She knew the guards were there ahead, but somehow all else faded from view, and she ran through a dark tunnel. She heard herself yell something, she knew not what, as though the empty place inside had a voice of its own. Somewhere in the middle of the hall she met up with the two guards. One of them, bigger and uglier, bent his head and drove it toward her belly. She fixed on his greasy hair and felt revulsion as his head burrowed into her stomach. Air exploded from her chest and sparks ignited behind her eyes. She felt herself lift up, up, and over the guard, watched the frescoed ceiling pass under her, and wondered at such beauty and such ugliness in the same place. She hit the marble hall, dragged in one ragged breath, then remembered her training, leaped to her feet, and whirled to face them. Her hand went instinctively to the dagger under her robe, and she said a quick prayer of thanks it had not punctured anything in the fall. It was slick and cold in her hand but felt like a caress.
