Forged in Blood II (The Emperor's Edge 7, Final Book) by Lindsay Buroker

Author:Lindsay Buroker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, steampunk, epic fantasy, fantasy series, intrigue, heroic fantasy, fantasy adventure, assassins, high fantasy, swords and sorcery, emperors edge
Publisher: Lindsay Buroker

Chapter 13

Pain. He’d experienced it countless times in his life, and this, he told himself, was no different. He set about erecting the barriers in his mind, walling off the areas that were affected. Later he could meditate and work on healing those areas, but first he had to regain full consciousness and assess the exterior situation. He couldn’t remember exactly what, but something important had been going on.

Breathing. He hadn’t been doing it, he realized, so he focused on that for a time. The expansion of his lungs, in and out, drawing in rejuvenating air. He gradually grew aware of cold stone beneath his back. The grate, the drain. Amaranthe. The memories returned in a rush, bringing a fresh wave of pain, if a different kind.

She was alive!

And he’d almost killed her. Again.

Sicarius had experienced a surge of pure joy when he’d realized she was the one in the factory, that he’d been mistaken and that she’d somehow survived that crash. But he’d rushed to squash the feeling, afraid of how Kor Nas would react. Now shame and anguish filled him, underlaid with frustration for his inability to thwart that cursed Nurian. The memories of the man’s thoughts, of what he’d wanted Sicarius to do to Amaranthe, the pleasure he’d derived from learning that “his pet’s woman” still lived and could be tormented as punishment for Sicarius’s attempts at defiance. Or maybe Kor Nas’s fantasies hadn’t had anything to do with anything as logical as punishment. He’d simply delighted at—

No, Sicarius told himself. Push it aside, like the physical pain. Kor Nas was gone, or at least Sicarius was free of him.

She’d done that. Yes. He owed her again. He hadn’t been certain if the stone could be removed without killing him—or if some fate worse than death might await. Having his throat slit had seemed a superior alternative. She’d made the decision for him though. Good.

A new sensation pierced the cloudy haze of pain and awakening awareness that surrounded him. Moisture. On his face, his cheek and nose. Saltiness touched his lips.

Tears. His?

No…

It took an eternity before he could open his eyes—he needn’t have bothered, for only darkness awaited—and he realized that he remained in the pit. And that Amaranthe was down there with him. Her arms were around him, his head cradled to her breast, her fingers twined in his short hair.

“Should let you… cut that… sometime,” he whispered, his voice hoarser than a blade rasping across a whetstone.

Amaranthe stiffened, lifting her head. Her forehead had been pressed against his, he realized when an unpleasant coolness replaced the warmth of her flesh.

“You’re alive,” she blurted.

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t. You weren’t breathing.”

“A temporary setback,” Sicarius said.

“Did you… did the wizard…” Her grip tightened about him. “Is he gone? Are you… you?”

He remembered her asking those exact words once before on Darkcrest Isle, and a fresh surge of disgust came over him for his inability to do better this time. Focus on her, dolt, he told himself. She’d asked a question.

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