Page 98 of Wild Reverence

“Her secrets are not yours to glean, god of rivers,” said Bade. He stood between two elms, a shield upon his arm, his sword drawn. “Show yourself, or we shall fight by no rules.”

“Ah, I suspected you would come, god of war.” Warin was directly before me, somewhere, but it sounded like he was moving, weaving through the trees.

“You could not stay away, could you? Matilda, I take it this old relic was your salt-sworn ally? The one whose vow you wanted to break before you were whipped at court? You should have let the vow stand! How entertaining it would have been, had the god of war come to your aid. How are your wounds, by the way? I imagine they are still tender. Those scales cut you to the bone.”

The blood drained from my face.

I did not want his words to bruise me, but they did. They pelted me like stones, and I was suddenly anxious to look at Bade. To watch the truth flicker across his face.

Bade said nothing, his expression unchanged—harsh and guarded, as was customary. Only his breath betrayed him; I could see him exhale a burst of air, as if he had also been struck.

“Draw your sword, your shield,” he said, striding to my side. Something dark and terrible glinted in his eyes as he searched the trees surrounding us. As he sought Warin.

I recalled the sword and shield from my belt, and we stood back-to-back, the forest falling quiet around us.

“He has an eithral scale,” I reminded Bade.

“Yes.” A growl of a word. “I remember.”

Together, we waited.

I knew Warin lurked somewhere at the periphery of my sight; I could still feel his gaze on me, a chill I could not shake away. Bade was a complication he had not accounted for, and as the moments stretched on, tense as a bowstring, I saw footprints marring the snow.

The snow was exposing his steps. As soon as I realized this, Warin lunged in my direction. I felt myself pressing against the wall of Bade’s back, the snow shifting before me in a flurry.

“Shield!” Bade barked, and I held it up, my arm stronger than it had ever been, corded with muscle.

Warin’s blade hit my shield with such force that I felt it reverberate in my teeth, rattling my magic down to its core. I saw a ring of glittering stars; I could taste iron and ice, salt and loam. I drew a breath and felt it ignite my blood.

I held my ground, pushing back with my shield.

I wanted to knock him to the ground. To lay him flat on his back with his neck exposed. That is where I would need to cut him. His mind was his fault line, and I would shred his voice, his throat. I was hungry for it, to see his blood stain the snow.

Warin chuckled somewhere close to my ear.

He was enjoying this game of taunting, and he was fast, darting away like a windstorm.

Bade, however, was watching and took a cut at him next, marking Warin’s movements by the snowy dust. Soon, we would lose this advantage.

The more our feet churned up snow into cold mud, the more difficult it would be to find Warin’s location.

We seemed to spin around and around like this for hours. Warin would slash at me, then at Bade, then Bade again before coming back to me.

I remained on the defensive, my shield my greatest weapon. I was desperate to learn his patterns before I made myself vulnerable by taking a hack at thin air. Warin seemed to want that—for me to swing my sword and overextend myself, potentially exposing my weakest point.

The snow continued to fall, settling into our hair and refilling old footsteps. The ice coated the branches above us. They creaked in the wind, glinting like silver blades as the moonlight reflected, brightly, all around us.

I almost called fire from my palm, to smite Warin with it.

He would go unscathed, but the cloak would burn and give him away.

My mind teemed with the image until I recalled that magic was anchored to my right hand, the one gripping my sword hilt.

I would have to sheath the sword to cast it, and a blaze would only distort my vision more.

I let my mother’s winter spell continue to spill over us instead.

At last, I saw my chance.

Bade was parrying a cut from Warin. Invisible feet were slipping in the snow, and I came up behind him. I cut my sword through the air and spirals of snow, my blood pounding like a drum. I felt the steel connect, and though I was aiming for his neck, I knew I got his shoulder.

My blade cut deep. I felt it part flesh, sing against bone.

Warin hissed and pivoted. My sword remained embedded in him, but as soon as he ripped the hilt from my hand, the weapon also went invisible, falling prey to the cloak’s enchantment. But I had made a mark upon him; his blood began to drip onto the snow, steaming like smelted gold.

I moved back, shield up, but he did not engage.

He fled.

Panting, I watched as his feet kicked the snow, up to a dense cluster of pines. I was about to pursue him when I felt Bade’s hand on my shoulder.

“He wants you to chase him,” he murmured, his gaze also on the trees that shivered from Warin’s retreat. “Remain on guard.”

“He will only take this time to heal himself and return,” I argued. “And we will begin this cycle all over again. This will never end.”

Bade was silent, his own breaths frayed from the revolution of parrying, cutting, blocking. But then he looked at me, and his eyes softened.

I wondered if he was thinking about what Warin had said earlier. About my whipping.

His lips were parting to say something to me, but I would never hear his words.

The hum of a bowstring broke the silence. A sound I had heard many times before.

My skin pebbled with warning, but it was too late.

Bade jerked.

He made a grunt of pain, and I saw the tip of an arrow protruding from his breast. Golden ichor bloomed across his armor; it dripped down the steel, scintillating in the dark.

My hands went numb, and yet I told myself, He will be fine. This was a humble arrow. Mortal made. An irritant, but not lethal to divinity. He had taken plenty of arrows and swords and axes before during battles. He will be fine.

He held my stare, wide-eyed. When he stumbled into me, losing his balance, I grasped his arm. He dropped his sword, his shield. I struggled to keep him standing but I could not do it; I could not hold us both upright. He was heavy as iron, and he was melting to the ground.

“ Bade, ” I said hoarsely. “Bade, your sword!”

He did not seem to hear me. His face had gone pale; his teeth were clenched in pain. And as he settled onto his back, surrendering to the snow, I saw the glimmer of iridescence. This was no arrow but an eithral scale on an arrow shaft. The very weapon that had once killed my mother.

Warin had shot it from his bow.

I had expected him to use the scale like Phelyra had, close enough to strike with his hand. But I should have remembered his skill as an archer. A terrible sound was wrenched from me.

“Bade.” I knelt beside him, shaking his arm. “Bade, get up!”

He reached for my hand and gripped it, weakly. “Your shield, Matilda,” he whispered.

I had dropped mine as well, and I did not care to pick it up.

My entire body went cold, pricked by a thousand needles. But I felt the dreaded heat on my belt. I knew the eye was opening. His heart had been pierced; his soul was about to drift away.

“You must go,” he said. His voice was raspy and pitched so deep I had to lean closer to hear him. “To Adria.”

Her name was his last word.

But his eyes were still on me, full of a strange light, as if he saw something I could not see.

I swallowed, watching them dim. I heard his shudder of a breath, his final one, before his hand slipped from mine.

And the world around us went quiet again.