Page 177 of Swordheart
But somehow, the days passed, one by one, and then it was nearly a fortnight gone, and then the day was upon her when at last she could draw the sword.
It was a cold night. She sat in the great bedroom with the fire burning, staring at the sword.
It had been… what, a little over a month? Five weeks since Silas died? Everything was hazy, as if she’d stepped out of time. She couldn’t fit the last few weeks into the same place as the years before. The time before Silas’s death seemed as distant as her childhood or her marriage… a thing that happened long, long ago, to a different Halla, who had been impossibly young.
She ran her fingers down the scabbard. Still the same worn pattern, barely raised under her fingers. She wondered if the scabbard had been old when the sword was put into it, or if the smith had to make it new herself.
Then she’d have to be making scabbards as well as forging swords and trapping souls. Busy woman.
Her fingers closed on the hilt. She had not dared in the last few days to even test the draw. She had been too afraid that it would work, that she would draw the blade and find Sarkis before her, and she did not know what she was going to say.
Nolan’s dead. I’m the wielder again.
I messed everything up.
I’m so sorry.
She had spent days thinking of everything that she could say, or would say, or might say. She had stripped the master bedroom bare and whitewashed the walls, replaced the sheets and the quilt,evicted dust that had lived underneath the bed for decades. Words beat in her head: apologies, expressions of love, anger at Sarkis for lying, anger at herself for still caring about that, anger at herself for not caring enough about that. It was like a wagon wheel in her head going around and around,skreet skreet skreet, carrying her nowhere.
But she had made a decision at last. She would draw the blade and see what happened. If he was cold or aloof, if he held his death against her—and how could he not?—then she would give the blade to Zale. The Rat priest would see far more clearly, would take Sarkis back to the Temple and find a way to free him, or to give him work as a Temple guard where he would be treated as a man and not as a convenient enchantment.
Halla herself… well, she would still have her inheritance. Two inheritances, apparently. She would go to her nieces and see them settled, maybe bring one back to stay with her, if the girl was unhappy on the farm.
Or perhaps it wouldn’t come to that. Perhaps his lie and her foolishness would cancel out and they could start over again.
Halla swallowed hard and drew the blade.
Sarkis appeared in a cascade of blue light, one hand already going to his sword. He spun around, searching the room for enemies, and then saw her.
His eyes fixed on her face. She held her breath, waiting for whatever came next.
“Halla,” he said hoarsely, and buried his face in her shoulder.
CHAPTER 59
“You’re alive,” Sarkis said, against the side of her neck. “I thought I’d never see you again. I was so afraid I’d lost you.”
It occurred to him, belatedly, that hehadlost her. He’d been a fool and she’d cast the sword aside. She’d been right to do so. He should let go, step back, accept the judgment that he had due.
He did not seem to be doing any of these things. He seemed to be holding her so tightly that he had lifted her a little off the floor. And she was pressing herself against him, her body molding to his, and if he had lost her, she did not seem to know it.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m fine. Are you—have you—”
“Healed,” he said. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. Are you safe? Alver, Nolan, are they…?”
“All dealt with. We’re back home.”
He leaned back then, arms still around her waist, so he could search her face, terrified of what he’d find.Fear? Anger? Impatience? Is she waiting for me to stop mauling her so that she can tell me she’s giving the sword to her niece and I can go to hell?
She smiled at him, and his heart turned over.
“Halla…” he said, and pulled her mouth to his.
He kissed her hungrily, still not quite believing it was real. All the fear that had been coiled in his gut shuddered into passion. He wanted her here and now, on the floor in front of the fire if need be. He wanted to sink inside her and feel her heat around him and know that she was his, as surely as he was hers.
Can’t. Can’t do that. It’s the one thing she really is afraid of.
“Halla,” he said, his voice thick. “I need you. I know we can’t—but—”
