AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Friendship is all it must be,” he said, halfway between a whisper and a growl.
Sorasa raised an eyebrow in turn.
“Are you her father now?” she said.
A flush spread quickly over his cheeks. Not from shame, Sorasa knew, but anger.
“Igniting your temper is an easy game to play, and even easier to win,” she muttered, smirking.
His lip curled. “I am an immortal of Glorian Lost. I have no temper to speak of.”
“Whatever you say, Elder.” Sorasa shook her head at him. “We’re all going to die trying to save this wretched realm. Let Corayne enjoy her time left, at least.”
He bent, lowering himself to her eye level. His emerald eyes went dark and cold, his lips pressing into a thin line. His blond beard was getting longer, but not long enough to overtake the scars. They were healing, but slowly. Sorasa doubted even centuries would erase the army of Asunder from his flesh.
“Your cynicism is not helpful, Sarn,” he said, every word slow and deliberate, carved in the air.
Sorasa tossed her head, her black braid falling over her shoulder. She offered a wide, false smile, a weapon as much as any of her blades. “I’m the most helpful person on this entire ship, and you know it.”
“Yes, until it no longer suits you,” he replied, his eyes narrowing with a hateful twitch.
In spite of herself, Sorasa dropped her smile, stung. “It hasn’t suited me since Ascal.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Dom took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Even after the desert and many days at sea, he still smelled like mountains and forest, or a cold spring rain. He looked through her, as if he could see past every wall in Sorasa Sarn, right to her heart.She knew he could not. Those walls were built long ago. Nothing and no one could tear them down.
“You’re protecting an investment,” he hissed.
Her eyes flashed to his throat.Your head,she remembered, knowing the price he’d agreed to pay.His death at my hands, his blood a river back to the citadel, to Lord Mercury and the Amhara Guild.
Domacridhan of Iona was an Elder, centuries old. It was written in his body, the way he held a sword, the swiftness of his limbs, the lethal strength of his hands. Now she saw it in his eyes too. Five hundred years upon the Ward, a longer life than she could ever fathom. He was stupid in most things Sorasa considered important. Dom could not blend into a market or use poison. He knew little of kingdoms or language or currency, and nothing of human nature. But he was an immortal prince, a warrior made by centuries, and he meant so much more than she did, an orphan child of the Amhara Guild. Even though her days upon the Ward were hard-won, they mattered little to a son of Glorian. She used people as weapons and tools, and he was using her too.
“You Elders see yourselves beyond the rest of us,” she said, leaning forward to put him off balance. “The bridge between mortals and gods.”
He said nothing, raising his chin to look more stoic than ever. He seemed a statue again, too noble and proud to be real.
She showed her teeth, sneering. “But that isn’t true. You are the bridge between mortal and beast.”
“Who are you to judge, Sorasa Sarn?” he answered. Instead ofgrowing louder, his voice only deepened, until she could almost feel its timbre in her chest. “As soon as the wind changes direction, as soon as another path appears, you’ll take it.”
The Amhara learned how to guard their emotions as well as they could guard their own flesh. Sorasa did not flinch, her face unmoving and empty, clear as the sky above them. But a storm broke in her chest, behind her high walls. She warred with an anger she couldn’t understand, and her confusion only fed the storm.
“You are ruthless and selfish, Sorasa Sarn.” He drew back, straightening up again. As usual, he towered over her, casting a long shadow. She was used to it by now. “I know little of mortals, but of you, I know enough.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said, never dropping his gaze. Her voice was flat, hollow, another wall to hide behind. “You’ve finally said something intelligent.”
She expected him to snarl after her, but she heard nothing but the return of his rhythmic breathing, and the lapping waves of the sea.
The northern coast was a welcome sight. Sorasa stared over the kingdom of Ahmsare, its beaches and hills half shrouded in mist. The clouds burned off with the rising sun, and light glinted off the port city of Trisad. Compared to Almasad and Ascal, it seemed a backwater, barely an afterthought for ships making the long voyage to far wealthier kingdoms. A walled fortress looked down on Trisad, perched on a hill above. It had a single bell tower, brightly painted in pale orange and vibrant blue. Sorasa knew it to be thehome of Ahmsare’s queen, Myrna, who had held her throne for six decades, longer than any ruler living upon the Ward. As they sailed past the port, the Ibalet galley cutting through calm waves, the sun flashed off the fortress gates. They were hammered copper.
The city soon faded behind them as they sailed on. Erida’s bounty was too high. They could not risk making port in any city, Gallish or otherwise. They would not chance the Ward on a greedy city garrison, or Queen Myrna’s mercy.
They anchored some miles on, and ferried everything they needed to shore, including the horses. The Heir had provided them with everything anyone could need to cross the Dahlian Gates and head north. Sorasa suspected they would not have to replenish until Izera, or Askendur if the hunting was good in the foothills.
Her horse pranced beneath her, happy to be back on solid ground. Sorasa felt the same, strangely excited at the prospect of their journey. By her reckoning, it was nearly a straight line from their landing to the Gates, the gap in the mountains. A week of riding through farm and hill country. The road ahead of them was safer than they’d seen so far.Unless some other hellish creature decides to pop out at us,she thought as she jumped up into the saddle.
“Is that a smile I see, Sorasa Sarn?” Sigil teased, sitting astride her own horse. She looked more herself in the saddle, her shoulders loose, her manner easy.
