Resilience by Auryn Hadley

Author:Auryn Hadley [Hadley, Auryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spotted Horse Productions
Published: 2017-04-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kolt debated pouring another glass of whiskey, but he could barely read the label as it was. Instead, he grabbed the small, stiff brush, and focused on getting the last of the grime out of the blood grooves. It was cathartic, as if he was making the weapon new all over again. It also gave him time to sober up a bit before he crawled in bed. The last thing he needed was a hangover in the morning.

It took a while. Around him, the sounds of soldiers winding down began to fade. The yips and growls of grauori roaming the halls took over, proving Anglia was still under its own guard, even here. When the last bit of dried mud, blood, and gore was pried free, it felt like an accomplishment. Kolt wiped down the dark resin one last time and slid it into the scuffed sheath.

It stopped with a centimeter of blade still exposed. Grumbling to himself, Kolt tried again. This time, he realized there was something in there, packed down in the bottom. Using the tip of the sword, he pressed, pulled, and eventually pried out a tired and abused scrap of paper. When he tried again, the sword slid home easily.

How many times had he pushed that sword into its sheath without a problem? Dozens. Confused, Kolt picked up the yellowed square and looked at it a little closer. Lines of dirt marked the side, proving it had been in the scabbard awhile with the sword sliding in and out against it. The surface of it was scuffed and wrinkled from his attempts to get it out. Tenderly, he smoothed those away. Then he turned it over.

A dingy purple swirl made his breath catch. It was his name sign, but not the way he'd always written it – never mind that it was in the color for hope. The same color Sal had used to tattoo his story on her body. Carefully, he traced the mark with one finger. An elaborate version of Kolt's name, complete with the twists for both brother and leader. This was the way Kolt had written his name as a child when he dreamed he could be so much more, but the script was much better.

Carefully, Kolt opened the note. He had to know. Clearly, this was meant for him, but how long had it been hiding in there? Who had written it? Zep? Why wouldn't the Dernor just give it to him, or did he think Kolt had already seen it? Had he somehow managed to slip it in the scabbard while Kolt was sitting right here? But no, the signs all said otherwise.

The paper was so brittle it resisted. Each fold had to be carefully worked open as if the paper had been soaked repeatedly. Unfolding the last crease, Kolt's breath stopped. Scrawled at the top of the page was his name in Glish – the real one. His eyes quickly flicked to the bottom, shocked to see the Iliran symbol for Blaec Doll, leader of the Black Blades.

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