Page 86 of Of Sword & Silver

My opposite in so many things, both attractive and infuriating for just that reason. A light against the darkness, everything I’ve needed and been resistant to all at once.

The blizzard rages outside, as loud as the swirling thoughts inside my head, usually neat and ordered. The taste of her skin’s still on my tongue, and I know all I would have to do to sate my need is go back to her side.

I won’t, though. Not like that.

No, if Kyrie ever comes to me again, it will be with the full knowledge that she is mine, and mine alone, forever.

Even if she hates me for it.

My molars grind against each other.

I don’t sleep.

The worst of the storm’s spent itself by the time everyone else awakes, bleary-eyed and hung over, save for Caedia, who is as chipper as ever.

Likely due to her dryad metabolism, faster than the humans and better equipped at processing all kinds of poisons, including nearly a hundred-proof bootlegger alcohol.

The cellar door creaks open, and Kyrie emerges. She covers her mouth with a delicate hand, yawning.

“Good morning, Morrow, Caedia, Lara. And the horses of course,” she says in her musical voice.

I shift, amusement and irritation warring within me at her heavy-handed attempt at ignoring me.

“I see the storm’s stopped.” She peers out the thick, crude window into the bright white snow.

“Your mare is in good shape, by the way,” Caedia tells her, handing her a hunk of bread. “Right as rain.”

Relief crosses over Kyrie’s face, quickly hidden by that mischievous smile.

My throat constricts. I loathe that stamp of Sola on her—that she thinks she needs to hide the best parts of her under a mask constructed by the sisters who raised her.

Despite everything, though, that kindness, that soft heart of hers shines through.

I see her.

The chalice, the curse put on me by Sola herself…

Perhaps it’s been my biggest blessing. The only blessing.

Morrow nudges me with his elbow. “Seems you pissed her right off,” he says conspiratorially, with a dark look at the raven-haired witch.

Lara’s studiously ignoring him, too, though they were both snoring by the time I left Kyrie alone in the basement last night.

“We might be in the same boat, Sword,” Morrow continues, then shoves a piece of dried fruit in his mouth, chewing aggressively. “Looks like my woman’s displeased with me as well. We’re a right pair of idiots.”

“Speak for yourself,” I tell him. But a bolt of warmth shoots through my chest, and my lips stretch into a conspiratorial smile.

The last time I had any sort of true companionship was with Filarion and our old unit of Fae warriors. My friends, now wiped from the face of this world, only seen on clear nights shimmering high above in the heavens. The memories sober me and I sigh deeply.

Morrow finishes chewing, giving me a long look.

“I wouldn’t dare call someone who allowed himself to be caught and put in Cottleside for ten years an idiot,” he says.

“Just as I wouldn’t call Lojad’s chosen an idiot.” I find myself smiling again, the muscles in my face twitching from the strangeness of it.

“I’m not the one who worships Death.” Morrow snorts, tearing off a hunk of bread with his teeth.

“Death doesn’t need worship. Death and time are inevitable,” I say. My gaze strays to Kyrie’s laughing face, deep in quiet conversation with Lara while Caedia inspects her wounds.

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