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She’d gone missing the night before the empress had left.
Agatha.
“No,” I breathed. She had taken Agatha. She had taken her—but she’d wanted me. “No, no, no.”
The wind and rain slashed at me, roaring as loud as the blood in my ears. I could just hear Nemea’s strained chuckle rise up from his sprawled, soaked body.
“You’ve lost, haven’t you?” he asked in a shaking voice. “Did you just realize?”
I pushed the sword tip down and held it firm against his neck. The next pitch of the ship, the next crashing wave, would send it straight through him. He sobered. Raised his hands in surrender.
But I didn’t wait for the next roll of the ship. The raging storm and lurching vessel would not be the executor of his fate.
I would.
I shoved the sword down. I felt it crunch through the tough pieces in his neck. I felt when it hit the bones of his spine, when it hit the wood beneath him.
I was grateful for the shroud of night.
I released the sword. Stumbled backward. Fell to my knees and vomited.