Page 94 of Brimstone

I spun the staff, rolling it over the back of my hand, giving Lorreth a sideways grin. “There was never enough metal to forge weapons out of back home. In the desert, wood is a scarce commodity, too . . . but it’s easy enough to lay your hands on some if you know who to ask.”

I moved fast, light on my feet, taking the warrior by surprise. He still had hundreds of years’ worth of experience on me, though. I wasn’t too shocked when he swung his staff around his head and brought it around his shoulder, blocking my blow before it could land.

“Faster this morning,” he noted, his dark eyes gleaming. “Great. If this is what a good night’s sleep can do for you, then I’d say you’re going to be in good shape with a staff.”

“Oh, I won’t be in good shape with a staff. I’m going to be inexcellentshape.”

The next hour whipped by in a blur. My reactions were stunningly fast. I knew where Lorreth was going to be three seconds before he got there. Not only did my blows land, but they landed hard. I felt stronger than I ever had. The training space filled with the hollow slap of our feet against the obsidian and our muted grunts of exertion, and by the time Lorreth held up a hand and announced that we were done for the day, I wasn’t the only one who was sweating and sore from the blows I had taken. Lorreth was, too.

He pointed the end of his staff at me, eyebrows raised as we headed for the exit. “If you can do what you just did wielding Solace, then your enemies don’t know what’s in store for them. Tomorrow, we’ll go back to the swords.”

“About the sword,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. “How attached is Fisher to Solace?”

Lorreth pulled up short. “Well, pretty attached, I’d say. It was his father’s weapon. But . . .” He shrugged. “Solace isyoursnow, Saeris. You can do whatever you want with it. Fisher isn’t going to mind.”

I believed that. I had just wanted confirmation. I’d struggled with the blade and knew how to wield it well enough to take off a feeder’s head, but it was just sobig. It had been forged for a full-blooded Fae warrior, and even though I wasn’t human anymore, I hadn’t gotten any taller. My arms were still the same length they’d always been, and carrying a sword around that was two-thirds of my body long was tricky sometimes.

“In that case, I’m going to consider my options. I have relics to make today. After we’re done with Foley, I’ll head to the forge. While I’m there, I might just have a little chat with my sword.”

A flurry of paper stargazers greeted me when I entered the library. Their wings rustled as they flitted around my head, darting this way and that, inspecting the newcomer who had entered their sanctuary. One of them hovered in front of my face, its tiny paper head tilting left and right as it took me in, waiting to see if I posed a threat.

“Good evening,” I told the paper bird. “Are you friendly?” I held out my hand, extending a finger to see if it would land for moment, but an emotionless voice spoke from above, startling the little thing away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Foley stood at the top of a small set of stairs over by the window—a window that had not been there yesterday. It was circular, around the same diameter as the hole I’d blasted in the wall, as coincidence would have it. Whoever had come to fix the damage I’d caused had been quick about it and had done an excellent job of the repair.

“The stargazers might seem harmless, but interacting with them can be quite hazardous.” Foley descended the stairs slowly, his pale hand resting lightly on the banister rail. I hadn’t paid too much attention to his attire yesterday. Today, he wore a plain, tailored black shirt and plain black pants, with black boots that laced high over his ankles. He carried no weapons that I could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a thin blade secreted away on his person somewhere.

“They like to steal strands of people’s hair for their nests,” he explained, as he reached the bottom step. “But a piece of hair can be used for many nefarious purposes. In the wrong hands, a single strand of hair can be a male’s—or a female’s—undoing.”

“Bargains?” I asked.

Foley shook his head. “Witchcraft. A fell witch would do terrible things to lay their hands on a strand of your hair. There’s no saying what they would be able to accomplish with it. These birds,” Foley said, gesturing to the swarm of stargazers overhead. “They’re pure. Trusting. They have no concept of right or wrong. If a wayward witch were to compel one of them to bring her a strand of your hair, they wouldn’t know to refuse.”

The paper birds wheeled high above, zipping from one end of the library to the other. They were graceful. Beautiful. Silent, apart from the quiet rustle of their wings.

Still staring up at them, I said, “Lorreth is on his way. He just went to get changed.”

“He’s coming here again? Why?”

“Because Lorreth’s supposed be yourfriend,” I answered tartly. “He wants to make sure we don’t get into another fight and I don’t kill you. Plus I want him here to make sure you’re not lying about whatever you’ve found in these books.”

There were a lot of books. Alot. The sight of them was cheering. If Foley hadn’t found anything to help me with my conundrum, then surely he wouldn’t have bothered to gather so many of them. I tossed a net over my emotions, caught them on a line, trapping them tight. The vampire had been a member of the Lupo Proelia once. He’d also been Fisher’s friend. There was no denying either of those facts, butIhad no reason to trust him.

Plenty had changed during the years Foley had been sequestered away in his high tower. He was a shunned member of the Blood Court, yet he had remained here, reading books for hundreds of years, with no one for company but a Lord of Midnight he resented, a Lord of Midnight who ignored him, and a salty cat made of shadows. Who knew what kind of person he was now, after so much time and torment?

“The chances of you killing me are nil,Your Majesty. And Lorreth won’t be able to tell if I’m lying. He isn’t my maker. Even Tal can’t read me like that anymore.” I had used that same sour tone whenever I’d kowtowed to a guardian back home in Zilvaren. My disdain had been a blunt instrument that had lacked finesse, but Foley’s was a subtle knife. It cut. “He denounced me and rescinded his claim on me. I’m sure he’s proposed the same toyouas well by now.”

I ran my fingers lightly over the spines of the first stack of books. “He has,” I confirmed.

“Hm.” Foley processed this. “So Tal doesn’t want you, either. He must see you as the rest of us do. Weak. Vulnerable. Naive . . .”

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Foley?” I ran my tongue over my top row of teeth, slowing down my heart; letting itthunder accomplished nothing. “I wouldn’t waste your time if I were you.”

“Oh, but youaren’tme,” he snapped out of nowhere, his control slipping for a second—just onetinysplit second—showing me the truth of what lay beneath.

He was afraid.

“You think you’ve known hardship, stealing water and fending off bullies for a quarter of a century? Tryeight hundred years, fighting for your right to exist. This place is worse than hell, because no matter how bad things get, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. A hope that youmightescape—”