Page 3 of Of Sword & Silver

“Like it’s my last year? No. Thank you, Lara, but no. Tell me how to break it.” My voice shakes.

I have too much to do. I have people depending on me, damn it. I have a fucking score to settle.

“I am not just going to give up.” There’s enough menace in my tone that she raises her eyebrows.

“We-ell.” She sighs, drawing a pattern on the soft velvet tablecloth. Some of the tattered rune cards scatter slightly, as if pushed by an invisible wind.

The hair stands up on the back of my neck.

Magic might be a pretty normal part of life for Lara, and sure, there’s magic in my silver tongue, but I don’t try to use it, not like she does.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like the idea of dying, either.” Pulling the dagger from the sheath at my hip, I use it to pick at my ragged nails. No, I’m not ready to die.

Besides, I can’t stand the thought of spending the afterlife in the presence of the goddess who’s made my life a living hell with her so-called gifts and her so-called disciples. I cough again, like the sound will cover up my blasphemous thoughts. As far as I know, though, my goddess isn’t a mind reader. I hope.

“The Sword,” Lara intones, staring at me with hooded eyes.

“A sword? What sword?” I blink, nonplussed.

“Not a sword, the sword.”

“Listen, I know being all mysterious is part of your gig, but can you just be a little more clear for me? Your oldest friend?” The enchanted request rolls off my tongue and Lara stiffens, her eyes dilating as the whiff of my power hits her.

Ugh. I hate when it happens on accident.

“The Sword. Hrakan’s right hand, the disciple of Death. He’s imprisoned for murdering hundreds of Sola’s followers. He despises her, and all who’ve pledge themselves in her service. He is the only one who can help you break your curse.”

“Fuck me.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Of course it would be the death god’s disciple, and of course he hates all of Sola’s followers.

We’re going to get along swimmingly.

“Well,” I trill, smiling at her. “It sounds like he and I have a lot in common.”

Lara gives me an apologetic grimace. I sink back into the chair, gathering my thoughts and confidence around me like armor.

My attention skips to the pantheon of six, their facial features uncarved, their likenesses never committed to any artistic medium.

Maybe I should just enjoy my last year of life without bothering with a jail break for some sullen Death’s disciple who’s more likely to kill me than to help me. His god, Hrakan, the god of death and time, and my goddess, Sola, the goddess of chaos and lies, despise each other. According to the Heskan common book of prayers, the two gods warred before the age of man, using the long-extinct Fae and other legendary creatures to fight their battles for them.

Even now, their followers mix like tinder and spark.

Well, maybe I can make his life a living hell until I break the curse or die.

Could be fun.

I brighten slightly.

“What prison?” I ask, already sure of her answer. Mass murderers, especially of the disciple variety, all end up in one place.

“Cottleside.” Lara raises both eyebrows, shuffling the rune cards back into order.

“Of course it is Cottleside.” The most heavily guarded prison in all of Heska, located in the province of Lojad, the god of order and war. The followers of Lojad are a bunch of self-righteous warriors with sticks up their asses and rocks for brains. Unfortunately, they’re renowned for their fighting ability.

Still, I’d rather be there than in Sola’s city-state, Chast.

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