Page 2 of Of Sword & Silver

It would ruin my reputation.

“You have been cursed. A curse of Hrakan. A curse…” she pauses and I lean forward, my nerves jumpy and frayed, “a curse of death.” Her voice falls to a whisper.

My nose scrunches. “How sure are you? Ninety percent? Fifty? Give me the odds.”

Lara slumps against the back of her wooden chair, glaring at me, fully present once more. “You’re fucked, old friend.”

I blow out a breath. “There’s always a way out of these things.” Isn’t there?

She squints at me. Her expression grows even darker, though, real concern around her eyes. “There might be.”

“See?” I clap my hands together. “I knew it.”

“I am not sure, Kyrie,” she hedges. “It’s a blood curse, but I can’t figure out how to unwind it from you. I can…” she leans closer, her eyes narrowing. “I can see it, just a little, the fringe of it around you. It’s thick. It’s a nasty one. Real ugly.” Her tone’s chipper, like she just told me she found a good deal on cauldrons or newt eyes or whatever the hells it is witches get excited about.

“You shouldn’t sound so happy about it.” She doesn’t sound happy, necessarily, so that’s not really fair of me, but she does seem strangely animated.

Like she’s been waiting for this. I glare at her.

“Maybe I’m sick of your tricks, too, Kyrie.” Lara gives me a death stare.

Wounded, I clutch at my chest. “I would never use them on you.” It’s a lie.

I try not to, but lying is what I do. Stealing is what I do—what I was raised to do.

My throat tightens at the memory. Lara’s pantheon, a collection of stone figurines for each of the six gods, sparkles in the firelight.

“You’re a silver tongue,” she says with a sad smile. “You can’t always help when her magic leaks out of you.”

Her. Sola, the goddess of lies and chaos, the goddess whose disciples stole me from my family home when the first whispered rumor of my so-called talent reached their ears.

I didn’t have a choice. My knuckles whiten as I grip the arms of the chair.

Still… the silver tongue really helps with job stability.

But not life expectancy, as it turns out.

“How long do I have?” I ask and her glare softens, just a smidge. I tug at my leather vest, uncertain, then pluck at the creamy sleeves of my blouse.

I don’t like uncertainty. Never have. I like to plan, and have things go according to plan, and maybe that’s why my goddess is punishing me. Maybe the goddess of chaos and lies has had enough of my planning.

“A year. If you’re lucky.”

“Fuck.” It comes out on a gust of breath, and I stand up so fast my wooden chair falls to the floor behind me. My chest heaves as I try to calm myself. I’m scared shitless, but I try to hide it, pretending that I meant to turn over the chair.

“Sorry. I thought I saw a big spider.”

Lara gives me a long look, and I can tell she sees right through the terrible lie.

“Fine, I am freaking out.” I crinkle my nose. Well, that cat’s out of the bag.

Shouldn’t put cats in bags, anyways.

“You said there might be a way out of it? To break the curse?” I pick up the chair and clear my throat.

Her lip curls to the side and she tilts her head at me, pushing her curtain of long, dark hair behind her shoulders.

“It won’t be simple. Maybe you can just enjoy the rest of the year, take some time off, you know, live like it’s your?—”

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