The Empire of Dreams (Fire and Thorns #4) - Rae Carson Page 0,3
herself with a grip that made the skin of her palms scream. She dropped the rest of the way and landed on her wet bottom.
The cellar felt cool and comforting and familiar, and it gave her strength. As the ladder creaked with the monster’s descent, she launched herself into the dark corner where Mamá kept a shelf for dry goods—nearly empty of food this late in the year, but the skinning knife should still be there.
“Girl, show yourself,” the monster ordered. He had reached the floor of the cellar, but he wasn’t used to the dark like she was.
“Over here,” she said, her fingers closing around the knife handle.
He approached cautiously, the light from his sparkling gem casting a bluish glow against the stone walls. His hair seemed especially white in the magical light, his eyes especially icy.
“Where is the secret place?” he said. He was so tall he had to crouch to avoid the hanging garlic braids.
The girl hadn’t thought beyond getting the knife, the handle of which was already slick in her damp palm, hidden behind her back. She hesitated.
“Girl?”
She couldn’t think what to say or do next.
His amulet brightened. A stream of light burst toward the floor, crashed into a burlap bag. The smell of burned stew filled the air as flames licked at the sack, warming her cheeks.
“You burned the turnips,” she whispered, staring. Magic had been done, for true. Right before her eyes.
“It takes great power to burn turnips,” he said. “They contain so much moisture. Show me the secret place.”
“It’s . . .” The girl got an idea. “It’s here. Behind this. I’m not big enough to move it.”
The monster stepped forward. He eyed the shelves. Four rickety wooden slats, one of which was damp and half rotted away. They used to be nice shelves, Mamá had told her, before the rot set in.
“There’s a hole in the wall where Mamá keeps her special things,” she said. “But you have to move the shelf.”
He stared down at her. The knife held behind her back was like a beacon, throbbing in her hand. Maybe she should elaborate on the lie before he noticed. What special thing would her mamá hide away? Something precious. Something frightening . . .
Mamá would have sold anything precious. She would have protected her daughter from anything frightening. So the girl was left to stare back at the monster, unable to think of a single thing.
“Have you seen what’s inside?” the monster asked.
“No,” the girl whispered, more certain than ever that he would see through her. “Mamá said I was too little.” Her voice wavered. Her hand hiding the knife shook.
Her fear made the monster smile. “Then let’s see for ourselves, shall we?” He turned his back to her and reached for the shelf.
With a grunt and a heave, he lifted it slightly and pivoted it away, then let it drop with a big thunk. He stared at the revealed wall for a moment. His voice was darker than dark when he said, “I don’t see anything. There’s nothing—”
The girl pretended the monster was a pig at the butcher. With all her might, she plunged the knife into his flank.
And just like a stuck pig, he squealed. Blue-white light shot away from his amulet, a panic flare that exploded against the shelves, collapsing them and setting the remains on fire.
The girl recoiled, tears and smoke blurring her eyes. She had just done a bad, bad thing. No whipping in the world would make up for it. And yet she didn’t feel sorry.
The monster babbled and cursed in a language she didn’t understand. He swatted at the knife in him while the flames ate the shelves and spread to the sack of cornmeal.
She should flee. She knew she should. But the monster’s flailing hand managed to bump the knife handle just so, and it slid out a ways. Blood drenched his beautiful robe, but the knife was barely sticking in him now. The girl had not killed him enough.
She darted in. Grabbed the knife handle. Yanked it out.
And plunged it right back in.
It scraped bone this time; she felt that scrape down to the roots of her teeth. He spun around to face her, but his knees buckled and he fell back against the wall. The knife point thrust out of his abdomen, making a tent of his lovely, bloodstained robe.
“You . . .” he gasped. “Disgusting half-breed.” His back scraped the wall as he slid to the floor.