Page 29 of Of Sword & Silver

He stands up and I tense because gods damn it, I wasn’t lying. He is the muscle, and I probably shouldn’t needle him because he’s fucking huge.

My hands are on my dagger handles in a flash, but he’s even faster, moving before I realize it, before I can react.

Quick as thought.

Not human.

His hand raises and I flinch, thinking he’s going to hit me—but the direcat’s there first. One huge paw slams down on the Sword’s shoulder, sending him sprawling back towards the matte black rock. Blood trickles from his arm where the cat must have caught him with a claw, and he lies there for a moment, watching it puddle onto the surface.

I exhale. Was he going to hit me?

Did the cat just keep him from doing it?

No. He wouldn’t have hit me—he swore an oath, the oldest of vows, not to hurt me.

Heat crawls up my chest.

He was going to touch me, though. I know that as surely as I can see the crimson blood pooling on the surface of the stone in front of the cave.

Why was he going to touch me?

Why does the thought of him touching me make me hot all over?

Probably because he’s the worst.

I toss my braid over my shoulder, scowling down at him. “Good kitty,” I croon at the direcat.

“Good cat, indeed,” the Sword echoes. “Look.”

The entrance of the cave shimmers slightly, like a heat wave on the hottest day of summer. Which makes no sense, considering it’s freezing. My throat tightens, the magic spilling over me as the shimmer disappears.

He stands, wiping the blood with his ragged shirt, which really, I can’t see the point of, but who am I to help him at this point? “Blood ward. I forgot…”

“Training your mind is as important as training your muscles, Sword,” I say blithely. “Are you going to tell me now why we’re going in this warded cave? Or did you want me to make you bleed more, just to make sure the spells are happy with what you’ve offered?”

He regards me for a long moment because, apparently, that’s his whole annoying schtick.

“To commune with the dead.” He pronounces it with the air of someone who thinks they’ve just let me in on the secrets of the world.

I bark a laugh. “Oh, great. Excited for this. What’s not to love? Someone with the personality of a corpse talking to their counterparts.” I rub my hands together. “Are you going to share secret recipes? Gossip from beyond the veil? Find a way to break your vows to me?”

He blows out a low, long breath, and I suspect I’ve finally truly gotten on his nerves by being unimpressed. Wonderful.

“By the end of this, you’ll wish it was the latter, Silver Tongue, but I’m not an oath-breaker.”

“For someone who acts like they’re above it all, you really do enjoy shoving my rare talent down my throat as often as possible. I have a name, you know.”

“I think you like having things shoved down your throat.”

I let out a shocked laugh because—“Did you just make a sex joke? There’s hope for you yet, oh terrifying Sword of Death.”

It’s obvious from the color rising on his cheeks that he didn’t, in fact, mean to make a sex joke, but his embarrassment just makes it that much funnier.

“Stop. Talking,” he grits out, and I laugh again, beyond pleased with myself that I’ve gotten under his skin.

“Absolutely not. No. You opened the door on sex jokes, turnabout’s fair play.” I wink at him outrageously, and his lip curls as he growls—growls—low in his chest.

“Is that the noise you make when you shove your sword down someone’s throat? Or is that the noise you use to commune with the dead?” I pitch my voice lower in an excellent mockery of his voice, if I do say so myself. And I do.

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