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Folkoln’s expression clouded over. Sighing deeply, he said, “She gets his feathers.”
The goblet Saphira had just picked up fell from her hands. The empty metal cup sounded in protest as it struck the marble floor.
Saphira swirled towards me. “How many do you have?”
Something protective coiled within me. “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. I had never taken the time to count them, although I had a rough idea how many there were. An instinctual part of me didn’t want to divulge just how many I had.
When the feathers had first started coming to me, Ezra gave me a chest that was nearly half full of the same onyx-colored silken plumes. She never explained where those feathers had come from, but because they matched, she suggested I put the other feathers with their kin. Now, that chest was nearly full. I had a good feeling that the feathers in the chest were ones I hadcollected in my past life, the first being the one left in Von’s wake that day he ended the war.
Saphira looked to Folkoln. “Does Draevon know?”
“He does,” Folkoln answered, offering me an apologetic glance as he fought some sort of internal war with himself.
“It would seem you do have something that I want.” Saphira smiled wickedly. Her tongue snaked over her lips—painted the color of dried blood. “I want the feathers your mate has given you. And in return, I will give you the Blade of Moram.”
The space between my brows crinkled. “Why would you possibly want those?”
“I have my reasons,” she said, offering no more.
I glanced at Folkoln, but his expression was unreadable.
I knew there was no use in prying. I’d spent enough time around Von to know he could be rather tight-lipped when it came to specific things—his sister was probably no different. And I knew bartering with something I didn’t understand was probably not the smartest idea, but what other choices did I have?
“I don’t have them in my possession right now,” I said to her.
“That’s fine. When the time comes for them to be assembled, that is when I will take them,” she replied.
Assembled?I was tempted to ask, but again realized any questions were most likely futile.
“Well, do we have a deal or not?” Saphira asked as she loosely threaded her arms over her chest. Her knitted brows and thinned lips made her look stern, but her lush, emerald eyes sparkled with intrigue.
Folkoln cut in with his deep rumbly voice. “Give her a minute, Saph.”
But I didn’t need a minute, because my mind had already been made up the moment I stepped into the bathhouse. And Irealized it was a foolish deal to make, but again, my options were limited.
“Fine,” I said. “You have yourself a deal.”
“Excellent.” Saphira’s eyes sparkled with malevolence. She waved her hand, and in it appeared an onyx-colored blade that looked like smoked glass. Ancient power radiated from it. “It can be used as a dagger or—” the blade began to lengthen, transitioning into a beautiful sword, the tip so sharp, it glinted in the candlelight, “—it can be used as a sword. Whatever it's wielder chooses. Oh, and a small warning, the blade tends to have a mind of its own. Don’t be surprised if it turns up at convenient or . . . inconvenient times.”
She handed it to me. Wearily, I took it.
“The Blade of Moram is yours now. Use it wisely,dear sister,” she cackled and Folkoln sneered.
Sage
After we left the bathhouse, in the early hours of the morning, Folkoln shadow walked us back to Valenthia, but just before we returned to Ezra’s house, I felt it—
Scaldingheat.
It licked hungrily at my flesh as if it would like a taste, coaxing pearls of sweat to pool on the surface of my skin, dampening my brow and slickening my neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked Folkoln, his arm wound around my waist, mine looped around his neck. In my free hand, I held the Blade of Moram, cradling it against my chest.
“We’re going to find out,” he replied determinedly.
Blinding light flashed and then—
We wereflying.
