My arms were pinned underneath my chest, and Camellia was straddling my back, both of her hands slamming my face into the dirt.
“Stay down,” she gritted out between attacks. “Stop fighting.”
I wouldn’t on either account. Never. I would fight her until my very last breath if it came to that.
Finding the energy somewhere inside of myself, I took as deep a breath as was possible and then threw my weight back as hard as I could. It didn’t earn me much mobility, but it was enough movement to knock Camellia back for a second and free my arms. And once that was done, I twisted so I was resting painfully on one hip against the cold ground.
Camellia was still straddling my lower body, but I realized she was reaching for something, her arms extended over my head. When I looked up, I saw a rock half-buried in the dirt.
Her weapon.
We were both searching for a weapon, and now, life and death depended on who reached their weapon first. I determined it would be me.
While her weight was shifted forward, I tucked my legs up and reached under my skirts. It was difficult to manipulate the frozen fabric, but I shoved it up until I felt the sopping wet leather straps of the belt around my leg.
I tried to pull the knife free, but the belt was too tight and the blade was too wet. If I wanted it, I would have to undo the buckle first. It wasn’t until my fingers were needed for this delicate task that I realized how cold they were. I fussed with the belt buckle, willing my finger joints to loosen and cooperate.
I tried not to focus on Camellia for a moment. Her knee was driving into my stomach while she dug in the dirt to free the rock, but I kept my mind on the task: loosening the knife.
I nearly gasped with relief when the belt unbuckled and the knife slipped free. The blade clattered against the metal buckle and then fell to the dirt. For one agonizing second, I thought I’d lost it in the dirt, but then my hand wrapped around the wooden handle, and I allowed myself to hope.
Just as I brought the knife up, Camellia sat up.
There was only a brief second for me to take in the large rock held above her head and the dirt still falling from it, washing over me like a dirty rain.
There was only a flash of awareness that she planned to bring it down on my head and end my life before I lifted my arm and slashed out at her.
Camellia screamed sharp and strong, louder than I ever could have screamed, and I prayed the wind would be on my side. I prayed someone in the house would hear her and come to find me because, despite it all, I did not want to kill Camellia Cresswell.
She was clearly insane. Heartbroken and lost, and I did not want to be the person who ended her life.
Blood poured from a cut across her nose and cheek, and Camellia dabbed at it with one hand before she gritted her teeth and lifted the rock again. Her arms came down, and I twisted hard to the side, barely dodging the blow.
I felt the impact of the rock in the dirt next to me and, twisted the way I was, I couldn’t see where I was aiming when I brought the blade around a second time. But I could feel the grating of bone against the metal.
Camellia gasped and screamed again, but this time, she fell backwards.
I scrambled away from her, rising to sit up so I could see her holding a growing spot of red just above her heart.
“Stop, please,” I said, breathless. “No one has to die.”
She seemed stunned by her wound, but my words awoke something in her. The coldness I’d seen in her eyes before returned, and she lowered her hands, no longer worried about her wound and how she would explain her cuts and scrapes to everyone inside the house. Camellia didn’t seem to care about anything at all except for killing me.
She flipped onto her knees and crawled towards me with malice on her face, her vision so red and murderous she didn’t notice when I picked up the rock she’d been wielding only a moment before.
It was only when she was within arm’s reach and I began to swing down that Camellia’s eyes widened with panic.
Then, the rock connected with her forehead, and her eyes closed.
She fell flat in the dirt with a limp thud and didn’t move again.
16
I was still staring at Camellia’s limp body in the dirt when I heard footsteps.
Adrenaline still pumping through me, I jumped to my feet and braced myself for another attack, unsure if Camellia had recruited help or not.
I didn’t think I had it in me to fight anymore, but whatever was coming for me, I wouldn’t meet it lying down.
“Who is it?” I shouted, voice raspy and dry with thirst.
“Alice?”
I recognized the voice as Margaret Wilds’ immediately. A second later, she walked through the trees to confirm it, Abigail just behind her. When she saw me, her eyes went wide.
“Dear girl, what has happened?” She looked at the rock in my hand and then down at Camellia on the ground. Her brow furrowed. “I assume you had a good reason for attacking her?”
“She tried to kill me,” I said flatly. “And nearly succeeded.”
This must have been a good enough explanation because Margaret nodded and then walked into the clearing, waving a hand at me. “Put down that rock. No one will hurt you now.”
“How can I be sure you won’t?”
I knew what strange business they’d been doing tonight, and I knew they’d been doing it much too far away to have heard Camellia’s or my screams.
“Because we came to help you,” Abigail said sharply, having no patience for my questions. “A cloud covered
