Page 34 of Of Sword & Silver

The wode light he conjured is strange, the blue fire lining the walls burning cool and preternaturally, but I’m not naive enough to be afraid of it, or afraid of the corpses buried here with them.

It is concerning, though, that the Sword has enough power to summon a spell like that so easily.

The wode light, if I remember correctly, is made from Fae spells… or is it considered a godly gift? I shake my head, because it doesn’t matter. The Fae are long gone, and if there are any still around, they certainly don’t concern themselves with the matters of Heska.

The gods are another matter.

Still.

It’s strange. Odd.

So is his aggravating preoccupation with the chalice. My nose scrunches and I kick at a bit of bluish-green moss on the tunnel floor, still annoyed with myself for drinking out of it.

Would I have done any differently had I known?

I bite my lip, because that’s the real thing that has me out of sorts.

I never even considered not drinking it.

I never even truly regretted tasting it. The mere memory of the sip sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. Sure, I was furious with myself once I figured out it had done something to me, but then I went to Lara, and now I have the Sword, and we’re going to figure out a solution.

It’s all going to be fine. My breath hitches. For the first time, true concern tightens my chest, making it hard to draw breath.

It is going to be fine, right?

Or have I been lying to the most important person of all… myself? My fingers scrabble across my blouse, and I try to loosen the ties at my throat, too hot.

What if it’s not all fine? I’m in a barrow, with a… male of unknown descent, who hates me. What if my time has run out?

What if I’m going to die, right here in this blue-lit barrow, with the direcat and the fucking Sword as my only companions? Not even Mushroom with me.

Will the direcat eat me if I drop dead right here?

A harsh laugh bounces around the wode-lit tunnel, and too late, it hits me that it’s mine.

“Steady,” the Sword says slowly.

We’ve both stopped our downward progress. My hands shake, and I stare at them in dismay.

“Breathe, woman.”

His hands are on my shoulders. When did his hands get on my shoulders?

“Breathe, Kyrie. I won’t let you die here. I told you already: I am no vow-breaker.”

I can’t. I can’t breathe. I shake my head, and the direcat pushes against my shoulder with his whiskered face.

“Breathe, Kyrie. Breathe,” the Sword commands, patiently, yes, but there’s an obscene undertone of ordering me around that grates on me just enough to help stem the rising panic.

“Good,” he nods, like he managed to calm me with the bare-bones directive to inhale.

I stare at a skull above his head. Bare bones. Heh.

The direcat’s purring up a storm, and I half expect the walls to shake with the force of it. I scowl at the Sword, but he’s already turned around, all broad shoulders and swaggering walk.

Ugh.

“Since you asked so nicely,” the Sword says, and I blink. I didn’t ask anything, nicely or otherwise. “I left certain… items here that I knew I would want when I finally left Cottleside.”

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