“Fine.”
Thorne’s eyes widened. He stepped off the overhang. With a cry, he threw up his arms—one wrist still bound, the opposite hand gripping the kitchen knife he’d swiped from the mansion. Gasping, his arms cartwheeled, his balance precarious.
Cinder dropped her weapons and rushed toward him.
Thorne fell—throwing his body forward at the last minute. One hand grabbed the ledge. He grunted. Cinder dove.
Levana leaned forward.
Thorne’s fingers let go, just in time for Cinder to reach over the edge and latch on to his arm. Her injured shoulder screamed, but she held tight.
Thorne looked up at her, and it was by far the most fear she’d ever known him to reveal. “Thanks,” he panted. Then his free hand swung upward, punching Cinder on the jaw. She flinched, ducking away without letting go.
“Sorry! That’s not me.”
“I know,” she grunted. Planting her other hand on the floor, she pushed herself backward, dragging Thorne with her until his torso was on the ledge, his feet scrabbling for purchase. She dared not let go, even as he shoved his body onto the floor.
Cinder knew that the second she let go of him, Levana would send him careening to his death again.
Too late, it occurred to her that he’d actually managed to get out of his bindings. He must’ve spent the whole time she was arguing with Levana trying to work himself free. The fall might not have killed him, and with his arms free he’d have been able to swim. But now he was—
Thorne jabbed the knife into her thigh.
Cinder screamed.
“Still not me,” he said, breathless, as his fist ripped the knife back out. He raised his arm overhead, preparing to stab her again.
Cinder tackled him, knocking the knife out of his grip.
Thorne threw his elbow into her throat. The air left her, white spots flecking her vision. Thorne scrambled away, but he didn’t run back to the ledge.
Wrapping a hand around her throat, Cinder massaged the muscles, urging them to take in air again. Still dizzy, she forced herself onto her wobbling legs, ready to lunge at Thorne again.
She heard the click of a gun’s safety being released.
She froze. Thorne had gone a lot farther than she’d expected and now he was standing near the room’s entrance, holding the knife and gun she’d dropped when she’d tried to save him. The barrel of the gun was aimed at her head.
Cinder swayed. Stumbled once. Regained her footing.
A gunshot echoed off the room’s stone walls. Cinder recoiled, expecting a jolt of pain, but instead she heard a bellowed curse. The gun Thorne had grabbed skittered across the floor. Cinder shook away the light-headedness and gawked at Thorne, who was in turn staring, horrified, at his hand. His arm was still raised, but his hand was now empty and covered in blood.
“I’m sorry!” Cress cried. She was on the floor against the doorway, struggling to get back up. The kickback had knocked her off balance. “I’m sorry, Captain!”
Thorne cursed again. Sweat was beading on his brow. But when he looked at Cress, jaw hanging, he bit back the pain and shouted, “Nice shot!”
“Cress,” Cinder croaked. “The queen, Cress. Shoot the queen!”
Though Cress whimpered, she did change her aim, leveling the gun at Levana.
Cinder ran for the gun that had been shot from Thorne’s hand.
Thorne ran too, yanking Cress’s attention back to him. In one movement, he knocked Cress’s arm up with his elbow while simultaneously, with his noninjured hand, driving the knife into her stomach, burying it to the hilt.
Cinder snatched her gun off the floor. Cress dropped hers. Blood seeped through her dress. She gaped up at Thorne and it was impossible to tell which of them was filled with more horror. Thorne’s hand was still wrapped around the knife’s hilt.
Turning toward the throne, Cinder fired, but Levana threw herself to the floor and the bullet ricocheted off the carved back of the throne. As Cinder loaded another bullet into the chamber, Levana scrambled off the floor, slipping on her billowing skirt as she pulled herself behind the throne. Cinder fired again, barely missing the queen’s leg as she disappeared.
“No,” Cress gasped.
A searing pain sliced through Cinder’s side. She collapsed onto her hands and knees. Flopping onto her back, she pushed herself away, one hand pressed against the wound. Thorne stood over her, gripping the knife. Cress was dangling from his arm in an attempt to pull him away, but he was too strong and she was trying to keep one hand on her stomach wound. Her entire front was already covered in blood.
“I’m sorry,” Thorne sobbed. All signs of his usual confidence were gone. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
Cress bit him then, digging her teeth into the flesh of his hand in an attempt to get him to release the knife. He stifled a scream behind his teeth, but didn’t let go.
Snatching the gun again, Cinder launched herself off the floor, trying to wrestle the knife out of Thorne’s grip. With a grunt, she planted a foot on his chest and kicked, ripping the knife away. He fell back, catching one of the audience chairs between his shoulders. His face barely registered the pain. His actions were becoming less graceful, more stilted.
Maybe because of his injuries, but more likely because Levana was growing too tired to go on controlling him.
Cress collapsed to her knees, clutching her stomach. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Cinder…”
Cinder stood over them, the gun in her left hand and the blood-slicked knife in her right, every muscle trembling.