Page 91 of Of Sword & Silver

“And you don’t think they’ll check this one?” I ask Dario again.

“Don’t worry,” he says smoothly. “They know me. I’ll take care of it.”

I take one last look at the green and copper roofed city through the gently falling snow, then watch the direcat slinking towards the forest encircling the city.

Fil’s the last thing I need to worry about, but I can’t help thinking I’d feel better with him at my side. Creature comfort, I guess. Even I have to admit, though, that the huge cat might raise some red flags around Nyzbern, and the fewer flags we put out, the better.

“Hurry up,” Caedia demands, pushing the flagon up. “Drink.”

I do as she says, because what option do I have? I’m dying, and I might be murdered by the guards if they hear a barrel of rum having a coughing fit.

Might as well drink the nasty potion and put off the inevitable while I can.

“That was gods-awful,” I tell her, trying not to hurl, then pass the flagon back to her.

“Hurry, someone is coming,” Lara hisses.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter. I take one last look around, sincerely hoping my plan doesn’t go to shit.

The Sword’s gaze is still fixed on me, and my eyes widen in surprise as I see something there I haven’t before: worry.

Concern.

“Not for you, Kyrie,” I tell myself, putting one leg in the barrel, then another. I fold myself up, knees as close to my chest as they can get, still tasting the foul bitterness of the medicine on my tongue.

The barrel reeks of alcohol, and I think I might get half drunk on the fumes alone.

“Ready?” Dario asks, not waiting for an answer as he closed the lid over the barrel. I flinch as he hammers one nail, two nails, then three into the lid.

I close my eyes and wish I had a god I trusted to pray to.

I don’t dare invoke Sola. She would no doubt make things worse for me for her own amusement.

My stomach churns with every rut and bump the wagon hits, and my teeth chatter from the cold, despite the heavy quilt padding the interior and the tarp they threw over the barrels.

“Halt,” a guard’s voice calls out, and I blink into the darkness, clamping a hand over my mouth. “What’s in the cart?”

“Rum for the King of Diamonds’ festivities,” Dario says in an unctuous voice. “And clients of mine in for his masque.”

“Show us,” another guard says in a bored voice. My stomach clenches.

I don’t like this. I don’t like being cooped up in here, unable to see what’s happening and entirely at the mercy of my companions’ quick thinking… or not-so-quick.

Torchlight flickers through the seams in the lid of the barrel, the tarp overhead thrown aside.

“Would you care for a taste of my wares?” Dario asks, and the clink of coin filters through the thick wood. “And a donation for your outpost this eve,” he adds.

“Open that one,” one of the guards commands, I stop breathing as he knocks on the lid of my barrel.

Until the urge to cough hits me.

I suck in a small breath, trying to swallow the coughing fit that threatens. Gods, if even Caedia’s potions aren’t working against the stupid chalice’s curse, how long do I have?

“Of course, of course,” Dario says, and the cart wobbles as a body jumps onto the bed. One of the cracks goes dark. “Though the King of Diamonds may not be pleased to know his supply has been tampered with.”

The implicit threat hangs in the air, and for a second, I think I’m totally fucked, that I’ll have to enchant these two guards no matter what, and I start gathering my power, letting it filter through me.

“Fine. Move along,” one of the guards says easily. “Give the King of Diamonds our respects."

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