Page 47 of Of Sword & Silver

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen if we don’t make it to the masque on time?” I haven’t said this out loud, but I’m worried. “We could steal the crown any other time.”

He doesn’t answer, and I glance over at him.

It’s a lot easier to talk now that the horses are doing the hard work. My mare’s gait is entirely different than Mushroom’s, though, and I have a feeling my ass is going to be sore later. Still. Better than slicing my face and palms open on the Heskan ground.

I need my face. It’s my best asset. Everyone trusts a pretty face. It’s human nature.

“Not answering isn’t really doing a lot for my confidence.” A tickle starts in my throat and I cough once. Twice. A few more times, for good measure.

The fit finally stops. I exhale slowly, strangely tired.

I feel him staring at me, and when I look over at him, his brow is furrowed.

“What?” I ask, all aggression.

“You have been doing that a lot.”

“Coughing? I have not.”

“You have. Since we woke up yesterday morning.”

“Well, I’ve been wandering around in the fucking snow for a week now.” It comes out defensively, and his brow just furrows more. “I probably sucked up some dead body dust when I smashed your corpse friend’s face in.”

My nose wrinkles, and I really wish I could unthink that. I don’t want to have any dead body dust in my not dead body.

“That’s not why you’re coughing,” he says, then swigs from a canteen.

“Thank the gods,” I say expansively. “I really don’t like the idea of parts of your old pal making me cough.”

The Sword grins and I smile back, unable not to thanks to that damned dimple.

Could I even be getting used to him?

He seems more normal. Something about living with him the past few days, even silently existing with him, has rubbed off most of his otherness.

I mean, yes, he dislikes me, that’s still clear, seeing as how I catch him watching me with murder in his gaze more often than not. But we’ve reached some unspoken truce, and now he’s smiling at me.

Things are looking up.

“No, it is not grave dust that’s been making you sick?—”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to know?” All my good feeling towards him stops abruptly.

“You are not stupid. You know why you’re coughing as well as I do.”

“I don’t know anything,” I tell him grumpily. “Not for sure.”

“Fine. You may not know it, but you can guess, can you not?”

I blow a breath out, sending wisps of my red hair flying. “Nope.”

“Pretty little liar,” he says, still grinning at me… until the smile melts off, that murderous look back as he remembers what I am, the goddess I am sworn to, the fact we’re enemies.

Annoying. I am starting to like that smile.

Frustrated with everything, I rake a hand down my face and shrug.

“Fine. What do you want me to say? That it’s the chalice’s curse? That we’re running out of time not just for the midwinter masque, but because that stupid drink is killing me faster than I thought?”

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