Page 55 of Of Sword & Silver

I have missed something vital, and it makes me uneasy. I will not be Sola’s pawn in whatever it is that’s going to happen, destiny be damned.

I refuse to give that bloodthirsty goddess one more ounce of my energy.

The Sword is wrong. My life has not been mine; never have I been free of her yoke. I might not have lived my own life, but if I die, it will be my death—I will not give my life in service to a goddess I despise with every fiber of my being.

17

THE SWORD

Guilt gnaws at my bones, a hungry dog I can’t get rid of.

The fire crackles in the hearth, wet wood popping and smoking. Shadows dance along the white-washed stone and mortar walls.

I have never been deceitful.

Even though I’m not outright lying to Kyrie… it feels close enough. It is close enough.

Despite my eyelids growing heavy, I can’t seem to shake my misgivings.

Morrow, the newest member of our preordained group, seems to be a trustworthy companion, though he’s most definitely not wary enough of Kyrie, who would rob him blind given half a chance.

If she were up to it.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead and staring into the fire.

It’s increasingly clear that she’s unwell, though she thinks she can hide the hacking cough by holding it in, her shoulders shaking with each new bout.

A week and a few days until the midwinter masque.

I need her alive for the ritual.

Heska hangs in the balance.

“Why are you staring at me?” Kyrie asks, glancing up from where she sits by the fire, brushing her hair out. She’s exchanged her uniform of brown leather trousers and loose blouse for an oversized sweater the same color as a storm-tossed ocean. Her muscled legs are tucked beneath her, and my gaze keeps skipping to the creamy expanse of her exposed calves and ankles.

Morrow’s accompanied Lara to where the horses are stabled, and I’m all too aware of the fact Kyrie and I are alone, and for the moment—safe.

“Stop it,” she mutters, turning back to the crackling glow of the fire before her. “You’re making me nervous.”

Something about the way she pronounces the word sends a bolt of wonder through me. Is she truly nervous, or does she… feel the same attraction I do?

The fire pops, and I scowl at it.

Unlikely. Impossible.

Kyrie’s made it clear that putting me off-balance is her favorite pastime. Even if she does… feel anything towards me besides distaste, acting on it will only make things harder.

She’s humming under her breath, the sound of it filling the small living area. I close my eyes, leaning back in the chair, letting the sound of her hairbrush and the fire and the notes of her song lull me.

My head lolls back, then snaps up straight, my body responding to some stimulus and shaking me from sleep before I know what’s woken me.

Whimpering sounds, from the pile of blankets near the fire.

I focus in on it, the red curls of Kyrie’s now dried hair giving her sleeping form away.

A pale limb tosses the blanket aside and she thrashes for a moment, a pitiful keening coming from her lips.

I can’t stand it.

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