Page 10 of Of Sword & Silver

His eyes widen, and we both step towards him, me with my dagger and Sword with his… well, his sword. Ugh.

Before either of us can move to quiet the yell that’s no doubt coming, the unthinkable happens.

The guard goes still, like a marionette drawn up by invisible hands. Smoke, black and viscous, curls from the corners of his eyes, a sick simulacrum of tears.

It drips for a moment, running down his cheeks, into his nostrils and open mouth. No sound comes from him, just the unmistakable sheen of terror in his eyes at his obvious inability to move.

He slumps to the floor, that same wicked smoke spiraling from his body until it dissipates completely.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper. My stomach’s in knots. “Was that you?”

“It wasn’t you?” he asks, nudging the body with his foot.

“No. What was it?”

“A sign,” my companion says brusquely.

“I don’t like the way that sounds.” My voice is hollow.

“You shouldn’t.” He spears me with a glance, his expression inscrutable as always. “The gods have taken interest in our mission.”

“Then we better not waste the opportunity,” I say thickly. Sheathing my dagger, I go to my hands and knees, half expecting him to make a lewd joke as I press my hands against the trap door the prison architect hid here… just in case he ever fell on the wrong side of the law.

I push the stones just right, using all my strength.

“Too heavy for you?” He sounds amused. What a dick.

The latch clicks a moment later, and the trapdoor creaks as it lifts slightly. I pull it the rest of the way up, at least, I think I do, until I realize the Sword’s holding the stone door over my head like it weighs nothing at all. Like this, we’re almost touching, our hands side by side and his breath gusting over my cheek.

For a split second, I stare at him, off kilter.

“After you,” he says in that gravelly voice.

My eyes narrow. I don’t trust him, but I don’t like the idea of him closing the door after me even more. The possibility of getting caught here, in Cottleside prison after helping him escape… it wouldn’t be great.

Without wasting any more time, I slip inside the pitch-black tunnel that should lead us to safety.

I look back, just to make sure my prize Sword is following behind me.

Instead, my gaze slips over the fallen guard, his open eyes as dark as the tunnel I’m about to climb through.

I don’t know what kind of a sign from the gods this is supposed to be, but it doesn’t feel like a good one.

4

THE SWORD

The woman is quiet as we make our way through the tunnels under Cottleside.

Thank fuck.

I do not wish to make small talk with any of Sola’s followers, least of all this silver tongue.

The sewage stench gets heavier and the air warmer with every step we take, which means the tunnel from the prison will soon take us to the sewage system beneath Cottleside, the so-called city of order. No matter how much the worshippers of Lojad might think otherwise, their shit smells as bad as everyone else’s.

“Good thing it’s freezing,” the woman says conversationally. “Would be much worse in summer.”

She stops, and I have to rock back on my heels to avoid running into her. “Here,” she says in a low voice, “for the worst of it.”

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