Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (52 page)

“What do you want, Suranna?”

“What was it like, seeing him that way? What did you feel?”

“I felt nothing.” Nora wiped her brow.

“Liar.” Shade laughed. “I felt your pain.”

“Then why do you ask?” The longer Suranna talked, the longer Nora had to figure out what she was going to do next.

“Take a lunge. Go on. Kill me.”

“Oh, I want to kill you. It’s just Shade I don’t want to kill.”

“He’s touched.”

Shade lunged. Clangs of metal rang out as the blades crossed. They each dealt a few blows. Nora danced away, the tip of her sword held downward. She was in grasping range of Diaz’s sword. Suranna was talking through Shade, but his hand was wielding the sword. This was going to be tricky. Shade was fast. But Nora could probably beat him. Already had the first time they tussled. So, what now?

Shade stepped over Owen’s prostrate body. For a moment, Nora felt the ice-cold certainty that Suranna would have him stab down at her unconscious brother. A wave of panic clawed at her chest. But Suranna didn’t want Owen’s death, it seemed, for she let Shade pass on by. This wasn’t about hurting Nora, then. Because that would have been the deathblow, right there. This was about something else. Someone else.

“To obey one’s master is not a weakness, Nora,” Shade said as though Suranna had been reading Nora’s mind.

“To obey a dumb master who makes unreasonable demands is, though.”

“You’re saying your Master Diaz is dumb?”

“I’m saying
your
Master Shinar is dumb, Suranna.”

Shade lunged at Nora once more. They exchanged a flurry of blows. Nora was tired. It was hard to even lift her sword. Hard to concentrate on her surroundings in order not to trip over the bodies lying around. Sweat stung her eyes. She was retreating before the blond boy with no idea of how to go on, edging ever closer to the wall with the booth, warding off Shade’s blows as best she could without maiming him. He yelped. Her blade had cut across his face, and a trickle of blood ran down. He touched his cheek and winced.

“You’d mar this face? I thought you said you liked him.”

“He’ll heal.”

“Maybe you only like men with scars?”

Nora remained silent. Diaz’s sword was just behind her now. She reached for the hilt and held it fast.

“Do you think he’ll regret not having touched you when he could have?”

“Who exactly are you talking about?” Nora wobbled the hilt to loosen the sword from the grip of the hard earth.

“Oh please.” Shade rolled his eyes.

The sword pulled free. She kept it hidden behind her back. That might be stupid because Suranna could see her holding it from her vantage point in the booth, but Nora waited to see what would happen.

With a suddenness Suranna must have thought surprising, Shade jumped at Nora. He made to drive her across the arena with slashing blows, but instead Nora retreated to the edge of the death pit, until she was underneath Suranna’s booth. She lunged with both swords then and, targeting Shade’s shoulder, thrust one of them into his flesh. Master Cumi had once pointed out an important vein than ran just below the collarbone, and Nora took pains to miss it. Instead, Shade’s sword fell from his numb fingers into the red sand. Nora grimaced. She let the blade stick in his shoulder, just in case pulling it out would let him die of blood loss. She knew exactly how he felt, the white-hot pain flooding the body. She swung her other hand around and gave him a clout with the hilt of Diaz’s sword. Shade’s gray eyes showed their whites, and with a moan he fell to the ground. Blood pulsed from his temple, but he was still stirring. Would Suranna be able to keep him under her influence when he was hurt?

A pain flickered through her stomach. She clutched her middle and groaned. There was nothing to be seen—no wound, no cut, not even a graze. Still, it felt like someone held a torch to her insides. A stream of fire crawled up to her chest, burning her up from the inside, forcing its way out. She rocked to and fro, holding it in. But it inched up her throat and hit the back of her mouth like a stream of lava gushing forth. She retched and turned her head away in case she would vomit. But nothing came when she opened her mouth except the heat and the fury of a scream that would not stop. Her whole body shook under that scream; her lungs ached as she fought for air. Screaming all the while, her head hot and her throat raw, she threw Diaz’s sword and watched it spin over the rim of the parapet in a silver arc and fall inside the booth.

Blind with rage, Nora jumped. She grabbed the first spear and pulled herself up against the wall, feet scrabbling. The infernal scream had stopped now that her mind had caught up with what her body was doing. Propelling herself from the spear shaft that was losing its hold under her weight, she flung herself upward and reached for the next spear. Below her, the spear Owen had thrown clattered into the death pit. Bodies hung spiked on the sharpened stakes, and she feared she was going to join them any minute now. The rage and the fear battled with each other for control over her, but rage won out, shouting louder. She dangled for a moment, then kicked her legs to hoist herself still farther upward and grabbed the edge of the balcony in wild triumph.

She grasped the ledge with both hands and pulled up her legs to crouch against the wall, giving her enough leverage to climb the last meter or so. A heavy boot came crashing down on her one hand and she screamed in pain, only one handhold separating her from a short drop and a painful stop. She looked up and for a brief moment saw Diaz’s face. His left eyelid was twitching nervously as he drew up his leg to kick back down again. A jolt of intense heat stabbed into her stomach and she grabbed the edge with her flailing hand once more. And then she was on top of the parapet, under the shade of the veils, out of the burning sun. There was a commotion going on behind the queen as more and more guards piled into the small booth to protect their lady from this raving mad thing from the arena. Nora was aware of them but didn’t care. In front of her, Master fucking Diaz stood utterly still, his hands folded neatly before him, sweat dripping from his brow. His dark eyes opened in surprise.
Yeah, surprise, master
.

Like a serpent striking, his hands were around her neck and choking her, lifting her from the parapet. Again her feet dangled. She kicked out and heard from his groan that she had managed to hit him, but his steel grip wouldn’t budge. Her vision was dimming, although she couldn’t close her eyes. They were drying in the heat but were wide open in her fight for breath. A needle of pain stuck in her side. And suddenly freed, she gasped and landed sprawling on the floor. Her arms were cooked noodles. Flames were spreading from her side throughout her whole body, followed by a numbness where the flames had been. A foot placed itself on her head as she turned it.

She blinked at its owner. The queen knelt before her, those full lips pulled into a smile. She held a sharp pin before Nora’s eyes.

“A paralytic,” the queen explained. “Very effective. Only a pinprick will paralyze a person for hours. A touch more and your lungs would stop working. More and your heart would stop in an instant.”

Nora’s body started to twitch on the floor.

“Just…kill…me.” Breathing was hard, and already Nora’s tongue was numb.

“What would I kill you for? You’re very entertaining. Take her away, dear.”

As the last of her vision faded, Nora saw Diaz bend down to pick her up, and a cold sensation overwhelmed her that the only times she’d ever been in his arms, she was unable to do anything.

T
here was a knock on
the door. There hadn’t been knocks on his door for a long time now. A week, two weeks maybe? It was hard to tell. Reality felt fuzzy sometimes, especially when Suranna was close by. Also, Diaz had a terrible throbbing headache. It was like someone stabbing him with a pin just behind his left eye.

If knocks could reveal what kind of person stood behind the door, this knock should have been the thoughtful, pensive yet determined knock of a tired young man, he mused. Instead it was the short, hard rap of the guard, who then let Owen enter. The young man looked as though he too had a headache, eyes slitted, with dark rings under them. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a long time. He still wore the same clothes he had worn in the arena, Diaz noticed. The blood from his head wound had turned a dark rusty red on his grubby, stained shirt. As he came closer, so did his smell. He tossed his head about, taking in his surroundings, Diaz’s surroundings. Taking in the costly dyed carpets and lush rugs, maybe; the unmade bed and all the airy space the new suite held. Or maybe Diaz’s new clothes. Or rather the complete lack thereof. Owen’s expression was guarded but disapproving.

“Owen, what can I do for you?” Diaz took a last sip from the fragile bone-china cup and placed it neatly on the saucer on the table next to him.

“Master Diaz.” Owen inclined his head. He glanced at a piece of paper before he crumpled it in his fist and shoved the paper ball into his pocket. “I asked to see my sister. I was told to see you. She’s not here, I reckon?”

“She is…imprisoned, unfortunately,” Diaz said slowly, carefully weighing his words lest they trigger an unwanted response.

“She’s alive, then?”

“Yes.”

Owen’s shoulders sagged in relief as his hands curled into fists. Diaz knew that stance, knew it from…
Don’t think her name. Don’t even think it.

“I wasn’t sure,” Owen stammered. “After I woke up—no one told me…”

“I’m very sorry.”

Owen caught himself quickly. “I want to see her.”

“No.”

Anger flickered across Owen’s features. “I wasn’t asking for your permission, Diaz.”

Diaz closed his eyes. Gods, he had forgotten how similar they were. It was so easy to forget at times as Owen was such a scholar and, well, she…the one he shouldn’t think of was not a scholar. A bead of sweat rolled down Diaz’s forehead. It was getting close to midday. Again. Midday was the worst. He swallowed hard, his mouth already dry again.

“Good,” he answered. “For I am not the one to give permission, Owen.”

He blinked, hoping Owen would get the message.

“Please,” the young man said, stepping closer. “I just want to see her for myself.”

“No, you don’t. Trust me.”

But he rose from his chair anyway. He rose despite not wanting to. Just as he walked over toward the balcony although he didn’t want to. Suranna had taken his body from him, and he had no way to stop her. He motioned Owen to follow and took a deep breath. It wasn’t a sigh of resignation, but it was as close to it as she would allow him. He waited at the waist-high parapet for Owen to step up and then directed the poor boy’s gaze in the proper direction.

Beyond the balcony was nothing but the Great Far Reach, the sand desert beyond the ravines of stone the temple was carved from. This was dry land. A short distance to the west, thirty, maybe forty miles, lay the ocher backcountry that reached unimaginably far, the luring emptiness of the desert. Dark pits, some empty like the desert, most filled with water and thus covered with heavy wooden shields, lay immediately below the balcony. And in one of them was Owen’s twin. Diaz looked down at the red stone, drawing the clear, dry air into his lungs. It was high enough to break his legs, but not high enough to kill him. Suranna held him tight by her reins, and he stopped a foot from the edge. He watched as Owen placed his hands on the parapet, leaning over to see better; he waited for the signs that Owen had made out his sister.

Owen gasped. His hands clutched the parapet tightly. So he had seen her.

It was midday. Midday held no shelter in the cistern from the sweltering sun. She lay naked on her side, unmoving, curled into a ball, skin blistered and broken, burned raw but dry. She was nothing but a piece of skin stretched tightly over a forlorn heap of bones. The vultures would have picked them clean already were she lying in the Great Far Reach and not so close to human settlement.

“She stopped raving a few days ago,” Diaz said.

For a moment, he was sure Owen would punch him.
She
would have. And Diaz would have welcomed it. But Owen had himself better under control. He merely pressed his lips together tightly and stared at his sister below with an intense, feverish look in his eyes. After a while he turned to Diaz.

“I’ve seen enough.” His voice broke a little.

Diaz nodded and they moved inside, back into the cool shade. Owen sat in one of the wicker chairs, and Diaz silently poured him a cup of peppermint tea.

“So,” Owen said.

“So,” Diaz echoed.

“How complete is Suranna’s hold over you?”

“It is very complete.”

Owen looked Diaz up and down. “She can make you move although she isn’t near?”

“She is always near,” Diaz said bitterly, tapping the side of his head. “But yes, I did not want to get out of this chair. I did not want to gaze at your sister’s broken body. Again.”

Owen nodded sagely as though they were making conversation about the weather and Diaz had just said it wasn’t likely to rain for the next few months.