Page 67 of Ogres Don't Play

I peered out the window and saw something you didn’t see every day, which was a gold casket held by two angels, in full ceremonial regalia, heavenly gold, with platinum overlay, blocking the front doors of the music hall, while Rook sat on the steps beneath them, looking green around the edges.

I threw open the door and stumbled out, flying over the pavement until I tripped and would have scraped myself stupidly if Rook didn’t catch me, holding me tight against his chest while his heart beat rapidly beneath my cheek.

“Rook, you came back.”

“And I brought you a sword.”

I froze before I slowly lifted my face so I could look into his eyes. “You went to see my father, and he gave you a heavenly relic? Which one?”

He blinked at me. “I am uncertain precisely, but when he summoned it to chop off my head, he looked at it and immediately knew that I’d come about you, so I believe you would know.”

“Miracle,” the sword bearer on the right said, her clipped voice making me immediately straighten my spine. “You must be purified if you hope to wield Hero.”

I blinked at Charity, the most strict and unbending angel I knew, then stared at the enormous coffin. “Hero? My dad gave me one of his personal soul-swords? That’s impossible.”

“He intended to pass it to you once you joined the lions. Instead, you left us for the HARP’s.”

And then abandoned the entire order to follow my music. I smiled at her and tried to stand on my own two feet, but Rook wasn’t putting me down. I frowned from the casket, which held the single most gorgeous monstrous weapon in the world, to Rook. Maybe if I was very lucky, I could have both.

“My father gave you a holy relic? Why would he do that? How did you get him to trust you?”

Rook pursed his pretty lips. “I asked for your hand in marriage, and he gave it as a token of his acceptance, once I told him about you challenging a mountain troll. How could you do that?” He pressed his face to my throat and Charity coughed, but he was only sniffing me. “You smell like elves.”

“Oh, yes. I met my grandfather, and he told me that you must spend all night singing your strength into me. I suppose you’ll have to do that while I go through the purification ritual. I hope Hero doesn’t kill me if she doesn’t approve.”

“The sword could kill you?” He scowled at me while I smoothed his cheeks and felt absolutely wonderful. He’d gone all the way to the coast to ask my dad for permission to marry me? He must have put a lot of effort into getting there and back so fast.

“Of course. Heavenly relics could always kill you. That’s what makes them so effective. Hero is particularly dangerous.”

“She won’t kill you, just render you unconscious for a few days,” Charity said. Her companion, Faith, nodded. She’d never been very vocal, but was as solid a soldier as they came.

“That’s very comforting,” Rook growled, turning his scowl on them before he turned his dark look at Lanise. “Her grandfather?”

I tapped his chest. “He didn’t try to kill me, was surprised that I even existed. Said the ogre seduced him. I wouldn’t trusthim, because he’s an elf, but he spent all day helping me learn music magic spells that would work for what I am. He’s really good at spellwork.”

He grunted. “He should be.”

“Oh, he said you knew each other. Who is he? Does he know your composer persona?”

He sighed heavily and then nuzzled my cheek. “The spells are good. Very good. I can feel their strength, but they have made you weak. Emperor Silvertongue is your grandfather, and knows me quite well, particularly as the composer. He spent all day teaching you magic? I suppose it’s unlikely that he’s the one who wants you dead.”

“Exactly. Wait, Emperor Silvertongue? Like the emperor over all elves in the entire world, and their world too? You were trying to keep me alive against him?” I patted his cheek. “You’re kind of adorably optimistic.”

He slowly smiled at me. “You have infected me with your delusional, angelic hope. Your father actually gave me his permission to marry his precious Miracle. That is a miracle.”

“You will sing me your strength?” Hearing his voice while I endured purification would make it almost not seem like torture.

“For as long as you’ll let me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead before carrying me up the steps, past the sword case, and into the music hall.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Purification involved a long process of meditating on holy scrip, interrupted by bathing. It wasn’t the nice kind of bath, soaking in a tub until you’re pruny. No, it involved having your skin scrubbed until your whole body was raw. In ice water.

I must have gotten soft as a musician, because that cold water was a shock, and Charity and Faith were incredibly thorough about removing a few layers of skin while I visualized memorized scripture. I wasn’t allowed to say it out loud, because I’d always start singing it, and then it would become about the music instead of the meaning, and I’d get electrocuted or burned, or cut by whatever holy relic I was trying to make friends with.

I’d always been obsessed with Hero, but who wasn’t? She was a holy sword that could cut through anything and also allowed her bearer the strength to wield her like Hero wasn’t six feet long and four inches wide.

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