Page 21 of To Clutch a Razor
The tingling sensation turns into something deeper, heavier. It prickles in Niko’s bones. Goose bumps rise up on his arms; he shivers, even as Dymitr puts a finger on his chest and pushes him—carefully, but not quite gently—up against the metal fence behind him.
Niko stares down at him, bewitched for a moment.
“Tell me,” Dymitr says, and now it sounds like he’s begging.
Niko says quietly, “Do you understand that if I tell you who it is and you warn them, you could get me killed?”
Dymitr closes his eyes. His hand presses flat to Niko’s chest. “I won’t warn them. I would never put you at risk like that.”
Niko believes him, even though that’s absurd. He’s absurd.
“The locals call her ‘the Razor,’” Niko says. Even his fluent tongue tripped over the word in Polish—brzytwa. Not all Knights are well known; this one’s address fell immediately from the mouths of the local strzygas, like a curse.
Dymitr laughs, and turns away, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He paces into the middle of the street, where weeds have begun growing between the cobblestones.
Niko says, “You know her, I take it.”
“Whoever gave you this mission wants you dead,” Dymitr says. “You should leave. Go home, refuse this, don’t get anywhere near her—”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I don’t care how it works.” Dymitr turns on him, crowds him up against the fence again. “If you try to do this, you’ll die.”
Niko tries on a half smile. “Why, Dymitr. Should I beoffendedthat you think so little of me?”
Dymitr doesn’t look amused. “You should be afraid of Marzena Mysliwiec.”
“You told me, once, that you didn’t keep track of how many of my kind you’d killed,” Niko says, cold now. “Well, I haven’t kept track of how many of yours I’ve killed, either. You shouldn’t underestimate me just because you’ve had your tongue in my mouth.”
Dymitr flinches a little. “I’m not underestimating you. I’m correctly estimating her.”
Niko did his research before he came here. He knows the Razor is known for the ease with which she uses magic, and the relentless, methodical way she approaches her kills. No recklessness for Marzena Mysliwiec; she’s like a machine. He can’t imagine her with a family. He can’t imagine she was ever very kind to the one she has.
So his voice is softer when he asks Dymitr, “Who is she to you?”
“My mother.”
Niko receives the word like a blow. This is too much Shakespearean tragedy for him.
“Yourmotheris the fuckingRazor?” Niko says. “God, how did you turn out so…normal?”
Dymitr’s eyes are too bright. “I can’t do this.”
“I have to do my job. She’s a killer, Dymitr.”
“She’s my mother,” Dymitr says again, fiercer this time. “I love her. I will always love her. No matter what happens here, I’ll lose. If she dies— If you die—”
“I am not going to die.”
“Then you’re going to be the one who kills my mother,” Dymitr says. “And I’ll never be able to look at you again. Do you understand that?”
A tear spills down his cheek and he wipes it away, forcefully, with the heel of his hand. Niko’s chest aches.
“Shh.” Niko covers Dymitr’s hands—currently knitted in his hair—with his own. “Yes, yes, I understand.”
He runs his fingers over Dymitr’s knuckles, and then tugs him closer, so Dymitr’s head touches his chest. He’s trembling.
It’s too much to ask of any heart, Niko thinks. To turn so fully against the ones you love, even once you’ve realized what they really are. It’s just too much.
