Powerless (The Powerless Trilogy)

The blade finds its target, guided there by my hatred, my heartbreak, my heartlessness. It sinks into the center of his throat, instantly ceasing his raspy breaths.

I’m shaking all over, staring at the corpse of a killer who’s staring back at the creature who just became one.

The king’s head is lolled to the side with my father’s dagger lodged in his throat, his eyes wide and watchful. A tear slips down my cheek, mingling with the beads of rainwater rolling down my face. I wipe it away with bloody hands, unsure why I feel like crying.

Is it regret?

No. Not regret. Not remorse. Not anything remotely close to guilt.

It’s relief.

I take an unsteady step towards him, intending to grab my dagger and bolt.

Something catches my eye.

I spin towards the movement despite my body screaming in protest. My eyes land on glossy, unblinking ones. The girl is small with dark skin and even darker hair. She blinks, her eyes clearing before a look of horror settles on her face.

And then she’s sprinting.

A Sight.

I blink in the rain, staring after the retreating form of the girl who likely just recorded me killing the king. I barely have time to process this before I hear heavy footsteps echoing down the stone tunnel to my right.

I hesitate.

My dagger.

I need it. I have to have it. I—

Whoever is heading through that tunnel is coming fast. I need to get out of here now. I have no idea whether this person is friend or foe, and I have no intention of finding out.

I don’t have a moment to spare. Not a single second to grab my prized possession, and my breaking heart is my most painful wound right now.

Then I’m running.

Every part of me is on fire. My body is screaming, streaked with blood, staggering with weakness. But I can’t stop. Once I make it farther down the road, there will be woods to my right and—

A knife whizzes past me, skimming my forearm with its sharp blade.

I whip my head around and stumble to a stop at what I see.

Every bit of his body is covered in blood. His hair is a mess of inky waves, sticky with sweat and streaked with blood. A thin blade is gripped between his fingers, his hand raised and ready to send it flying towards me.

And something snaps into place at the sight of him.

I’m suddenly back in my old home, hidden behind a cracked door as I watch a sword plunge into my father’s chest. The sword held by a boy with wavy black hair, a boy with gray eyes full of fear, a boy who just became a murderer.

I shudder as my eyes sweep over that same black hair, those same gray eyes, and the same murderer before me. The sight of him now suddenly has the memory of that night clearer than it ever has been before.

Pieces of the puzzle that is my scattered memory begin to fall into place.

That night so long ago, my mind made me believe it was the king who killed my father, made me blame the man I already hated. And in a way, it was the king who killed him, just not by his own hand. It was his son who sunk the blade into my father’s chest.

My breath shudders as I stare at him.

It suddenly all makes sense.

The attraction. The connection. The familiarity. I was so easily drawn to him because deep down I knew him, recognized him, remembered him. He was familiar to me.

And now my father’s murderer is going to murder me.

We stare at each other, and I see the boy who’s been the king’s instrument of death his entire life, commanded and controlled to be a killer. He was made this way. Made to mirror the monster his father is—was.

But that doesn’t make him any less a murderer.

It’s his eyes that are more startling than his ragged, enraged appearance. That gray gaze is like smoke billowing from the hottest fire, and yet, cold like chips of ice, piercing like the tips of icicles. Those eyes betray the horror he feels, looking like they did the night I saw him take his first life.

I did this to him. I killed his father.

But he killed mine first.

He knows what I’ve done. I doubt he would forget the distinct look of the dagger I’ve pressed against his throat so many times—the same dagger that is now protruding from his father’s throat.

And yet, his knife missed me.

Kai doesn’t miss. Not unless he wants to.

“What have you done to me?”

His words are almost lost in the storm, but they chill me to the bone more than the streaming rain ever could. I’ve heard those exact words fall from his lips before, when they were brushing my own. I’ve felt this rain cool my heated skin when we were inches apart. I’ve had his gray gaze on me before—when it was heavy with heat rather than hatred.

“My pretty Pae, what have you done to me?”

How can a single moment mirror another in such a morbid way? Was it only yesterday that his lips formed those words with longing, and today with loathing?

But the only similarities between last night and this moment are the fire and fortitude of feelings filling his eyes. With his mask gone, he’s unguarded, allowing me to clearly glimpse the grief gracing his features.

His hand holding the knife, ready to strike, shakes in the air. I can almost see the pieces falling together in his mind, the realization of what I am and what I’ve done snapping into place.

He cocks his arm back further, ready to bury his blade in my chest. My eyes flutter shut, and I plant my feet, accepting my fate.

I hurt. Everything hurts. Maybe I deserve this death. Maybe I even desire it—

My pitiful thoughts are interrupted by a strangled cry of frustration that has my eyes flying open. Kai’s hands are dragging through his hair, his head bowed. When his eyes finally meet mine, cutting through the rain and distance separating us, I see the battle raging within them.

He knows what he needs to do, and yet he isn’t.

Kai’s voice trembles like his hands. “I should bury this blade in your throat.”

And he could easily do it too. I have no weapons, no will, no energy to try and stop him.

My voice sounds as ragged as I feel. “Then do it.”

He’s shaking his head at me, looking just as disgusted with himself as he is with me. “I will. I should.”

He grimaces as he grips the dagger aimed right at me. Another frustrated sound tears from his throat. He runs both bloody hands through his hair, shaking his head at the ground.

“Then why can’t I do it?” Now he’s staring at the weapon in his hand, at the weapon he could easily take my life with. “Why is it that when it comes to you, I’m suddenly a coward? Why is it that when it comes to you, I suddenly care? Why is it that I can’t throw this damn knife at my father’s killer!?”

His chest is rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath. I, on the other hand, think I’ve stopped breathing altogether when he says, “I told you I was a fool for you, and it seems I was right.” His laugh is biting. “I’m a fool when it comes to you.”

The next words out of his mouth are damning yet deceptively calm. “Maybe when I rid myself of you, I’ll find my courage. So I’m giving you a head start.”

I blink at him. My feet seem to be rooted to the spot. I don’t move an inch, too shocked and startled to do anything but stare.

“At least you kept your promise. You stayed alive long enough to stab me in the back.” He laughs bitterly, remembering the attack after the first ball when I tended to his wound. “And now I promise to return the favor.” His voice strains with emotion. “Run, Paedyn. Because when I catch you, I will not miss. I will not falter. I will not make the mistake of feeling for you.”

I’m frozen, still standing in the freezing rain.

“Go!” he yells, his voice breaking. “Go before I find someone who isn’t a coward, someone who isn’t a fool, and let them bury this dagger in your back right here, right now.”

I stumble, tripping over uneven ground before turning away from him. And then I’m running again like I’ve found myself doing all day, all my life. I throw a glance over my shoulder, glimpsing Kai dropping to his knees beside the king with his eyes trained on me.

I swallow the emotions clawing their way up my throat, threatening to leak from my stinging eyes.

I don’t look back.