Page 122 of Of Sword & Silver

“Absolutely not, Kyrie, you need us there with you after the ritual,” Lara says.

“Lara’s right,” Caedia agrees. “We need to be there. You’re sick, and you’re hurt, and you will need help. That’s a big magic.”

“We don’t even know what the ritual is?—”

“I do,” the Sword says, and hatred fills the two words.

I flinch, confused and tired. My lungs burn, and a cough sputters from me, then more.

“We are running out of time, Kyrie,” he says in quieter voice. “We have to move.”

“They’re approaching Nyzbern,” Lara says darkly. “The sisters will find us. We need to lead them away. You and Kyrie need time to complete the ritual.”

“We’ll lead them away,” Morrow confirms. “They’ll be safe.”

“How? How do they even know where we are?” I’m missing something. The curse is clouding my brain, the wound on my head making it worse. I’m so gods damned tired.

“The, uh… the magic we used—” Caedia falters, looking to the Sword for guidance.

“The necromantic magic I used for the corpses in the barrels was like lighting a signal fire,” he finishes for her. “That’s not a normal spell.”

“So they are after you, not me.” That makes sense, considering he murdered a whole bunch of my so-called sisters.

“They are after us both,” he says shortly.

A cough rips through me, my lungs on fire. Then another, and another, until I’m gasping for air. Stars wink in front of my eyes.

“Give her this three times a day,” Caedia says, though she sounds far off. “This will help her sleep. This one is for her head injury. You need to hurry—the curse, it shouldn’t be progressing this fast.”

“More time was never an option,” the Sword says.

I blink, trying to scatter the dots swimming in my field of vision because I can’t make sense of what he’s saying.

“Here,” Lara says, and I stand unsteadily while she helps me tug on my old faithful leather trousers.

“I don’t want to leave the gown,” I say plaintively. My teeth chatter, and I’m shivering as Caedia and Lara both work to get the white dress off and replace it with the soft chemise. “Please,” I add.

“That’s how I know you’re feeling terrible,” Lara tells me. I think she’s smiling, but focusing doesn’t feel great. I swallow against the bile rising from the effort. “You’re being polite.”

“Here.” Caedia gently stuffs my head through a thick wool sweater, and I obediently put my arms through like a sullen toddler.

I close my eyes, and a memory floats to the surface: my little brothers giggling furiously when I tried to help my mother dress them for the day. The softness of their round cheeks, their chubby hands and wrists.

“They’re gone,” I say sadly, opening my eyes.

They’ll never know what it’s like to ride a horse through a snowstorm, or drunkenly laugh with their friends by a roaring fireplace.

“Or fall in love,” I say out loud.

Lara’s watching me through slitted eyes as she ties the green cloak she loaned me all those weeks ago.

“Caedia, can you do anything else for her head?”

“Did I ever tell you about my baby brothers?” I ask her.

Caedia’s fingers flutter over my cheeks, luna moth light, green-tinged and every bit as delicate. I look at Lara, my heart in my throat.

“I miss them. They were just babies, and they had them killed. They killed them all.”

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