Cold-Forged Flame by Marie Brennan

Author:Marie Brennan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Whether she’s incapable of sleep or just doesn’t feel the need for it right now, she lies there for quite a while without anything happening.

On the other side of the fire, Aadet settles down. She can tell without looking that he’ll be hunched into a ball, conserving what warmth he can. Did he have a blanket with him and lost it, or did he row across the bay without one? Either way, the cold probably won’t kill him. He’ll just be miserable and stiff when he gets up.

Helping him see his purpose differently . . . it felt good. It felt right, in the same way that the sash felt right, and the blade that lies within easy reach. Is this another gift of the island? A fellow traveler, someone whose path she can change? Or is it truly just chance that the two of them came here at the same time, found one another, decided to work together?

No way of knowing. She can’t let go of the suspicion in her gut, though, the voice that tells her not to trust him. Aadet said that if the island wanted to trap him, it would have presented a damsel in distress, not a swordswoman. But if he’s a trap for her, then the Lhian chose her tool well: a man dedicated to a cause, unflagging in the face of adversity, even though it’s sure to get him killed sooner or later. He’s someone she can work with, at least for a little while.

Everything good about this situation might be a sign of danger.

Not like there isn’t danger everywhere she looks. Aadet, the island, the Lhian herself. The more you remember, the more you might end up losing. She’s been able to ignore it most of the time, because she has so many other things to distract her: finding a path, fighting those creatures, hiding her ignorance from Aadet. But that hole is still inside her, a bottomless pit. She’s already lost everything. What could possibly be so much worse that Therdiad would try to protect her from it?

Before she can stop herself, she reaches out, trying to capture—something. Anything. To take one of those echoes and make it solid, reclaim something that means more to her than vague recollections of deserts and war. But it’s too late; she missed her chance, and all she grasps is void. The pain of that loss constricts her chest until she can’t breathe. There’s music in her mind, a wordless tune of lament; it sounds familiar, like a song she knew in the past, and the sorrowful weight of it is crushing her.

No. The music isn’t in her mind.

She forces her eyes open. It’s harder than dragging Aadet up that boulder, harder than dragging herself up the cliffs. There ought to be a great mass atop her, but there isn’t: just the night air, lit faintly by the fire’s last coals. She tries to inhale, and can’t. Tries to move her limbs; the most she can manage is a weak, spasmodic twitch.

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