Page 66 of Swordheart
The priest hastily sheathed it again and Sarkis vanished. They drew, saw the blue fire, sheathed.
After the fourth round of this, Sarkis reached out his hand and said, “Please stop. I’m getting dizzy.”
“Oh, yes. Apologies.” They sat back with a broad grin. “The sword summons you, then? Are you a demon or a djinn?”
“No,” said Sarkis. “I’m a man, or was when I went into the blade.”
“He went into the sword centuries ago to help fight a war,” said Halla. “By being a weapon. Now he’s stuck there.”
Sarkis rolled his eyes at this characterization. “It wasn’tquitelike that…”
“How fascinating!” The priest shook their head, chuckling. “Gentlefolk, you are well above my pay grade, though I thank you for livening up my morning. I will take you to the bishop.”
Bishop Beartongue was a tall, muscular woman with short graying hair, wearing vestments. She listened to the priest’s murmured explanation, raised her own eyebrows, and beckoned Halla and Sarkis into her office.
Other than being larger and slightly more cluttered, her room was similar to the one that the priest had been in. The only major difference was a massive oak desk, over which the bishop stared at them.
“Zale has told me a story I can hardly believe,” she said, “but they are the least fanciful of priests. Suppose you start from the beginning?”
Halla started from the beginning again.
The bishop asked a great many questions, and not only about Sarkis and the sword. Alver’s family had no claim on her except by her former marriage? Halla was sincere in her desire not to marry her cousin?
“He has clammy hands,” said Halla.
“Avert!” said Beartongue, making a warding gesture. “We’ll say no more, then.” She continued the questions. Did Halla know the exact amount of Silas’s estate? As much as that? Fascinating.She had been trying to kill herself? Why? Did she wish to die otherwise? No? They had run then? Yes, understandably so.
She stopped the polite interrogation long enough to order food and drink brought in, and watched them eat with interest. Then she turned to Sarkis and went through an abbreviated version of the same tests the priest had done, sword sheathed and then unsheathed.
“Would you object terribly, Widow Halla, to leaving the room while I try this? Forgive my suspicion, I mean no offense, but this is so very unusual, and while you do not seem like a liar, I would be remiss in my service to the Rat if I did not take all precautions.”
“Oh no, go ahead.” Halla pushed her chair back. “Err… Sarkis? It’s okay with you, right?”
He nodded. He held the bishop’s eyes, though, while he said, “And nowImean no offense, but in the event that they try to steal the blade, lady, do not leave the Temple complex. As soon as they draw it again, I will find you. I will not be separated from my wielder except byherchoice, Bishop.”
Beartongue inclined her head. “Fair and more than fair.”
Halla took an apple from the tray, stepped outside the room, and leaned against the wall.
She had time to finish most of the apple before the bishop called her back in. Sarkis was sitting in the chair where she had left him, but he had slid down in it, his hands folded together, studying the bishop with unreadable eyes.
“This is truly amazing,” Beartongue said. “We are used to artificers coming in from Anuket City, occasionally with marvels, or the occasional relic that someone claims is from the ancient civilizations, but you are something else entirely. A true work of magic.” She leaned back in her chair. “Wonderworkers who can do some small feat are one thing, but this…” She shook her head.
Sarkis said nothing.
“But you have come to us to solve a problem,” said Beartongue, as Halla sat, “not to have us gawk. So we have several options.”
She tapped her finger on the table. “First of all, the Temple of the White Rat, for a tithe, will arrange to help you retrieve your inheritance. It will cost you—oh—twenty percent, let us say, which includes arranging to sell your uncle’s house if you wish. I am honor bound to tell you that you do not need us to do so, that legally the estate is yours and the only barrier is your husband’s relatives. But I also understand that family can be…” She pursed her lips. “… trying.”
Halla gave a single laugh that sounded high and hysterical in her own ears and clamped it down immediately. “Sorry.”
Sarkis reached out and took her hand.
Am I to be manhandled again?
It did not feel like manhandling. It felt like comfort, and that was a very strange thing to be taking from the touch of an enchanted sword. Had his hands always been so warm? She couldn’t remember. She looked down at their joined hands, his fingers dark bands across her pale skin. He rubbed his thumb gently across her palm and she glanced up at him, but his face was as hard and remote as ever.
“Mistress Halla?”
