Page 159 of A Crown of Lies

He was no longer Omashii-Kuno’s blade. He belonged to no one, free to pursue his own interests at a whim.

Everything in him screamed that he should turn around, go back to the surface, where all those things were waiting for him with open arms. Aryn had chosenlife. He no longer belonged down there in the creeping dark with the bringers of death.

He gripped the sword at his side and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.If I don’t do this, that life won’t exist.

“It seems the dead refuse to stay in their graves.”

Aryn’s eyes snapped open. He had his sword drawn before his vision even focused on the familiar figure sitting on the edge of the walkway just ahead. She hadn’t been there a moment ago, but she was there now, her feet dangling above the endless chasm without a care.

“Emmanthe,” he whispered, relaxing only a little. “What are you doing here?”

She stood slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, and brushed rock dust from the black Shikami tunic she wore. Determined green eyes met his as she turned, and he spied her hand gripping the sheathed sword at her side.

Aryn’s eye twitched, and he fought the urge to grimace. “Mercia asked you to come.”

“Neither she nor any of the others know that I am here,” Emmanthe said, pacing in the middle of the walkway. She smiled to herself, a sad smile, looking down at her feet. “The first time I saw you, your face was covered in dirt. Omashii-Kuno had you chained in one of the pits, fighting the other initiates for your meals, armed with nothing but teeth and fingernails. Even skinny and filthy, I recognized you for who you were.”

“No one knows who I was before,” Aryn said carefully.

“But don’t you wonder? Don’t you suspect?”

Aryn was no fool. Of course he suspected. Of course he had been tempted to find out, and of course Omashii-Kuno had not acquired him for thirty gold coins from that orphanage by random selection. She had sought him out for a reason.

His fist tightened around the sword. “It doesn’t matter who I was born.”

“It would have mattered if the bloodline curse had succeeded,” Emmanthe pointed out. “If Taratheil had not sacrificed himself to save Ruith, I wonder if they would have figured you out or if they would have dismissed it as a mystery. But you know, don’t you? Who you are? What you are? Perhaps that’s why you have such a soft spot for bastards and forgotten children. Because you are one yourself.”

“Step aside, Emmanthe. That has nothing to do with why I’m here.”

“It haseverythingto do with that. It’s why you couldn’t kill Ruith, even though you hold his contract. It’s why you remain by his side, why you kill for him. Because he is the only family you have left. And it is why you are on this fool’s mission, willing to destroy what little peace you have bought yourself.” She took a step forward, her fist lingering on her sword. “I understand better than most what it is like to support someone you love from the shadows. It feels like a duty, like we are bound to them by a common destiny. I did the same for Taratheil. There were rivers of blood in this city born at my hands. He never even had to order it. I just did it because it needed done. His hands needed to stay clean. I was his weapon.”

“I am here to save Saya Runecleaver,” Aryn said firmly.

“You are here to fight your way through an army of assassins who hated you, berated you, belittled you, and beat you for nothing more than being born with a cock,” Emmanthe replied. “You are here to burn down your entire world, and yourself with it if that’s what it takes, becausehisworld might be born from the ashes.” She lifted her chin. “And I am here to stop you.”

“Stop me?” He let out a bitter laugh. “You want me to turn around and let Saya die? Let Ruith’s dream for a better future—a future in which humans and elves live and work together freely—die? Why? Because it might blacken my soul beyond repair? Come now, Emmanthe. You and I both know weapons have no soul. I am cold steel. Death is my purpose.”

“Perhaps once it was. But now you are made of flesh and bone. You bleed and you ache. Tell me, when was the last time a sword felt pain or passion?”

“I don’t have time for this. Get out of my way,” he growled and stepped forward.

She drew her sword, lightning fast. Fast enough, he only barely caught it just under the guard of his own.

“I can’t let you do this,” she said.

“Then you’re going to have to kill me.” He kicked her back.

She recovered quickly, holding up her blade. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, sizing each other up. They had fought once before, Aryn and Emmanthe, but she hadn’t wanted to kill him. Between the two of them, he was faster, but she was the better swordsman. She was more experienced, but he was stronger. It would come down to opportunity, and that was a wild card.

Emmanthe and Aryn circled each other. The walkway was narrow, barely five feet wide. She forced him toward the chasm and then slashed out with near impossible speed. He caught her blade, but it was all a ruse. She leaned in. His feet slid to the edge. Empty air loomed behind him, the deadly drop threatening to swallow him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed, breaking her hold and following up with a barrage of swings that drove her back. He gained a foot. Two. Soon, her back foot dangled over the false walkway, which was littered with spells. A pound of pressure was all it would take to unleash the deadly Shikami traps waiting there.

Emmanthe shoved him back and scurried to reposition, choosing the low ground over falling into the traps. Aryn capitalized on the advantage she’d given him with a downward swing. She was forced to defend high, leaving her lower body open to a kick that sent her tumbling down the steep walkway. He leapt after her, but the clang of metal echoed when his sword came down where her head should have been. She’d rolled to the side, dangerously close to the drop off. Emmanthe slashed at his ankles. Aryn leapt up to avoid having his feet taken clean off. While he repositioned, Emmanthe recovered, taking the high ground from him.

Steel clashed against steel, the sound echoing through the chasm as she drove him back. Aryn tried to reach for one of his daggers with his free hand, but she pressed the advantage, and he didn’t have time. All her weight fell against her sword, pressed against his, and he had to use both his hands to keep her from pushing him off his feet.

“What if I told you there’s another way?” Emmanthe ground out through clenched teeth.

“What other way?” He lifted a foot and pushed off from her knee, bringing his sword up in a defensive pose. “If the Shikami are allowed to continue, there will only be more death. More corruption.”

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