Page 93 of Of Sword & Silver

My time in Cottleside is nothing compared to what the people of Heska have been through during my selfish tantrums.

The barrel where Kyrie’s hiding sits quietly among the rest of Dario’s illicit stash and I tear my gaze from it, from where I can scent her, even through the stench of wine and the foul tonic Caedia brewed for her.

What have I done, turning a blind eye to the suffering of the people I should be shepherding through this life and the next in favor of revenge?

I have been a fool.

Shaking my head, I settle back in the saddle, angry at Sola for allowing this in her city. Angry at the people for committing such atrocities against each other.

Most of all, though, I’m angry at myself. Resolve stiffens my spine.

I will make it right.

Kyrie and I will fix this.

The first step is retrieving the Crown of Sola, then performing the ritual. There’s no doubt in my mind she will loathe me for what we must do, but it’s the only way.

Then, and only then, we can turn our attention to correcting the fraying threads of fate all around us.

“Here we are,” Dario announces, pulling up to a large estate at the western wall of town. Behind the wall, the skeletal trees of Nivor Forest reach their snow-covered branches skyward, towards the stars hanging above.

A few servants rush out of the house at our arrival, ushering the horses—and Mushroom—into a connected stable.

The servants begin offloading the barrels too, and I shove my way between them, grabbing Kyrie’s barrel without bothering to give them an explanation.

A cough sounds as I pick it up and I cough, too, to cover it.

The chalice’s curse is advancing faster than it should, just like the evil festering across Heska.

Holding the barrel over one shoulder, I ignore the mystified looks the servants shoot my way, following Dario and the rest into his opulent home.

Candles glint all along the hallways, more servants rushing about on black and white checkerboard floors.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Morrow remarks, scratching his red beard. A clod of dirt falls off his boot behind him and Dario closes his eyes.

“I am but a humble merchant,” Dario finally says. “I’ve been lucky.”

“Right,” Lara says, staring up at the ceiling painted with all manner of legendary creatures. “Lucky.”

“Where did you find the luck?” Caedia asks in a sing-song voice. “We dryads often find it in unexpected places.”

Dario blinks at her.

“What now?” Morrow asks, looking at me.

“You’ll find a wing of rooms up those stairs,” Dario answers before I have a chance to say anything. Which, frankly, is fine by me. “The servants will draw you baths, and I highly suggest that you indulge in that particular hygienic exercise.” He sniffs.

“Tonight I’ll send word to the… appropriate people. Architects, tailors, et cetera. I’ll meet you down here in the morning, and we will begin the work needed to, ah, relieve him of the necessary items.”

With that, he stalks off down another candlelit hallway, a liveried servant scurrying after him.

“Right this way,” a plump woman calls, her cheeks pink and a cherubic nose on her face. “Been a long trip, by the looks of it. We’ll get you settled in.”

In the barrel on my shoulder, Kyrie inhales sharply, and the need to pry the lid off now and pull her out consumes me.

I grit my teeth and carry her, in the barrel, up the stairs.

Keeping her hidden for now is keeping her safe.

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