Page 126 of Sharpest Court

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” she added, forcing a grim smile, “breaking the bones of someone you hate.” It was meant as a challenge—a dark joke to snap the heaviness that had settled around us. But Goren only looked her over, his initial shock flattening into a scowl.

“It’s too tight.” He walked slowly toward her, all his urgency gone despite the seconds ticking away. “I would need to break a good portion of your wrist, too, and even then, your skin would peel from the force of the pull. It would be agony, and you may lose the hand anyway.”

He wasn’t trying to dissuade her. He was simply laying out the facts, one soldier to another.

“If these thorns puncture my wrist,” she said, “I will definitely lose the hand. And if they puncture a vein, I will bleed out. I will die right here in this ditch.” Her voice broke on the last word, and something inside me broke, too. My eyes burned as a childish thought struck me—that this wasn’t fair. No matter how much power I possessed, I was still helpless to stop this. Helpless to save her.

Perla’s punishment would culminate exactly how Erik had intended: in blood and bone and pain.

“Either way, I will scream tonight.” She steadied her voice, lifted her chin. “I don’t want him to be the reason why.”

Goren assessed her in the firelight of Holden’s burning tent, the heave of his chest slowing as his own nerve solidified. He reached for her hand, then paused and removed his leather gloves instead, the gesture quietly significant. Because these gloves were meant for combat, and despite the violence of his task, he clearly did not want this to be a violent act. This was her choice, and she deserved to be met equally in this bloodshed, skin on skin.

I was swallowing the lump in my throat when Goren stuffed the gloves into his pocket.

And my breath snagged.

“Wait!” I reached into my own pocket, remembering what I’d stashed there: the backup key-copying mold. “I pressed the key twice. I kept hold of the first attempt.”

“We can’t copy a key in this pit,” Goren said, without his usual bite.

I turned to Perla, my words rapid with desperation. “You said a specter would trigger the mechanism because it would have to remold inside the lock, hitting the wrong pressure points. But what if the specter was already shaped exactly like the key?”

“I—” She shook her head, fragile hope shimmering through her resignation. “Did you press the mold steadily?”

I winced, remembering how I’d jerked the key off the clay that first time. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Then there’s only one way to find out.” Goren looked to Perla. “This could work as well as the key itself. But if it doesn’t . . .”

He didn’t need to finish; Perla understood. Yes, there was a greater risk. But also a far greater reward. If this worked, there would be no blood, no broken bones. She would be safe for one more night.

She took a deep breath, then nodded. Goren reached for my mold.

“Let me,” he said. There was no command in his tone, nor any implication that my specter was not yet ready to perform such an intricate act, though we both knew it wasn’t. He’d spoken the words in kindness, an offer to shoulder this burden.

I relinquished the mold, quietly grateful. Perla’s fingers trembled as she handed me her pocket watch.

My heart stuttered. One minute left.

With a furrowed brow, Goren held the mold before him and slowly exhaled. I imagined his specter pouring into the crevice like molten metal, molding to the lock’s requirements. It would be delicate beyond anything I’d ever attempted—fortifying the spectral muscle, holding the power in shape. Yet the only sign of his exertion was the tight sound of his breathing as he reached for Perla’s hand, his large palm swallowing her fingers.

He brought her wrist toward him and met her wide, glassy gaze. “Whatever happens next,” he said with soft intensity, “you will not leave this world in a ditch.”

A tear beaded on Perla’s lashes and spilled down her cheek. Then she raised her chin and nodded. And I knew she was facing this danger as she had faced all others: with courage and resolve.

Newfound respect glimmered in Goren’s expression before he looked toward the band.

“Thirty seconds,” I said softly.

Goren clenched his jaw, and the world seemed to muffle around us. Perla’s free hand latched onto mine, squeezing tight. I squeezed back, holding my breath as her oath band began emitting a higher, frantic whine.

Though I couldn’t see Goren’s specter, I knew the moment he fed it into the lock of Perla’s oath band. Because the mechanical whirring stuttered. Paused.

Perla’s grip tightened, crushing my hand. We stood rigid, waiting in horror for her blood to pour from under the steel.

Then a loud click sounded.

A ragged breath rushed from Perla’s lips, and I knew she must have recognized the sound before we did.