Page 79 of Of Sword & Silver

“Did you believe it?” I ask suddenly.

“Believe what?” The Sword scratches the scruff on his jaw.

“That the gods were Fae once?” The question feels important, feels necessary. “Did you believe Filarion watched over you when he was gone?”

“Filarion never felt the need to watch over me,” he says darkly.

I narrow my eyes at him until the cat bumps my hand, asking for more scratching.

“Sleep well, Kyrie of Sola,” the Sword says, still watching the star twinkling overhead. “I will watch over you, with Filarion’s help.”

I don’t know if he means the star or the Fae prince or the cat, but I do know the words are truth. The Sword will watch over me.

Hasn’t he been doing that since the moment I found him in Cottleside?

Confused, I try to think of a response, but exhaustion crashes over me like unruly waves on a beach before the storm.

I blink, sleepy in spite of myself, and somehow, Fil seems to sense that too, lying down and stretching out long on the ground.

It does look cozy.

“I’ve never been one to follow directions,” I muse out loud. “I don’t know why I am now.”

Fil chuffs again, and if the Sword’s still there in the dark, he doesn’t answer.

The direcat’s fur is soft and warm, and his purring lulls me to sleep.

26

THE SWORD

She is so very, very young.

The direcat kneads the dirt, clearly pleased with himself for comforting Kyrie into sleep.

“Filarion would laugh to know I’ve named you after him,” I mutter to the cat. The prince would likewise be amused at my feelings for the human thief.

He would be disgusted with what’s happened to me, though, what I’ve become—what I’ve done.

Kyrie’s lids flutter in her sleep, her breathing soft and even. I envy that about her: how easily she can relax. I’ve watched her sleep since the day we met, and the contrast between her stillness in repose and her constant movement while awake never ceases to amaze me.

With the manticore poison in her, she wasn’t still at all. Moving, muttering, sweating and crying out in her sleep. The only thing that seemed to soothe her was when I’d brush her hair, singing lullabies my mother used to sing to me, words half-forgotten, the melodies ingrained in my very heart.

I know I shouldn’t get close to her, I know I shouldn’t care for her, that it will only make everything more impossible than it already is—but I cannot resist her.

I meant what I told her, even though I watched it fracture a piece of her when I said it.

She is my punishment, my price for every crime.

Sleep never finds me, and dawn’s first fingers of light turn her hair to molten copper.

I doubt I’ll ever get to touch it again.

27

KYRIE

Ifeel fucking great. With five people, it took us no time at all to disassemble camp. Hard bread and sharp cheese put the fast in breakfast, and by noon we’ve put the forested foothills of Hiirek behind us, trading them for open road.

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