Page 123 of Of Sword & Silver

“I know,” Lara tells me, her voice thick. “I know they did, Kyrie. You’re going to fix it. You’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen again. You will do it.”

“I can’t do it if I die. The curse,” I am babbling, and I can’t seem to stop. “The curse, I can feel it, Lara. It’s worse now.”

“You used too much magic tonight,” Caedia tells me. “Stay with the Sword, let him take care of you.”

Lara’s putting my boots on, jamming my feet inside and lacing them up.

“I miss my family,” I tell her. “I miss them, and I’ve never been allowed to. I wonder who I would have been if they’d lived. I wonder even more who they would be.”

She holds my chin in hers, Caedia’s fingers still tracing a delicate dance around my temples.

“We’re your family now, Kyrie. You hear me? You’ve been like a sister to me since that day we met, and you will be long after this is all over, no matter what. Morrow can be the big brother you never wanted, Caedia’s the wild little sister we’re all slightly frightened by, and Dario is the annoying cousin you want to slap sometimes.”

“Hey,” Dario says. “I don’t appreciate that.”

“He’s more like a second cousin from a branch of the family tree we don’t talk about,” I manage.

“There,” Caedia says, her fingers stilling in my hair. “I think that helped set her to rights. Sword, take care of her. She’s going to be delicate for a day or two.”

Morrow lifts me partway up onto a horse and a big arm wraps around my waist, hoisting me the rest of the way up.

“We will see you again, Kyrie.”

“Meet us in the Wastes in no more than three weeks’ time. You’ll know where to go,” the Sword snaps at Lara.

“The Wastes,” I repeat. “There’s nothing there.” Including Sola and her cursed followers. “Perfect.”

“The Wastes in three weeks’ time,” Morrow says. “We’ll lead the sisters away.”

“Where will you go?” Caedia asks plaintively, gaze flitting between us.

“Somewhere you can’t follow,” the Sword answers.

Fil stares at me with luminous eyes from the snow-covered ground.

“Tell me it’s going to be alright,” I say to no one in particular.

The only answer is the pounding of the horse’s hooves against the icy ground, and the plaintive sigh of the winter wind against in my ears.

44

THE SWORD

Kyrie falls limp against me in a matter of moments, her head lolling against my chest as the magic Caedia performed to speed her healing takes effect.

Were it not for her deep and even breathing, I would be frantic with worry for her. As it is, I am worried enough. Kyrie’s mare and Mushroom the mule nimbly follow behind us, loaded down with our share of supplies.

Sola’s Crown dangles on a chain around my neck, unassuming but strangely heavy where it rests between our bodies.

A tree limb rips at Kyrie’s cloak, tearing a piece off, a stolen leaf against the moonlit snow.

Sola’s minions would steal everything from her, from me, all over again.

I won’t allow it.

Kyrie is mine.

In the distance, Kyrie’s direcat roars a challenge, and I hear an echo of my thoughts in it.

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