Page 30 of This Midsummer Heart
“You can’t rely on magic anymore,” Daegris repeats. “I have one more thing for you.”
He turns, lifting a case of mahogany inlaid with mother of pearl, and unfastens its brass clasps. Whatever it is, it must be a fine treasure—worthy of a king of dark elves, but too precious to part with at a time like this. I am momentarily speechless as he lifts a gold ornamental scabbard, the glittering basket hilt of a broadsword protruding from its end.
I whistle appreciatively. “Who’d you plunder that from?”
“Best you don’t know.” The reply is quick, and not the least bit boastful. “It was a magic blade, once. I like the idea of it returning to its former glory in Nox. Take it. You need a weapon out there.”
Daegris.I don’t know whether to hug him or throttle him. He noticed that I was not wearing the Blade of Hedril—that I am missing the mark of dark elven kings. Either he is pitying me or helping me out of friendship. I’m not sure I know how to respond to either.
“I’m not sure I deserve such a weapon.”
Daegris’s brows rise a moment, and then his expression melts into mirth. “You can’t be serious. You are the rightful owner of the Blade of Hedril. What’s a pretty sword compared to that?”
“That dagger was my birthright. This is a gift.”
“Ah, I see the issue. You’re jealous that of the two of us, I’m the superior gift-giver.”
“I gifted you clemency, once,” I point out.
“After I charmed the lady of this wood.” Daegris wears a confident half grin. “You had no choice but to help me after that, or Cassandra would’ve made your life as bitter as Dusk’s Door.”
I incline my head at him, acknowledging my defeat. “But the sword—“
“Take it. Restore it to its former glory. It can do nothing for us here.”
“It still cuts.”
His expression turns flinty. “Take it, Auberon. The gods only know when I’ll ever see you again. Part of me thinks you’re crazy as a wyvern for trying to get to Nox now. The least you can do is give me the comfort of knowing you have a good blade at your side.”
It’s not really a gift I can refuse—not only because of the gesture behind it, but because he’s right. I do need something to protect myself and Titaine. “Just till I get Hedril back.”
“What are you going to do, courier it back to me?”
“I might.”
“I won’t open it if you do.”
“Then I’ll be sure to hide it well.”
“Then I won’t open anything you s—Oh, go on and take the blasted sword!” He shoves the scabbard into my hand. The sword it holds is heavy—too heavy for a human to wield. I’m sure there’s a story there. “The grannies will be expecting you. I’m sorry I can’t join you for a final meal, but you’re better off stopping and breaking your fast after you’re clear of Nerania Wood.”
“Daegris,” I begin, searching for the right thing to say.
“Pirates have chaos woven into their nature, too. I’ll be fine, Auberon.” His voice lowers. “Worry about yourself instead. Besides, you can’t help anyone if you don’t make it Nox.”
I swallow. “I’ll see you again, one of these days. Mayhap in Nox.”
“Mayhap. Get going, king. You don’t want to be here for one of our midday summer storms.”
He’s right about that. But as I leave him, avoiding saying goodbye as we always have, I can’t help but feel my place ought to be here, helping my subjects. Even if they only sort of acknowledge me as their king.
Leaving Lunevelle and its people is going to be bittersweet, but Daegris is right. I can’t help anyone unless I can save myself.
A task which I freely admit would be a lot simpler if I didn’t return to our borrowed bedroom to find it empty.
Titaine is gone.
She wouldn’t leave without supplies—she’s too prudent for that. I’m the one with the pack now. She wouldn’t leave without me.
