Page 44 of Of Sword & Silver

“Not like you,” he repeats.

“Thank goddess we’re adding some members to our team. Your powers of conversation are sorely lacking.”

“I have other powers,” he says, and a heap of leather joins the armor on the floor.

“Yes, that very handy power of calling spirits to communicate. I have to say, it was a lot showier than what my friend Lara does.”

The statement triggers a realization about his powers. He isn’t human. His magic doesn’t work the same way.

Something about that… is important, and I work at it, trying to gauge why my mind’s fixated on that, when a cloth pouch clinks onto the floor and the sound completely banishes any philosophical wanderings.

“Money,” I say on an exhale, crouching and scooping it up. “Heavy.” I weigh it, my lips twisting to the side, trying to calculate exactly how much we’re looting from this crypt. “Do you often desecrate the houses of the dead?” I ask conversationally. “I thought followers of Hrakan respected these places.”

“The dead have no need of it. The god of the dead knows that better than anyone.”

My brow furrows because that’s not what we were taught in Chast. The followers of Hrakan are known to be territorial about their sacred crypts and barrows.

I guess because they’re using them as storage stations.

Clever.

“Do all the barrows in Heska have treasure waiting for Hrakan’s followers to use?”

“What I am allowed to do and what a follower of another god is permitted to do are not the same,” he answers, voice devoid of emotion.

I shrug. “Just curious, Sword. Just curious.”

“You are planning to loot the tombs as soon as we are able to complete the chalice’s curse.”

“You mean cure the chalice’s curse,” I correct. I loose the drawstring on the coin pouch, dipping a hand in and testing the weight of the coins, then let them slip back into the pouch. “Ah, my favorite sound.” We should be able to hire help with the King of Diamonds with this much money. Four more won’t be a problem. Neither will buying food, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I love it when a plan comes together. I love it even more when I have money to spend that isn’t mine.

“Complete, cure. Your Heskan language is not the same as mine.”

I narrow my eyes at him, tying the heavy coin pouch onto my knife belt. For safekeeping. “Completing the curse means I die. Let’s not complete it. Those are very different words, no matter the language.”

“How many languages do you speak?” he asks.

Oh gods. He’s taken off his threadbare shirt. His chest is a latticework of scars, standing out in stark relief against his muscles.

“Like what you see?” he asks in a harsh voice.

For the span of an inhalation, I think he’s realized I’m attracted to him, which, frankly, is disgusting. He’s awful.

“The work of your sisters,” he adds, violence in his voice.

“Oh. No,” I shake my head, embarrassed in earnest now. “No. Wait. What do you mean, my sisters? Didn’t you get those scars at Cottleside? From Lojad’s followers?” The god of order and war is known to be a harsh one. There’s no middle ground, no nuance with Lojad. I could see them meting out punishment in his name all too easily. “They’ve done the same to me.”

He shakes his head, but I’m already moving, curious to see if the writing of Lojad’s worshippers is the same on both our skins.

I tug up my blouse, not an easy task, considering everything needs a good washing and the fabric’s stiff with grime and sweat. I sniff at the hem experimentally. Gross. Maybe I should have done a snow scrub last night, too.

“See?” I ask, turning my cape over one shoulder, hiking my blouse up. “Lojad’s poetry.” I point to the worst of the scars. “I earned this one when I was sixteen. I ran away from Sola’s Sisters in Chast, slipped over the border to Sylsip, and was unlucky enough to get caught stealing from the kitchens of a lord who’d sworn himself to Lojad.” The scar runs along my ribs and disappears into my lower back, and I trace it with my finger. “It was such a great meal. I was starving. Hadn’t eaten in days.”

The Sword exhales noisily, and I fall silent.

My gaze jumps from the white scar to his face.

---