Page 175 of Into the Isle

The man motioned for me to turn around, nodding. He showed no hint of emotion on his face.

I spun on my knees, showing him my back and my shackled wrists. Soft hands fell on my shoulders, and I tensed. I heard a sizzling sound, and then the shackles fell heavily from my wrists, clattering to the ground.

I worked my wrists and spun back around, eyes widening.

The elf held the blade toward me again, yet now its edge was shining like a blacksmith’s forge.

The molten magic of the weapon faded away, and he handed me the handle again.

He helped me to my feet . . . so I could stumble over to Arne, whom the other elf lifted onto his knees.

“E’tar,” said the man holding Arne steady. “What do we do with these two? They have seen our faces.”

“This one is coming with us,” said the man who had handed me the knife.

“She is?”

“I am?” I squeaked, looking over my shoulder.

The beautiful alien ignored me and nodded past me. “You see her hair? Her ears? She comes with us.”

“And this one?” the other elf asked, shaking Arne’s shoulders.

“It is up to her.” His golden eyes landed on mine, darkening a shade. “Though I suggest she kills him.”

I gulped and faced Arne. He stared up at me, the pretty boy—the first man I had met coming to Vikingrune Academy. He looked weak now, though not because he was scared. His throat bobbed and I stood over him.

“Do it, little fox,” he urged me, gritting his teeth. “Get it over with. I deserve it.”

“You do.”

“I wish I could tell you more. But you know I can’t.”

I knelt in front of him so we were eye-level. I wanted him to see my face as I cut his throat.

I lifted the elf’s dagger to his supple neck—

And something painful washed over me.

Memories of our short-lived time together. The Gray Wraith, when he was the first person to stand up for me against Ulf Torfen. Arne showing me around the academy, helping me get my bearings when my own brother wouldn’t do it. Introducing me to the Lepers Who Leapt when all I had to do was ask—when I desperately needed to see people who were like me. The kiss I absentmindedly gave him afterward, telling him how he had changed my life with that introduction . . . not realizing how that simple kiss would affect me whenever I looked at the pretty man after that. The kiss on my hospital bed, when I had needed to feel something again. Something real.

He was there for me. All those times, he was there for me.

We had shared a lot in our first few months together.

I knew what I had to do. I had been built for it—growing to this stage before even coming to Vikingrune Academy. My oath to my mother. My training.

It all led to this point in time.

And now, I had the dagger in my hand. Touched against his soft throat, with a bead of blood already trickling down his neck.

“All of it was real, little fox,” Arne whispered through his teeth. “Even I couldn’t fake it.”

I flared my nostrils. Tears bit the corners of my eyes as doubt clouded my vision.

I knew what I needed to do . . . and yet . . . I didn’t want to do it anymore.

I had come to Vikingrune as an assassin, with lofty ambitions and goals. But in attending the school, meeting these men, and even in learning the facts about my family line, I had realized along the way that I didn’t want to be an assassin.

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