Page 13 of Of Sword & Silver

I grin.

“It really was good of you to break me out,” I continue in his voice. “Oh, don’t even mention it,” I reply to myself. “Not a big deal at all. I think we’re going to be the best of friends.”

He stops, his shoulders heaving.

“Do you ever shut up?” He rounds on me, something dark moving through those blue eyes. Power rolls from him in a wave, and I grit my teeth, more annoyed than scared. Well, both, really, but I am not about to let him know that.

And when I’m annoyed, I make everyone annoyed. It has nothing to do with being a silver tongue, but it’s just as much a part of me.

“Now I’m not going to.” I raise my eyebrows in a challenge. “Ever.”

“You want me to make you close that mouth?” he asks, stalking closer.

“You wish you could,” I say, my words turning to clouds in front of me.

Visible temper is a cold flare in his gaze, and tendons stand out on his neck as he regards me. “You would use your… gifts to stop me.”

There’s no doubt in my mind as to exactly what he thinks of my “gifts.”

I smile at him, and it’s not the pretty one I save for when I need to get my way. It’s a fucking challenge.

“You swore an oath to me.” His voice is barely audible, but I feel the impact of those words in my very bones.

“You swore an oath to me.” I lift my chin, daring him to get closer. To see just who will win this little contest of wills.

“I shouldn’t have.” He doesn’t move closer, just stares, all that power still pouring from him.

“Good thing you don’t scare me,” I lie, then bat my eyelashes for good measure, pretty sure it’s going to piss him off even more, but unable to stop myself from pushing him just a bit further.

When I was growing up in Sola’s temple, Celia—the only tolerable disciple who tended to us orphans—often told me that acting like a feral kitten might help sharpen my claws, but it wouldn’t keep curiosity from killing me just the same.

Fairly accurate.

“You must be a fool, then, to not be afraid of me.” Cold contempt blazes in his gaze, and I hold back a shiver out of pure stubbornness. “Do you know why I was there? Why they locked me up in that prison? Why I deserved it?”

I do, of course I do, but before I can say anything, he answers for me.

“I am a murderer. I murdered dozens upon dozens of your fellow worshippers before they were able to lock me up. Because I wanted to watch them die. Slowly. Painfully. The way they fucking deserved, with no one there to help them.” His voice catches on the last word, and before I can think of an appropriately saucy retort, he’s turned again, plowing back up the hill, barefoot in his thin prison pants and tattered shirt.

“Charming,” I manage.

Something cold and wet lands on my nose, and I squint up at the blanketed night sky only to be rewarded by more snow landing on my cheekbones and forehead.

Snow is good. Snow means they’ll have a harder time tracking us up the Hiirek Mountains. Snow also means we’re in for a very cold night.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow behind the Sword, sizing him up.

His shoulders are twice as broad as mine, and while he’s lean bordering on thin, likely from being chained in prison for a decade, there’s no doubt that his physique speaks of a lifetime of handling heavy weapons, a lifetime of war and ruin.

He’ll need a lot of food to get back in real fighting shape, much more than I do.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” I sing out to him, like he didn’t just threaten to shut me up permanently. Why give him the satisfaction? “Or do you prefer wandering aimlessly through the woods while it begins to snow?”

“You left a trail a blind dog could follow.”

“Considering most dogs use their noses more than their eyes, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was not a compliment,” he mutters.

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