Page 5
Elarian smiled despite herself. She loathed returning to the place where she lost her childhood but gained a purpose.
“It is…strange to be back.”
Reshva nodded.
“You were gone longer than expected. I almost thought of worrying for you.” You were gone and did not come back with a trophy. She had bandied words with Reshva long enough to know what he truly meant. Rarely were they happy sentiments these days. She could not rest until the night had been reclaimed.
“I had matters to attend.” I was trying not to die; don’t you even care?
“I know. Your blade always sings so beautifully.”
Elarian nodded, mouth drawn into a thin smile. “It may,” she began, “but I will not survive the Evermist again, Reshva. It grows wilder each day. If it wasn’t for hi—”
Elarian swallowed her words as she realized what she was saying, but it was too late. Lucan’s face rose unbidden. The thought of him ached like a sunburn.
If it wasn’t for him.
Her jaw tightened. How could she even say such a thing? Think such a thing? He was the enemy. Rightfully, he should have been dead by her blade long ago; and yet, even here he lingered at the edge of her mind like a beautiful malediction.
“Let me infiltrate his court,” she said quickly, forcing steel back into her voice, “instead of drawing him into the Evermist. It fights me, I swear it. Please, Reshva. I can do this.”
Reshva blinked. His gaze narrowed slightly, lingering on her right arm even as the sleeves of her tunic hid the newest scar.
“What happened, my child?”
Elarian remained silent, heart pounding in her chest. She wished to speak but knew not what to say. That her silver had tasted his blood, but her hand wavered at the last moment? That he could have easily bitten her, but instead looked at her as if she was something to be saved? That even as she spat curses at the damned shivaem, she wanted to know why his god had abandoned him so long ago?
No, there was nothing Elarian could say that would assuage Reshva’s fears that his Ashen Blade was now forever dulled.
She sighed, then whispered, “Failure.”
The word landed harder than she expected. Bracing for Reshva’s ire, she closed her eyes and pictured the lapping of ocean waves upon a beach of white sand. Elarian had prepared herself for what always followed failure. The other Blades begged for forgiveness in the Grove of a Thousand Fallen Stars, flagellating themselves before their Star-Mother. For the Ashen Blade, it always ended with a visit to the feral shivaem and another scar over her body.
But today, Reshva did not move.
Instead, he sighed and reached for Elarian’s hand, now bandaged from her bloodletting.
“No, child,” he said quietly. “I have failed you.”
Elarian stiffened as he turned her hand over in his, fingers gently pressing down on an edge of her bandaging starting to fray.
“You are strong, Elarian. I trusted in silver above your cunning. More shivaem are dead by your hand than any other.” A long pause. Something flickered in his eyes—resignation, almost—before slipping away.
“You are to cease these missions, my Ashen Blade.”
The room spun.
Elarian stared at Reshva, slack jawed. She held her breath, waiting—though for what, she was not certain. Her lips trembled as she exhaled.
Still, Reshva only watched her in silence.
Confusion blinded Elarian. Only death or the Knight-Saint released the Blades from service to the Voice. He would break them, mold them, and rebuild them, but never abandon them. Accursed rituals in the dark and nights spent in the festering dungeon home to that thing that fed from her to ease her restless blood. Endless mornings in the training yard, hours spent sharpening an already-perfect blade.
That was the Reshva who’d raised her from an orphan to Blade.
“Reshva,” she whispered, “I don’t understand.”
What if she calls for me again? Elarian’s chest tightened at the thought, the Knight-Saint’s tender eyes swimming in her mind.
