A Knife & A Win

Sneak a peek at one of my favorite scenes in Heart’s Rescue

There’s a sound a knife makes when it slides from its sheath.

It’s a cold sort of sound, like the hiss of ice sliding off the roof. The sound is almost a relief because I’ve been lying here for hours, pretending to be asleep, just waiting for it.

The voids only know where she even got the knife. I certainly didn’t offer one to her, and I doubt Phaedron would have been stupid enough to arm her, even though he seemed quite taken by her nice chest and wide eyes and pretty, pretty mouth.

The woman is quiet for a long time after the knife comes out. I keep my breathing slow and even, just like I’m the sort of idiot who’d fall fast asleep next to a complete stranger from the Kingdom of the Summer. It’s snowing outside, and the delicate patter of flakes against the heavy canvas of the shelter makes a nice cover for whatever it is Arryn’s doing.

What is she doing? I want to crack an eye open, but I can’t risk it. The fire’s probably nothing but embers and memories at this point; still, if she notices me watching, then the game’s up. I’d never get this kind of a chance again. Sadly, most people only underestimate me once.

When the attack finally comes, it’s not half bad. Arryn goes from her side of the shelter to mine in a heartbeat, and then her blade’s cold and hard against the skin of my neck, and the heat of her thighs stretches across my ribcage

“The crown,” Arryn growls.

I knew it. 

Slowly, I blink open my eyes. Arryn’s straddling my chest, her wild, dark hair framing her face. Her blade presses into my skin so hard that I’m going to cut myself if I try to swallow. Her eyes are pure murder.

“Oh, hey, lady,” I say. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t sleep?”

“The crown,” she growls again, louder this time, as if maybe my hearing was the problem.

I grin up at that murderous expression. 

“No crowns here. I’m as low-born as they come, Lady Arryn.”

She makes a sound deep in her throat. My magic curls under me, ready to burst from the ground if I need it. But I’m not going to need it. I think.

“There’s a crown in your pantry,” she continues, ignoring me. “Where did you get it?”

She hesitates. The knife is cold against my neck, like she’s been keeping it in the snow.

“Where’s the man who wore it?” she asks.

My grin feels like it’s hardening on my face, becoming something made of stone. 

“Crown?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She doesn’t speak. Her nostrils flare as she breathes. My magic rises silently in the dark edges of the shelter, pooling in the shadows.

“You know, it’s funny,” I say, “I can’t remember anything with a voids-damned knife pressed to my neck.”

Something ripples across her face, and the pressure eases off my neck for just a heartbeat. That’s my moment, my chance to press my advantage, to wrap my magic around her and yank her off.

I don’t take it. She draws in another breath, shakier this time, and then the knife is back, its flat edge pressed just below my jaw. I wait. I can almost see the wheels spinning behind her big, dark eyes. Her body is warm against my chest, and she’s leaning down so far that the folds of the cloak she’s wearing brush my neck. And if I continue that line of thinking, things are about to get real awkward.

“So,” I ask, trying not to focus on the way she’s got her knees wrapped around my ribs. “What’s your plan here, lady? You going to kill me or not?”

Her eyes spark fire, and for a moment she looks like she’s honestly considering it. I try to shrug in a way that’s not going to disturb the blade resting against my jugular.

“Because, if you do kill me,” I continue, “you should know, you’re not going to be able to find your way out of here.”

Also, if you kill me, Phaedron will hunt you down and rip you apart very, very slowly, I think but do not say. Arryn shakes her head slightly. The motion makes the knife relax, another little slip I don’t press to my advantage. 

“I can read a map,” she says, her voice heavy with derision. “I could find my way out.”

“Really?” I say as if I’ve never heard of a woman who can read a map. “That’s cute. I’ll let you try.”

She scowls down at me. 

“Answer my question, Rowan.”

“Take your fucking knife off of my fucking neck. Lady.”

Silence draws out between us, as cold and heavy as the snow. Firelight paints Arryn’s face in crimson and gold. She must have added more wood to the fire as I pretended to sleep. That’s more thoughtful than I would have expected out of a high-born lady from the Worlds Above.

Arryn huffs a sigh, and I know defeat when I hear it. She rocks back, taking the knife away from my throat but keeping her knees planted on either side of my ribs. Voids damn it, I thought her chest would be less distracting now that she’s layered in the spare clothes we gave her, but it’s almost worse to see the way my old blue sweater hugs her curves.

“Is he still alive?” she asks. “The man who wore that crown?”

I glance to the side and finally see her weapon. It’s one of our knives, of course. One of Phaedron’s kitchen knives. Sneaky little—

Her fingers tighten around the hilt of our kitchen knife, and I turn my full attention back to the woman straddling my chest. Dozens of answers skirt my consciousness in varying degrees of sarcastic snark. Never heard of him. Killed him myself. Crown, what crown?

In the end, I settle on the truth. It seems easiest.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Click here for Heart’s Rescue!