I took it from him this time, letting him go so he fell on the ground. Cyrano lay before me, panting, and I hoped this meant the fight was over. In the background, I heard Linnea crying and demanding to know why he would do this.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the spare dagger in his boot.

“Drop it,” I commanded, and his hard blue eyes were locked on mine. He had to know I meant it, but there was a determined mania in his gaze that I didn’t understand.

He slowly got up, still holding the dagger, so I repeated, “Drop it.”

“Cyrano!” Mikko’s voice boomed from somewhere behind me. “Do as she says!”

“I’d like her to make me,” Cyrano snarled, and then he lunged at me.

In my days of training as a tracker, I had run a sword through hundreds of dummies. They were built to have the same feel as a troll, so we’d know how much resistance a body would give and how much force we’d need to get the sword through.

Still, I can’t explain how different it felt, or even what the difference was, when I pushed the blade straight through Cyrano. It was easier than I expected—the flesh gave way, and when the bell of the sword handle pressed against his stomach, I felt the warmth of his blood as it spilled over.

The only light came from a desk lamp, casting too much of the room in shadows. Everything seemed to have an eerie, yellow hue to it, thanks to the way the light played off the reflective glass and the water outside.

We had turned, so the window was behind me, and the light bounced onto Cyrano’s face. It cast a shadow across his mouth and body, but his eyes were wide and I could see the yellow dancing in them, like fiery waves.

His eyes stayed locked on me still, filled with that strange mania. Not until the final seconds, when I was lowering him back to the ground and pulling the sword out of him, did the frenzied look finally give way. A glassy peace seemed to come over him, and he was dead.

Linnea ran over to Cyrano’s body, pounding on his chest and screaming, demanding why he’d want to hurt her husband. She’d never been anything but kind to him. How could he betray her like this?

Her words eventually seemed to fade away, becoming a distant foggy sound, like something from a dream. Mikko came over and pulled her off.

I don’t remember letting go of the sword, but I remember the sound it made, clattering against the floor. I didn’t move or speak until Bayle Lundeen came in, asking me questions.

I answered them as directly and simply as I could, but the words felt detached from me, as if they were coming from someone else. It was my voice, it was the truth about what I’d done, but it wasn’t me.

Nobody told me that I was acting strangely or that I didn’t seem present, so I must’ve been performing normally. I have no idea how long I talked to Bayle and King Mikko. It might have been minutes. It might have been an hour.

Eventually, Kasper came and took me back to my room. He suggested I shower, since I had Cyrano’s blood all over me, and then he headed back upstairs, promising to help with the investigation.

The shower lasted a very long time. I know this because it started out hot, but when I’d finished, the water was icy cold. I walked across the hall from the bathroom, wearing only a white robe. I’d thrown my clothes away in the trash can. I didn’t need them anymore.

When I went into my room, I still felt vaguely as though I was in a dream. I just couldn’t seem to feel my body. It was as if I were floating above everything, not a part of this world, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to be a ghost.

“Bryn?” Kennet asked, and I looked over to see him sitting on my bed. His usual smile was gone, and his eyes were dark.

“How long have you been there?” I asked.

“Long enough,” he said, like I would know what that meant, and he stood up so he could walk closer to me. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, and I wasn’t sure I had the ability to lie right then. It seemed out of the realm of my abilities to make things up. “I just killed a man.”

“I know.”

I waited a beat before adding, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

It was so much simpler than I expected. Taking a life seemed like it should be a much greater challenge, but my sword had gone through him just like it would through anything else. And then he was dead.

There was a weight to that that I hadn’t expected. No amount of training or even belief that I had done the right thing could change the way it felt. A man had been alive. Now he wasn’t. And it was because of me.

“You were doing your job, what you needed to do,” Kennet said. “That’s why I came here. To thank you for saving my brother’s life.”

“Is the King okay?”

I tried to collect myself, realizing that I had a job to do. I was a tracker. I’d been training for years to do what I’d just done. I just needed to get through the shock of it all.

“Yes, he’s fine, thanks to you.” Kennet smiled. “Mikko wanted me to extend his gratitude to you, and I’m certain he’ll do it personally later on. He thought you might need time to collect yourself.”

“No, I’m fine.” I brushed my fingers through my tangles of wet hair and turned, walking away from Kennet and toward the window. It was still daylight out, and a few rays of light managed to break through the murky water. “I’ll do whatever they need me to do.”

“No one needs you to do anything right now.” Kennet followed me, his steps measured to match my slow place, before stopping behind me. “The King has given you the night off to do as you wish.”