The gun fired and Frost gasped and covered her ears, ducking instinctively and clenching her eyes shut. Holy shit, holy shit! She had heard of Connlaothians and their firearms...but what was that glow? And though she had heard of them, she had never seen such a weapon in action.
And now she fully understood why they were so terrifying.
She scrambled back away from him until her back bumped up against a desk. The slaves were fleeing, and she desperately wanted to be one of them. Why was he letting them go? Did he only want her?
And then he turned and assured her that he was bad—but not him.
As it turned out, it was true.
He was so much worse.
While he confronted the Essyrni man, Frost grabbed onto the edge of the desk, grit her teeth, and hauled herself to her feet, biting her lip so she didn't gasp in pain. Come on, she could do it. Freedom was right there. Quickly, while they were both distracted. But she was exhausted from lack of food and injury alike, and her legs were shaking too badly from both, and—
Another gunshot rang out, making her ears ring and body flinch, her heart leaping into her throat. She twisted around to look.
Right as the Essyrni man crumpled.
Frost stared at the dead man, body locked up and frozen, and then lifted her eyes to the wall painted red behind him.
No, not just red.
There were pink chunks among the red, fragments of white stuck in the blood, and...oh gods...oh gods...Frost realized she was staring at blood and bone and brain as the man's dead body still twitched—
He killed him. Oh gods, he killed him...
And suddenly she felt too cold, and the sounds all around her felt so far away, like they were coming to her through a tunnel as the edges of her vision blackened. There was a ringing sound, and the sound of a frantic drum in her ears, but everything else faded to nothing. She had never seen someone die, never seen someone's head get turned inside out, never seen or smelled so much blood...her hands and feet tingled, breathing became too hard—
The world tilted then went black as her eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped bonelessly to the ground.
And now she fully understood why they were so terrifying.
She scrambled back away from him until her back bumped up against a desk. The slaves were fleeing, and she desperately wanted to be one of them. Why was he letting them go? Did he only want her?
And then he turned and assured her that he was bad—but not him.
As it turned out, it was true.
He was so much worse.
While he confronted the Essyrni man, Frost grabbed onto the edge of the desk, grit her teeth, and hauled herself to her feet, biting her lip so she didn't gasp in pain. Come on, she could do it. Freedom was right there. Quickly, while they were both distracted. But she was exhausted from lack of food and injury alike, and her legs were shaking too badly from both, and—
Another gunshot rang out, making her ears ring and body flinch, her heart leaping into her throat. She twisted around to look.
Right as the Essyrni man crumpled.
Frost stared at the dead man, body locked up and frozen, and then lifted her eyes to the wall painted red behind him.
No, not just red.
There were pink chunks among the red, fragments of white stuck in the blood, and...oh gods...oh gods...Frost realized she was staring at blood and bone and brain as the man's dead body still twitched—
He killed him. Oh gods, he killed him...
And suddenly she felt too cold, and the sounds all around her felt so far away, like they were coming to her through a tunnel as the edges of her vision blackened. There was a ringing sound, and the sound of a frantic drum in her ears, but everything else faded to nothing. She had never seen someone die, never seen someone's head get turned inside out, never seen or smelled so much blood...her hands and feet tingled, breathing became too hard—
The world tilted then went black as her eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped bonelessly to the ground.