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“Do I?” Ren performed a brief inspection of their apartment. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made only two assumptions. The first is that you have very little money. No offense, but this is no summer palace. I don’t see any paintings on the walls. No silk sheets on the beds. Unless you’ve found some other mysterious benefactor, you have nowhere close to the kind of wealth you’ll need to take on the Broods. They’re a centuries-old dynasty. Their estate is protected by every enchantment you could imagine. They have an army of guards at their disposal. Anger only goes so far without coin to back it. You need my money and my connections.”
Nevelyn resisted looking around their dismal flat. She knew all the details confirmed Ren’s guess. Her own jacket was missing a button. The partition separating their beds looked cheap and threadbare. Her first thought, upon seeing Ren at their door, had been: Gods, that’s a proper cloak. There was no point in denying this particular claim. It was obvious.
“The other assumption,” Ren continued, “is the more important one. I assumed that you were like me. That you carry what happened to you in your bones. It physically hurts me to know that Landwin Brood still walks this world. Sometimes I wake up and I can’t breathe, because the only thing there’s room for in my chest is hate. I will not stop until I’ve burned his entire world to the ground.”
Nevelyn leaned back in her chair. It was strange to hear her thoughts spoken by someone else so clearly and with such venom. That was exactly how she felt about Thugar Brood. Nevelyn had killed him a thousand different ways in her mind. Watched him die over and over again. But dreams alone would not satisfy that sort of hunger. Blood was demanded.
“I want to believe you,” Nevelyn finally said. “Dahvid. Let us test our new friend.”
Her brother had been waiting for this moment. He strode to the center of the room. They all watched as he closed his eyes in concentration. He reached out and grazed the tattoo on his right wrist. Magic whispered through the air. Light formed—pulsing briefly—in the shape of a sword.
When Dahvid gripped the handle, it shivered from something gossamer into a hardened substance. He leveled the weight of that unnaturally bright metal and approached their guest. Nevelyn couldn’t help smiling. She saw the way the girl’s fingers stretched, eager to reach for that horseshoe wand that was no longer at her belt. Finally, proper fear. They might have a shared hatred—but Ren Monroe needed to know the Tin’Voris were not her pets. They would suffer no one else’s rule over their plans, no matter how helpful they promised to be.
“Do you know what this is?” Dahvid asked. His voice always grew quiet when he was wielding a weapon. As if he was afraid of waking up the violence too soon.
“It’s a sword,” Ren answered.
“It is a moral sword.”
Their guest let out an unexpected laugh. Nevelyn and Dahvid exchanged a glance as the girl covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. A matter of personal irony. I had an argument with someone last year on the subject of moral swords. There are some famous stories about them. The tale of Maxim and Rowan is a favorite of mine.”
Dahvid nodded. “Perhaps you’ll leave with a story of your own. My version of the sword is quite simple. I have channeled the concept of truth into the blade. It takes that concept and makes a god out of it. The metal bows only to truth now. It will obey no other natural law before that one. Nevelyn is going to ask you some questions. It is paramount that you tell the truth. After every answer, I will swing this sword. If you have told the truth, no harm will come to you. But if you’ve lied…”
He offered that famous Dahvid shrug. The one he used to say a thousand different things. This time Nevelyn knew his shoulders were saying: We’ll be cleaning your blood off the floors all night. Ren Monroe surprised her again. She stood and strode purposefully into the range of his blade.
“Ask your questions.”
The weapon’s light pulsed in response. Dahvid looked back to Nevelyn for approval. She desperately wished Ava were still with them. Even if she was the youngest, Ava had a knack for reading people that both Dahvid and Nevelyn lacked. They’d both learned to lean on her charm after escaping from Kathor, and that habit had left them both unpolished for navigating the political. Nevelyn could only do her best. She tried to summon a confidence she did not feel.
“We’ll start with a simple question. Are you truly bonded to Theo Brood?”
“Yes.”
Dahvid brought his sword sweeping down in a diagonal blow that would have taken their guest’s arm off at the elbow. No blood spilled. There was no scream. The sword swished through empty air. Dahvid rotated the sword and carefully reset his stance.
“How did you first learn about us?”
“An old lady at a party told me the rumor of Dahvid being an image-bearer.”
Another swing. The sword swished again.
“Are you a spy?”
“No.”
Swish.
“Did the Broods send you here?”
“No.”
Swish.
“Do the Broods know you are in Ravinia?”
“No.”
But right before Dahvid could swing, the girl recoiled.
