Page 108 of Of Sword & Silver

“I know. You’re going to have the whole of Nyzbern eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Until you walk in,” she scoffs.

“As the bait,” I say quietly.

A moment of silence passes between us.

“I’ve never seen you nervous about stealing something.”

“I feel like I’ve missed something, Lara. I don’t know what. I know Alaric’s palace, we have the updated blueprints, and I’ve planned it as much as I could possibly plan.” I bite my lip, my hands holding the towel over my body.

She cocks her head at me. “Are you sure it’s something about tonight you’re missing? Or is it something else?”

The question turns me cold all over. “What do you mean?”

“Just that maybe you’re looking for something to be wrong because so little has gone right for you.”

I glance at her sidelong. I don’t think that’s what she meant, not at all. But I know Lara, and I know that once she’s decided to be cryptic, she’s going to be cryptic for as long as she wants.

“Help me get dressed?” I ask her instead. I don’t want what could be my last moments with her tarnished by trying to interrogate her.

I’d rather pretend we were getting dressed up to go have fun at a ball, instead of getting dressed up to put everyone I’ve come to care about in danger.

It doesn’t take too long to put on the dress, with Lara’s help, at least.

I smooth my hands down the full skirt, adjusting the sheer tulle sleeves whose only purpose is to be another vehicle for the gems adorning the dress.

“Not too bad,” Lara says.

“It better be good enough.” I sigh, fluffing my curls.

“Everyone is ready,” she says softly, adjusting the bejeweled sleeve. “Are you ready?”

I inhale, closing my eyes. I would pray, if there were only a god who would listen.

I open my eyes instead.

I’ve never been the praying type.

“I’m ready,” I tell her.

She smiles, buoyed by the confidence in my voice.

It’s a silver-tongued lie.

39

THE SWORD

Morrow, Caedia and I wait at the entrance to Dario’s house for everyone else to emerge. My silver mask hides the upper half of my face, but in the black and silver-threaded finery, I feel exposed.

This is not the armor and grime I’ve accustomed myself to over the last half century.

“Stop fidgeting,” Caedia tells Morrow, who looks as uncomfortable as I feel, clothed in red and gold, a red domino across his eyes.

“Why, you two oafs nearly look presentable,” Dario calls out, heading towards us from the far hallway.

I cock an eyebrow at the word oaf, but Dario is far from worth any additional effort on my behalf.

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