Page 117 of Of Sword & Silver

“I knew you’d be back,” he says, creeping closer, running his fingers along the statue I just stole the crown from, so damned sure of himself. “I knew it, and as soon as I saw you, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming down here. Of course, your little dryad running to me to tattle helped. Then it was just a matter of getting here before you.”

“I like my currency in gold,” Caedia tells him, clearly enjoying herself.

I exhale noisily, my stomach churning with nerves. Dark vines crack the mortar of the stones in the corners and I try not to notice them as they slowly, slowly slip along the floor like snakes.

“Give me the crown,” Alaric says.

“No.” Stubborn to the end.

“You think you can charm your way out of this?”

“That is sort of my whole… thing.” I stumble over the word. Alaric’s gaze darts to the space behind me and I realize how badly this could turn out in the blink of an eye.

He has guards in here, and they’ve outflanked me.

I swallow. I knew this could happen, I knew it was a possibility.

“You can’t charm me.” He holds up a coin, one from the Sisters of Sola themselves, those interfering assholes. “This is enchanted to protect against your power.”

“Do your guards all have one?” I ask. “It would really be a shame if I used it on them, wouldn’t it?” It’s a bluff. I’m exhausted from the curse and from draining my power on the entrance to the treasury.

The ground above shakes twice. The signal the Sword and I decided on.

Alaric looks mildly bored.

“Give him the crown, or we’ll take it off your severed head,” one of the guards behind me intones. “Sola’s sisters will pay handsomely for the return of your corpse along with the crown.”

Caedia squeaks in terror and the vines keep pressing onward, towards where Alaric stands. I force myself to look away.

“Alaric, that’s just gruesome.” I wince. “I didn’t mean to slice your neck, you know. You just… got in the way a little.”

His fingers go to it, his eyes narrowed. “I think it adds to my charm.”

“Very debonair,” Caedia improvises.

We both stop and look at her.

She grins. The vines keep creeping towards Alaric.

“Give me the crown, Kyrie.” Alaric’s eyes narrow. “No, wait, don’t?—”

Something hard crashes into the side of my head, and the world goes black.

42

THE SWORD

Igive the signal, and I stare down the trio of men trying their best to fight me.

Laughable.

Then Kyrie cries out, a sound so sharp and full of pain that it reverberates through my soul. Rage fills me up and I growl at the humans panting in front of me.

Our souls are already tethered.

My magic unspools, darkness feathering from my fingers in a torrent that turns the men who attempt to fight me pale with dread.

“Leave this place if you want to keep your souls,” I rasp.

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