Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (41 page)

Nora looked down at her own face screaming silently as her body arched against the pain. She could feel its echo inside her, squirming like a live thing trapped within.

“Will I die?”

Suranna shrugged. “Of course. Everyone dies. Even the gods.”

“I meant now?”

Suranna’s full lips were slightly parted. Her mouth opened and Nora saw fangs too large to be in any human mouth. Under Suranna’s cracking skin, a red gleam like hot coals burned ferociously. Nora tried to back away but couldn’t.

“I’m not finished with you.” Suranna struck out, and her nightmare mouth closed over Nora’s.

N
ora woke up and instantly
wished she hadn’t.

Even the dim reddish light gouged at her eyeballs. She shut her eyes tightly once more. Her heavy head was filled with a piercing, shrieking glare that left an afterglow of throbbing pain sludging through her veins. It felt like someone had poured acid into her ear while she slept and her brain was liquid slosh. She groaned. The rustle of clothes betrayed a stirring beside her. She opened one eye again and squinted into the blurred face of Diaz. He looked just as poised as ever, his black eyes taking her in with what might pass for relief.

“You’re awake.”

Her hand instinctively reached for her face to protect it from the onslaught of sound and vision. The hand fell on top of her face, her arm too weak and numb to guide it properly.

“You’re loud.” She winced.

He pushed her forearm away from her eyes and laid the palm of his hand on her forehead.

“The fever’s down. How are you feeling?”

“Not…good,” she managed after a lot of thought.

She groaned once more. Her skin felt raw, the memory of wrestling with a fiery serpent still etched into it. She peered down at the pale limb lying next to her, recognizing it dimly for her own arm, part of her, though not yet under her command. There was nothing to be seen, no flayed skin, red burn, or mark whatsoever. It felt like there should be, though.

She moved her head a bit more to check whether…oh, good. She wasn’t naked. A sleeve covered the arm by her side. That was good, right? Soft linen had slipped over her shoulder and pooled around her elbow. It wasn’t one of her shirts.

She frowned.

It must be one of Diaz’s shirts. Over her arm…covering her…
oh my gods
!

She’d puked all over herself, and he had cleaned it up and seen her naked…and then cleaned
her
up—she vaguely remembered something with water—and then dressed her in one of his own shirts. And she had been naked. She’d been naked in his arms and couldn’t even remember.

She hid her face in her palms. Diaz touched her elbow and she reluctantly looked up, hands still over her mouth, wishing she’d just die now, please. He held a cup before her and his hand pushed under her hair, a tingling sensation spreading where he gently touched her aching head to lift it. She drank a few sips, washing down the sour taste in her mouth, then turned her head away.

“Stop being so gods damn nice to me, Diaz.” She grimaced, rolling her weight on one elbow to push herself up. She flopped back down, then tried again, aware of his raised eyebrows.

“Why is it,” he said, “that you never want my help?”

She snorted. Her tongue was thick and heavy, a fat flab of useless flesh in her numb mouth.

“I want your help. But not…when I’m helpless.”

She managed to prop herself up on one elbow and waved a hand at him as though to shoo him away.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He rose and vanished from her sight. “Rephrase that thought when you’re sober.”

“Why don’t you just say it?” She spoke through clenched teeth. Sitting made her lightheaded, and something was stabbing into her skull, etching fancy carvings on the inside.

“Say what?” His voice came from far away through the blinding white pain.

“I told you so.”

He hunched down beside her and shrugged. He offered her the cup, which she took and emptied.

“Why would I say that?”

“You wouldn’t. Because you’re so perfect, so controlled, so considerate.”

She wiped the bitterness from her lips with the back of her hand and looked away.

He laughed quietly and she turned to glare at him. He saw her face and, before she could speak, shook his head. “I wish someone had told me so all those years ago.”

She groaned and grasped her head. “I can’t understand. Not a word.”

“I woke here. In this room. In a state much worse than yours. The first time I had ever been beaten.” He opened his mouth as though wanting to say more, but stopped himself and shook his head again.

“So I’m not that special, huh?” Nora frowned. “Why did she pretend I have a purpose?”

“Well…” He leaned in. “You can ask her that yourself. You have another audience with her. In about two hours.”

He pointed to the wooden door. Nora saw a small wooden trunk next to it.

“She even sent you something clean to wear.”

T
he black of the throne
room was a consolation to Nora’s eyes. It muted the pain a little. Harsh daylight colors danced before her eyes when she closed them. Her legs were still shaking from the descent to the throne room. Better not throw up on the new dress Suranna had sent her. It was made of raw, stiff silk and embroidered with gold thread. You’d never get the stains out.

In the darkness, a pool of gold shone upon the dais where the throne stood. Suranna’s symmetrical beauty was shrouded by sweet-smelling smoke from a copper brazier before her. Her eyes flashed a smile at Nora’s costume.

“I’d ask how you feel, but, well…” she said.

Her slender hand passed through the smoke, forming it into a rough ring. If the potion she’d shared with Nora had affected her, Nora couldn’t tell. Suranna pointed to a low bench at her side and gestured for Nora to take a seat. Nora bristled at the thought of complying, but she still felt exhausted enough to be grateful to sit down.

“Poison has no effect on a snake,” Nora said slowly as she carefully arranged the gown underneath her legs.

“Is that what you think of me?”

“You tell me.”

“Upset?” Suranna seemed amused.

“Upset that you drugged me, crept into my head, and snuck around in my most intimate thoughts and memories while I was puking my guts out?” Nora raised her eyebrows high and layered the sarcasm thick. “No. I had such a great night.”

Suranna smiled and twirled the smoke with her fingers, shaping it as Master Cumi had shaped water. Orange sparks lit up the white smoke and, for a moment, Nora thought she saw a flickering image in the twisting curls. She blinked and Diaz’s face was gone.

“I merely did what I had to do,” Suranna said. “The potion I gave you lowers mental barriers, allowing me entry from a distance. Alcohol works to a certain extent, blurring the lines between the mask self and the raw self. I need to know who I’m dealing with in order to find out your purpose. I need information that you might not even have known about yourself. Much simpler to go directly to the source and extract what I need from your subconscious mind.”

“Yeah, ‘Why ask for consent?’ said every rapist ever.”

Suranna actually laughed. “My dear girl, would you have told me what I wanted to know if I had asked politely?”

Nora lifted her chin, fingers curling around the edge of the bench.

“Maybe.”

“Did you ever tell Owen what happened between you and your foster father?”

Nora remained silent.

“See?” Suranna said. “Our time is short as it is. Bashan must find the Blade. And he must do so soon. Time is of the essence, or else all will have been in vain.”

“Do you know where the Blade is?”

“It is hard to pinpoint where exactly it is, for the Blade—as its name suggests—is very much alive and doesn’t want to be found if not by the right person.”

“And that’s Bashan? The Living Blade must be very stupid, then.”

“It becomes all the person sacrificed to reforge it was. That is why that person must do so willingly. The last person was Emperor Kandar’s own son by his liaison with the Prophetess Hin two thousand years ago. Who now can tell what kind of a person he was? Even the eldest of wights has not lived that long. Much less I, a humble human.”

A human who has lived unnaturally long enough to sleep with Diaz.
She should look older
, Nora thought with a pang of jealousy. Talk about aging with grace, but Suranna’s youthful vigor was freakish. There was nothing humble about her.

“And by when would Bashan need to have it?” Nora asked, rolling the tension out of her shoulders.

It was uncomfortable sitting on the low bench in the asymmetrical dress. The material stretched tightly over one shoulder, hemming in her natural movements, forcing her to sit straight, chest out. She hid her legs beneath the bench as best as she could since a slit in the dress reached nearly to her upper thigh, and with Suranna sitting opposite, Nora was suddenly very conscious of all her blemishes and unshaven extremities.

Suranna bowed her head a little, tugging a smoke trail into place like a spinner tugging a strand of wool into shape on the spindle. This time Nora was sure she saw a figure like Diaz pacing through his training routine. Her eyes flickered back to Suranna, who was smiling.

“Do you believe in destiny, Nora?”

“No.”

“So sure?”

“The gods are dead.” Nora tossed her head back. “How can there be a predestined fate when there’s no one left to predetermine it?”

“But what if the gods didn’t predetermine it? What if they understood themselves to be slaves of destiny, forced to play out their part in the time given them?”

“Then it’s good they’re dead, the fuckwits.”

Suranna gave Nora a look through the smoke.

“Do you know why the people in the north leave twins out in the wilds after birth? It is because in times now long gone even the common folk understood that some people are marked by the gods, chosen by them to stand out. Twins like Lara and Tuil, like Owen and you, but also people who speak in tongues, have the gift of second sight, or far-sight, of vision, who survived shipwrecks, fires, or other dismal fates miraculously.”

“You forgot insane people,” Nora interrupted.

“Touched by the gods, you mean.” Suranna smiled. “When I look at you, I see a strong female twin, an outcast from a bigoted society who by all rights should be dead, but who has survived again and again, who is outstandingly lucky when tempting fate. And whose face is becoming a reflection of Lara, Queen of Death Herself.” Suranna reached out and touched Nora’s cheek. Her fingers were hot and Nora was sure the queen had singed her skin. She gasped and flinched away.

“To be holy means to be separate from all else. I see you and call you holy, Noraya. Dedicated to the gods to do their will, though beyond their direct reach. Do you know what revolution means?” Suranna asked.

Nora opened and closed her mouth a few times. “It’s a word for disgruntled, unentitled people to say they want a turn at fucking over others for a change.”

“It means a return to a former state.”

“Nah.” Nora shook her head. “Are you sure?”

“It’s what we need now,” Suranna continued, ignoring Nora’s question. “A return to order and stability, to a strong hand led by divine fortune. You have seen it. There is something inherently wrong with the world of mankind, Nora. But what it is you cannot name; you can only feel it. And its cure is simple: we need the Living Blade. And now, look: a constellation of heroes aligning despite differences to find the Blade at the right time. A powerful seeress, an exiled prince, his shadow, a warrior of the elder blood, twins. The appointed time is coming. Look into the smoke and tell me what you see.”

With that, the queen reached into the brazier and took out two glowing coals with her bare hand. Nora held her breath, expecting screaming and the stink of burning flesh. Instead Suranna formed the rising smoke in the cup of her hand, and Nora saw Diaz’s face outlined to such a resemblance it was as if Suranna was holding up a mirror. Nora leaned in closer. A slender finger reached into the smoke and caressed Diaz’s cheek. Nora saw his eyes open in surprise and his hand reach to where he had just been touched. The smoke writhed and twisted to reveal him from his head down to his hips. Suranna scratched her nails down his back, and Nora swallowed hard as his lips parted in a silent moan while he shivered. She licked her own lips and caught Suranna staring at her, golden eyes like slits.