Blade of Shadow (Seven Swords Book 2) by Sarah K. L. Wilson

Author:Sarah K. L. Wilson [Wilson, Sarah K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarah K. L. Wilson
Published: 2022-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The guard behind my back clears his throat and shakes the pole in a way that makes the manacles dig into my flesh. I flinch from the pain of it.

I’ve felt very little pain before these past days – before the princess let loose her scourge. I’ve never been thirsty or hungry and it couldn’t be fixed within minutes or hours. Never been cold and not able to wrap a blanket around my shoulders. Never been tired and not able to find my bed.

I have drifted down the beach clasping my hands to my chest and thought myself a tragic figure because my father was going to marry me away to a man not of my choosing. I have missed him so much it felt like needles thrust into my chest. I have ached with missing my long-dead mother, only a shadowed memory now.

And I thought that was pain.

I am realizing now that what I thought was suffering was only an echo of all I will now taste, and I quake a little in the knowing. I am happy my hair is in my face. It keeps some of that hidden. I am not strong enough for what comes next.

“You are.”

I am not ready.

“None of us are ever ready.”

I am too soft. I have lived all my life in books and dreams with no thought that I would one day live in blood and steel.

“And it is your softness I so treasure.”

And he sounds sincere. He sounds ready.

“You’re awfully quiet, Ilsaletta,” my rival says as she goes to an iron-bound chest decorated fancifully with mermaids interlocked by their flowing hair. It makes me think of my own hair. Are Jendaya and I interlocked in history as those poor fish-women are? Will we find the threads of fate have tangled us just as thoroughly? And what would happen if one of those mermaids tried to cut off her thick locks – would she lose all her beauty only to find herself still trapped?

Jendaya draws out a book, large and leatherbound. Thicker than two of her wrists side by side. When she opens it, I strain to look at the pages. There are diagrams – unfamiliar to me. There’s a map of a place I’ve never seen.

I feel Vargaard flinch.

I think for a moment and then I speak. “Your home had flowers that smelled of honey and little birds that darted from bush to bush and sang sweet songs. I remember your mother had a freckle just under one eye and she held your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear as she smiled at my mother. And my mother was happy that day and everything tasted like cinnamon and smelled like the sun warming the grass.”

Perhaps her home still matters enough to her to stop her hand.

“Good,” Jendaya says with a smile. “The last person I tried this with pleaded for her life and I do hate repeat performances. I appreciate your discretion.”

“Your father’s stables contain the finest horses

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