Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (35 page)

Nora waited for more, but Owen just licked his lips and fiddled with his leather band.

“Are you finished?” she asked.

“Think of all the good you could do here, Nora.”

“I am thinking—” she started.

“And besides, we shall pass through here on our way farther north when we have divined the exact location of the Living Blade. We will see each other again.” Owen spoke fast to jam in one more
reasonable
reason.

“I am thinking,” Nora repeated slowly, reaching for the book on her nightstand, “of the fact that you fucking don’t know me that well if you think you can just leave me here and skip away.”

She threw the book at Owen, who caught it awkwardly and gaped at her.

“With fucking Bashan.”

The cup she hurled at him made Owen jump off the bed and run to the door, the book still clutched to his chest.

“I know you’re a bit angry right now—”

“And fucking Diaz.”

The water jug exploded into shards next to Owen’s head. He grabbed the door handle and stepped into safety.

“I’ll come back later with a different book,” he shouted.

The door closed.

“You do not want to see me get out of this bed, Owen,” she screamed as she heard his footsteps leave hurriedly. “Don’t make me follow you.”

When she heard nothing on the other side, she allowed herself to laugh.

Laugh until her ribs hurt. As if he really didn’t know nothing would stop her from following him.

*     *     *

The cold wind tugged at
Owen’s collar, but it also brought a scent of new green from the woodlands. Though snow still drifted in the corners of the courtyards and slumped against houses, and icicles hung like diamond teeth from the rooftops, spring was showing her blue banner of promise in the skies. She kissed the earth from its winter slumber, though it was but a brush of the lips.

“Have you said goodbye to Nora?” Calla asked.

Owen turned to look up at the window to Nora’s room. It was high above, and though he fancied he saw the outline of a person looking down, in reality he knew that was just wishful thinking. He knew that from this distance, he wouldn’t see anyone’s face.

“I tried,” he said. “She won’t see reason. She—”

He knew Nora wanted to come along. And deep down he wanted her to come with him, too. But that was a selfish reason, Owen told himself. A selfish desire to be with his twin, to have her roughness complement his smooth edges, her stubborn head compensate for his yielding spirit, and her loud mouth saying things as how they were to contrast his speaking logically and reasonably. But—

But that was simply selfish. Nora was still weak. Too weak for such a long journey. Besides, the Temple of Shinar was a temple of the pilgrim order, yes, but it was also the largest brothel on this side of the world. It was not a place he wanted to take his sister. She’d probably enjoy herself too much.

And having Nora here with Calla would help his beautiful companion. He glanced over. Calla’s hair was braided loosely and the wind lashed strands over her face. Some stuck in the corners of her mouth. Shadows lay under her eyes, but at least the silver chains were gone.

He looked down the causeway and could see Bashan, Shade, and Garreth under the arch of the outer gates. A small crowd of men gathered around the prince, seeking his good favor. Yes, it really was the best solution all around if Nora stayed here. But—

But the niggling of doubt crept up on him. He had been wrong before. To send her away from him. Maybe—

“She’s being very obstinate.” He finished his own train of thought.

“And vocal, I heard.”

“I think everyone in the vicinity heard.” Owen grimaced. “And besides, we shall pass through here on our way farther north when we have divined the exact location of the Living Blade. We will see each other again.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I meant Nora and I—”

“I know.” Calla simply smiled, her blue eyes fixed on him for a moment, making his heart miss a beat. She then greeted the family walking past the two of them but said nothing more to Owen until they reached the gates.

This was it, then. Bashan, Shade, and Garreth were waiting already. They made small talk and shouldered their gear, making ready to leave. Master Diaz was lurking in the shadows, hood pulled deep over his eyes. Even after so much time, even after the battle at Solstice, the residents of the lower courtyards flinched when they saw him pass by.

He nodded in greeting.

“Master Calla.” Bashan turned. “I bid you farewell. Look after my temple while I’m gone.”

Calla bowed her pretty head.

“The temple belongs to the order of pilgrims, my lord. We shall look after your men for you, though.”

Bashan grunted and made ready to go.

“May your journey be swift.” Calla said the ritual words. “May the miles fly by on wings like an eagle. May you not travel down the silent road. May the way become your bride.

“And may your return be just as swift,” she added.

Owen turned to Calla one last time.

“You’ll talk with her, won’t you?”

“I’ll try.” Calla smiled. “When she’s not so mad. I’ll tell her it wasn’t an easy decision for you to make. That you left doubting whether you had made the right choice.”

“That’ll placate her, for sure. She loves to be smug.”

“It’s also the truth.”

Owen was unsettled for a moment. He looked down at Calla’s gloved hands. After Solstice, she had turned to wearing leather gloves that reached up her entire forearm. He thought it was to help her not sense her surroundings, not feel the emotions of the person she was talking to.

“Only if the person is someone I’m not close to,” she said, and a faint tinge of red crept into her cheeks. Owen watched, fascinated by the change in her complexion.

She stepped closer and spread her arms wide for an embrace.

“Come back soon, Owen.”

“I will.”

As he felt her arms rest on his shoulders, he made himself think of good things, of beautiful things: a rainbow, the sound of summer rain, the silver melody of the springs in the temple, the scent of woodsmoke and sage, Nora laughing out loud, tossing her hair back as she did so.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Calla whispered into his ear as she hugged him tight.

“I know.”

They stepped apart and Owen turned around, concentrating on the road before him, trying not to see Shade winking and hooting.

Every step now would take him farther from a desire he didn’t even know he had. He focused on what lay before him, the road to Woodston and the Suthron Pass, to the Temple of Shinar. Knowledge was his ultimate desire, he told himself as his heart beat faster at the idea of finding the Living Blade, of finding more than just the Blade. What lay ahead excited him far more than an embrace could.

They walked down the road to Woodston for the rest of the day, only stopping shortly for a midday lunch on a grassy mound to the side of the ancient imperial road. At dusk, Diaz signaled them to move under the trees, and they found a small glade, perfect for shelter. After the long stay in the library all winter, Owen was exhausted by the journey. He made his bed and fell asleep quickly without even reading a page or two in the books he had brought along.

Diaz shook him awake a few hours later.

“What?”

Diaz held a finger to his lips. Only then did Owen see the sword in Diaz’s hand. He nodded, bleary-eyed, understanding when he heard the crunch of breaking twigs come from the direction of where he supposed the road was, invisible now in the pitch-black night.

It was probably just another weary traveler who had seen their small fire and was looking for shelter under the trees. Despite his rational thoughts, Owen’s hair rose. Too many bad things had happened. Whoever their nighttime visitor was, he moved as quietly through the woods as he possibly could. Why? Owen held his breath as Diaz melted into the shadows.

The rustling stopped. Owen jumped in fright as he felt cold fingers slide over his eyes.

“And? Did you miss me?”

Nora laughed at his surprise, tipping back her hood.

Black Hole

S
now could change everything. Nora
looked up at the blue spring skies. The winter snows were beginning to melt, and heaps of it grayed into slush along the roadside. The earth was visible after the long winter, dark brown, wet, and receptive, ready for plowing. They traveled a week on the road and passed Woodston, still shut to travelers, with ease. At the front of their small company, Owen harangued Prince Bashan for days about the ongoing possibility of snow until they reached the Suthron Pass, leaving the road that led to the heart of the Kandarin Empire and taking to the woodlands with their gradual climb. If they made it past the Suthron Pass without snows, then their journey would be smooth, Owen said. They’d reach the Temple of Shinar in about two and a half, maybe three months. But only if the snows—

“I heard you the first time,” Bashan said icily, patience finally breaking.

Owen blushed and instinctively fell back to where Nora and Shade were dragging their feet, then he flinched, probably remembering he was still mad at Nora for coming along. He stayed by Garreth’s side instead, silent.

Bashan had pressed his lips together tightly in an uncharacteristic display of self-restraint at Nora’s arrival, and he hadn’t sent her back. Yet. Garreth had shrugged at her presence in that nonchalant way that said if she wanted to die horribly, what was it to him exactly? On their first morning on the road together, Diaz had handed her a wooden baton the length of her forearm. She’d given it a puzzled look.

“For training,” he said and winked.

At dusk they made camp, talking low around the fire. Bashan looked up at the sheet of clouds that had rolled in during the evening, barring out the faint starlight.

“Sun sets early still,” he announced to no one in particular. “I want us to get a start before dawn tomorrow. Make it over the pass and camp in the fields of Rheged.”

“Mercy, lord.” Shade grimaced. “A growing boy needs rest.”

“It’s not yet eight.” Bashan scratched his jaw. “That gives you plenty of time to rest. Provided you go to sleep now.”

“Now? Owen’s going to read his books until midnight,” Shade said.

Owen looked up from his book, startled by the sound of his name.

“I’m figuring out the most direct route to take south so as not to lead us too close to the military camps of the imperial guard,” he said, shadows dark under his eyes.

“Least Owen’s not whining,” Garreth said, wiggling down close to the fire and pulling his cloak over his face, knowing he would relieve Diaz of guard duty in just a few hours. “So shut up and good night.”

“We haven’t even eaten anything,” Shade pointed out.

“Whining, boy,” Garreth rumbled. “Next time you open your mouth I’ll punch it shut for you. Then you won’t be able to eat anyhow.”

Bashan sniggered. Over the fire he gave Shade a look. Though he mumbled something rude, Shade deferred to his father’s wishes.

Three months of this ahead of her, every single night. Nora rubbed her hand over her face and winced. The wet cold made the freshly healed cuts and burns feel taut, the skin stretched uncomfortably tight across the damaged side of her face. Warmth helped. But if she moved too close to the fire, the heat made the cuts feel dry and itchy while the burns flared up. She pulled out the small leather pouch Calla had given her and dabbed some ointment here and there, then carefully massaged it over most of her left lower jaw up to the cheekbone and a bit of her forehead, too. A piece of burning debris had fallen on her head after the explosion at the red gates. It had singed away a large part of her hair just above her ear, burning the scalp, but if she left her hair down, it didn’t show. Much.

She caught Owen watching her from across the fire and finished up, running a fingertip doused with ointment along a deep cut across her cheekbone. He quickly lowered his gaze, pulling up his shoulders, hunching over his book. This fight had gotten tired two weeks ago. It was time he let it go.

Nora got up to go behind the bushes, taking a light from the fire with her. Nature was having its way with her body again. It was that time of the month. As she threw the soft moss into the dark, the blade of a sword slid silently between her bare legs, grazing her thigh. The sting made her think something had bitten her at first, and she hastened to pull her trousers up but couldn’t. She stared dumbly at the silver tip shining between her knees, then realized what it was. Her trousers pooled around her feet, and she rose slowly and raised her hands.

“No one should walk alone in the dark,” Bashan’s voice drawled behind her. “You least of all. There could be all sorts of dangers—wild animals, poisonous snakes, evil men.”

Not to mention the poisonous snakes impersonating men
, Nora thought, pulling a face at the dark trees around them.

“My lord,” she said.

“We should be over the Suthron Pass tomorrow,” Bashan said, twisting the sword to see the reflection of her intimate parts in his blade. “It’s still a bit of a climb. So stick close or you’ll get lost. But the end of the journey, the Temple of Shinar, warms every man’s heart and quickens even the heaviest feet—such a place of beauty, filled with beautiful women. Did you know, in ancient times, when it was still a temple devoted to the god Shinar, all the unmarried girls living in its vicinity had to travel to the temple to be initiated into the sacred knowledge of being a wife? It’s true. Ask your brother. They even came from as far as the outskirts of the City of Arrun itself. Each girl had to wait in the courtyards until a man, any man, came to choose her as his vessel for divine instruction. The uglier they were, the longer they had to wait. Pity about your face, isn’t it? All that scarred mess on the one side. But you know, if you shaved between your legs, maybe you’d find someone willing to teach you what you really need to know instead of how to wave a knife around.”