Page 36 of Of Sword & Silver

I move forward, clocking precious artefacts and relics draped over stone tombs and dangling from overloaded wooden chests, crumbling in the damp dark. Rubies glint purple in the wode light, and I crouch next to a jewel-crusted pendant with the likeness of some long-dead Fae etched onto its gilded surface. I frown at it, mesmerized by the pointed ears, the graceful cheekbone and sweep of the jaw.

“I need the chalice,” the Sword says, unmoved by the riches all around us.

Must be nice.

“The chalice?” I repeat.

“You,” he answers.

I squint at him. “What?”

“The chalice. You are now the chalice.”

“Are you feeling well? Did you hit your head?”

“You drank the contents. You hold the contents still.”

“Stop talking in riddles and tell me what the hells you want.” I feign a yawn, and it turns into the real thing.

He blinks, waiting.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Your blood,” he finally answers.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as the grave.” He knocks on one of the stone tombs.

My jaw drops, and I huff a laugh. “Did you just make a joke? My gods, there might be hope for you yet.”

He knocks on the stone tomb again, ignoring me, and I roll my eyes. Clearly, he wouldn’t know a joke if it grabbed his sword in the middle of the night and called it hard.

With a mighty shove and an annoyingly masculine grunt, the stone top of the tomb slides off and the Sword wipes his palms together, dust clouding the air in front of him.

“Your blood,” he repeats, one dark eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Your blood,” I counter. “Why does it have to be mine? I’m attached to it.”

He snorts, and that stops me in my tracks. He might not have been making a joke earlier, but he did just laugh at mine.

I purse my lips. “You must really want my blood.”

“I don’t want it.” He jerks his head at the inside of the tomb. “He will, though.”

I can’t help myself. I stand, walking towards the open stone coffin. Curiosity really should kill this cat, but I just keep on living. My mouth scrunches to the side as I reflect on that. Living… for now.

“There better be something really great in there,” I tell him. “Something I can sell.”

I climb up the two-step dais to where the Sword stands, reaching out to brace myself against the stone structure for balance.

The Sword grabs my hand, quick as a flash, before I have time to react, pinning my wrist against the lip of the coffin.

It should be impossible for anyone to move that fast.

“Give your permission,” he all but snarls at me.

“For you to take my blood?” I ask sweetly, unnerved but not nearly enough to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. Blue light turns his features even less human.

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