Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

Lin dreamed again of the tower that night. This time she did not have to wait for Suleman to arrive; he was already there, standing at the tower’s edge, the black and red storm clouds coalescing behind him. When he came toward her, she saw the winking gleam of his Source-Stone in the hilt of the sword belted at his side.

He held out his arms to her, and this time, for the first time, she let him pull her close. Pull her down, so that they were both lying on the rough stone top of the shaking tower. When she drew him on top of her, she felt the relief of it. She had wanted him so much—had loved him, and love did not disappear when hatred bloomed. Rather, her hatred seemed to feed her passion, as if she were watering a monstrous plant with poisonous water.

She tore at the front of her dress, baring her skin to the thundering sky. He kissed her bare breasts and she arched up against him. His mouth was hot on her skin, the only warm thing in a world of distant flame and icy wind. She clutched at him, drawing him closer, closer still, her hand lowering to grip the hilt of his sword. She pulled it free with a single motion, driving it into his back even as her legs wrapped around him. And when he gasped, she did not know if it was pleasure or pain, only that his blood was hot against her as it ran out over her bare skin, burning scarlet as the eye of the storm . . .





After generations, the people of Aram found a peaceful settlement. They began to build, and to raise their children there, until the king of a neighboring land heard that they were users of magic, and came to them at the head of an army, saying, “If you swear fealty to me, and use your magic on my behalf, I will not slay you.”

And the younger of the Ashkar said, “It is worth it, for peace, to do this thing.”

But Judah Makabi remembered their Queen, and he remembered, too, what happened when kings used their people as tools to do magic. And in despair he went away from the settlement, and into a cave in the mountains. And he cried out to his long-gone Queen Adassa, saying: We have always been faithful to you, O Queen, we have always been your people. Do we die in your name or do we give our fealty to another?

It was then that Adassa appeared to Makabi in a vision.

—Book of Makabi





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Sunlight woke Kel, lancing through the window glass and, it felt, directly into his eyeballs. He rolled over, wincing. It seemed that despite his best attempts, he’d managed to down enough alcohol the night before to give himself a hangover.

He sat up, the sheets tangling around his waist. He could guess by the angle of the sunlight that it was about noon. He glanced over at Conor’s bed, but the curtains were drawn tightly. Whatever hangover Kel had, Conor’s was likely twice as bad.

After Antonetta had revealed her empty necklace, Falconet had appeared and spirited Kel away, telling him that he had to accompany Joss to the drawing room where Charlon had stripped off his clothes and was allowing one of the courtesans to paint him gold; the small group that had gathered to watch were taking bets on when Charlon would be rendered unconscious by the paint fumes. Conor had been there, smiling a glittering, hard smile; he had pressed blue wine into Kel’s hand, and Kel recalled little of what had happened after that.

He stared up at the ceiling. Like a tickle in the back of his throat, or a sore tooth, the thought of Antonetta’s locket was a botheration he could not quite ignore, as he could not ignore the pounding in his head. The grass ring inside—why had she kept it, and kept it so close to her? Was it a sign that she had missed their friendship as much as he had? A fond memory of a long-gone time? Had she placed the ring there years ago and forgotten it was there?

Or was it something else? He thought again of what Lin had said. Antonetta fancies you. And then, Antonetta does not know me. Not me as I really am.

And then there was the matter of Prosper Beck.

Why had Beck sent him to retrieve—at some risk—a locket that contained nothing inside it save a dried-out loop of grass? Did Beck even know about the ring’s false bottom, or had the whole business been some sort of test? Had someone else already gotten to the contents? But Antonetta had clearly expected the locket to be empty. Had she removed the contents herself? If there was one thing he had learned during these past strange weeks, it was not to underestimate Antonetta as she seemed to wish to be underestimated.

He swung himself out of bed; there was, after all, only one person who could unknot this knot. And he could explain any absence from Marivent as the need to take a walk and clear his head. Perhaps he would stop at the kitchens and ask Dom Valon for a serving of his hangover cure before he headed down into Castellane. Maybe ask for an extra helping of white vinegar. After last night, Kel felt as if he needed to be cleansed, inside and out.

Kel was just stepping into a pair of linen trousers when there was a rustle from behind the heavy velvet drapes that shielded Conor’s bed. A pale hand parted the curtains, and a distinctly feminine leg followed.

So there was a girl in Conor’s bed. It was hardly the first time. Kel cast about for a shirt while a slim, white-clad form slipped between the curtains, closing them carefully behind it. She exhaled and shook her head, sending a fountain of dark-red hair tumbling over her shoulders, and for a moment, Kel’s heart stopped.

Lin?

He must have made a noise, for she jumped a little and turned around. When she saw him, she smiled. “Ah,” she said. She was wrapped in a white sheet; it hung to her bare feet. “Fancy meeting you here.” She flicked her dark gaze up and down him with a grin; he was still shirtless. “I applaud your choice of outfit, Kel.”

“Silla,” he breathed. There was relief mixed in with his surprise, and some annoyance at himself: How could he ever have thought it would be Lin? She had made it clear enough several times that she didn’t care much for Conor. “What are you doing?”

“I should think that much would be obvious. I’m looking for my clothes.”

Kel pointed. The red dress she had been wearing the night before was tossed over a chair back next to Conor’s bed.

“Why, thank you, Sieur Anjuman.” Apparently deciding that since it was just Kel, it didn’t matter, she dropped the sheet, stepping out of its white folds like a mermaid out of seafoam. Kel flushed a little, not because she was naked, but because her body was so familiar. He had learned her body as one might learn a piece of music, its rhythm and inflections, the vibration of its low notes, the sharp trill of the higher range.

Silla slipped the red dress on and began to do up the laces in the front. She peered at Kel from beneath her eyelashes. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said. “I hadn’t seen you in so long. I assumed . . . and he is the Crown Prince.”

Somewhere in the distance, outside the room, Kel could hear the sound of laughter. A child playing. He pressed his fingers to his eyes as if he could hold back his headache.