Page 124 of Of Sword & Silver

I will do anything to keep her from them—but her fate has been sealed since her lips touched the chalice.

I’ve changed mounts twice by the time we stop, riding through the day and most of the night. The two horses and Mushroom are spent, blowing air and stumbling too much to press on.

I would run them to the ground were it not for Kyrie’s soft heart and love for the creatures.

What I must do weighs heavily on me.

I won’t waste Kyrie’s good feelings towards me on hurting our mounts, not when I’m going to need every ounce of her trust to ensure what must happen comes to fruition.

Slowly, I dismount, hefting Kyrie’s slight weight off the horse, who whickers in tired appreciation. The noise of the River Blanst is a fast rush in the near distance.

The direcat, Filarion, strides out from the scrubby underbrush. He flops down on the rocky shoreline, lapping at the water while managing to shoot me a look of pure disdain at the same time.

“Sorry, friend,” I murmur. “Speed was the best option.”

I do my best to lay Kyrie alongside the big cat, spreading one of the blankets out beneath her.

I’m stiff all over, but there’s no time to rest. Not now, not when so little time remains.

The horses are spent, though, and I take my time relieving them of their tack and cleaning the worst of their lather off, massaging their sore muscles. They drink well from the river, and once they start in on the good-quality hay I bundled onto the pack mule in Nyzbern, I relax slightly.

The horses will survive.

The thought has me glancing to Kyrie, who twitches in her sleep, her slim thieves’ hands curling into Filarion’s thick grey-brown fur.

She moans and I’m back at her side in an instant, Caedia’s potions in my hands.

“Drink,” I tell her, helping her sit up and forcing the bitter-smelling herbal blend down her throat.

“Sword.” She opens her eyes, the green in them standing out against the stark greys and whites and blues of this branch of Chast river country. “Tell me your real name. Tell me your story.”

My heart hurts. I clear my throat, smoothing a curl off her forehead, and she blinks sleepily up at me. “What do you want to know?” I ask, my voice hoarse from a day and half a night of riding and the fear that kept trying to claw itself out of me.

“Everything,” she says simply.

I can’t tell her everything.

I can’t even tell her my real name.

Not yet.

“Soon,” I murmur instead, still caressing her forehead, unable to keep my hands from her. “Soon, you will know everything. But for now, sleep.”

“Hold me,” she commands.

“I can do that,” I tell her. “It’s the least I can do.”

Holding her will be a memory I treasure forever, even when she looks at me with disgust at the depths of my betrayal.

But I hold her and she sleeps, and I listen to the river rushing over rocks, knowing our fate will never be different.

45

KYRIE

My mouth feels like I ate dirt. I splutter, sitting up fast, too fast, if the splitting ache in my head is any indication of my poorly chosen speed.

“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes widening as I take in my surroundings.

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