toward Dagan, my eyes stinging, throat closed, I felt swept away, underwater, and heard, as if it were whispered in my ear, “Arammu” in Dagan’s voice.

In the center of the Pit, Dagan stilled, staring at us as the war was waged around him. His emerald dagger was in his hand, his face filled with rage. Behind him, the Boatman, his cloak billowing, the stench radiating from him in waves, whispered in Dagan’s ear. In one practiced move, as I’d witnessed him do a thousand times behind our house in Manzazu, Dagan reared his arm back and hurled his dagger toward Uruku with more force than I’d ever seen him wield.

But as it flew through the air with the grace of a fired arrow, Dagan’s eyes widened in horror. For the path it was on was not in line with Uruku, its intended recipient.

The dagger was sailing directly toward me.

Drop. Twist. Throw!

The memory of Ummi’s training in Wussuru sprang to life in my body, and I jerked my left arm up, knocking Uruku’s hand off my throat. At once, I dropped, twisted, and launched him over my shoulder. When I did, a wet thunk, followed by a strangled, burbling shriek, came from Uruku as he flew overhead and landed on his back with a whump.

He writhed on his back, kicking.

Panic buzzed through me, and I scrambled away from him—Run! Run!—but when I took stock of myself, I realized there was no need. Not anymore. Dagan’s dagger was sunk to the hilt in Uruku’s throat, and blood streamed from the wound.

He was down and wouldn’t be getting up again.

I was safe. I was safe!