Page 39 of Of Sword & Silver

Belatedly, I realize we’ve fed him too much power.

Between the chalice and Kyrie and even my dwindling magic, he’s taking advantage of the link.

“You died to serve,” I thunder, rage building, rage at my own impotence, my fall from grace?—

And then Kyrie is in motion, slashing with daggers, sawing at the dried tendons.

“Fuck this,” she snaps, then simply vaults into the crypt, smashing the corpse’s head in with the heel of her boot in a sickening crunch.

I blink.

Her chest heaves as she stares at me, holding her bloody wrist to her stomach.

She’s going to truly hate me now. This is always what makes the mortals turn on me, this dark power, the gift of parting the veil between worlds.

“That was sick,” she says, tilting her head. “Wicked magic trick, though. You’d be a real asset to a thief, you know? Maybe we should discuss extending our partnership once we find a cure.”

“I…” I don’t know what to say to that.

“No, seriously, that was fantastic. I wish I knew how to do that. It would make my life so much easier.” Her voice drops a few octaves. “Tell me where the treasure is. You died to serve,” she booms in an enthusiastic, if overwrought, imitation of me.

“He didn’t tell us anything useful,” I say, frowning. “He was no help at all.”

Kyrie furrows her brow at me before jumping out of the coffin and back onto the floor. “Ew,” she says, her lip curling in disgust as she scrapes the sole of her heel along the stone step. A slimy substance oozes from it. “That’s seriously so disgusting. Great work.”

“How was that great?” I raise my hands, frustrated with her taunting and with myself, with the clear evidence that I’m fading as quickly as the silver tongue’s curse continues to spread.

“What are you talking about? He told us exactly where to go to find the Crown of,” her voice drops, “well, of you know. Her.” She cringes, and I realize she doesn’t want to say Sola’s name.

She’s afraid of her own goddess.

I study her for a moment longer, the way she holds herself and stares defiantly at me.

No, it’s more than fear. Kyrie isn’t without faith. Kyrie believes—it’s simply that she despises Sola.

My throat constricts.

The more I learn about this mortal—about Kyrie—the clearer it becomes that fate will be impossible to defy.

13

KYRIE

Irun my hands through the direcat’s soft fur, trying to center myself, trying to regain some semblance of calm.

That was… I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’ve never seen a dead body talk, much less sit up.

I’ve never pounded a skull in with my foot, either, and I would very much like to shower off whatever other remnants cling to me as soon as possible.

I clear my throat instead.

The Sword is into some dark shit. That was a whole other level of magic. I certainly could make use of it… if I manage to live.

Narrowing my eyes, I loosen my grip on the direcat, who’s purring thunderously at all my attention.

“You didn’t understand what our favorite new friend said?”

The Sword is pacing back and forth on the highest step next to the stone crypt.

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