Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (30 page)

“I’m wearing something different now,” she pointed out, winking at him. “I could pass for a merchant’s spoiled daughter or a handmaiden of a noble lady. Clothes can lie. Deceive. Skin can’t.”

“Wights believe honesty is a virtue.”

“So you burned away the mark on your hand?”

His right hand clenched into a fist and he hid it at his side. A taste of bile rose in his mouth as bitter words bubbled up. He swallowed them down. What did she know? Nothing. It was a random stab in the dark. Nothing more. He saw her freeze, one hand half raised to her unruly mouth. He willfully opened his hand, flexing his fingers against the strain. From the corner of his eye, he saw her look away, far across the Plains toward where her home had been. She tapped the balustrade with her fingers, frowning.

“I fell in love with a boy once,” she said. “Coaler. I thought we’d marry one day, live out in the woods together. I don’t think I really had an idea of what married life would actually be like, but I liked the idea of having my own true love. Here, look!”

She rolled up her sleeve and showed him her forearm. On it was a small circular burn, just below her elbow.

“I thought it was terribly romantic at the time. A true charcoaler’s mark burned into the flesh. He told me he loved me when we decided to mark ourselves. I burned him; he burned me. We belonged together forever. That’s what we thought, anyway.” She rolled her sleeve back down and brushed a stray strand of hair from the corner of her lips. “Turned out his parents thought otherwise. Such is life. It was a stupid idea. Really hurt, too. But marks of identity, you said? I know what you mean.”

She stood stiffly at the balustrade and gave him a sidelong glance.

“Owen told me it’s probably the rune for the pilgrim’s order under your burn. But he’s wrong this time, I think.”

Diaz leaned against the balustrade once more, making it seem casual, though his heart was pumping fast and hard, like the distant drumbeat.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Well, you’re still here, still a pilgrim master. If it were the rune for the order, you wouldn’t have to burn it off, would you?”

He sucked in air through his teeth.

“And because it’s a burn,” she carried on, not looking at him, “and burns fucking hurt. Anyone who’d do that to themselves is looking to burn away something that hurts more.”

She leaned over.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Owen.”

That honey scent was still on her lips as she laughed quietly into her fist. Their heads were very close. He breathed in her perfume of smoke and sage, honey and chill air. It felt soothing. No, intoxicating.

As if she felt the air between them change, Nora shifted slightly. Her posture was different now, open to him, chin raised toward his face. He caught her staring hungrily at his parted lips as he opened his mouth to say something, and his heart leaped to his throat, choking him. For a moment—a very, very short moment, he told himself afterward, a fraction of a second, really—he thought of leaning in and kissing her.

She lowered her head in the same second and stepped back, rubbing her lips with her knuckle before grasping the balustrade once more. He took a moment to gather himself, running a hand over his face, mentally shaking his head at his near foolishness. As though he were as young and inexperienced as she was! The stone was cold under his fingers, cooling his temper.

Then she gasped.

“There!” She turned to Diaz and pointed into the distance. “The fire. Is that Woodston’s Solstice fire?”

Diaz stepped closer and peered into the dark. Far away to the south, an orange star bloomed in the black night.

“Yes.”

“You can see as far as the Suthron Pass from here? That’s incredible!”

“Not really.” Diaz shrugged. “The temple and Woodston were the last of a long line of beacons from the Wightingerode to the Suthron Pass to signal when the northern part of the empire needed aid.”

“It’s still incredible,” Nora said, eyes bright and alive with fierce joy. “I’ve never seen so many Solstice fires at once.”

Diaz opened his mouth to comment that two or three Solstice fires weren’t that many when he saw where she was pointing.

“So many fires?” he repeated, a chill wandering up his spine as he spoke. He looked down. Dozens of smaller fires littered the blackness beneath them.

“Look! In the woods between the temple and Woodston.” Nora’s finger shook as she froze. “Oh crap!”

“They’re not Solstice fires.” Diaz gripped the balustrade tightly before pushing himself away. “We’re under attack.”

N
ora ran down the winding
steps behind Diaz, cursing at her long dress, panic crawling up her throat. She had to get to Owen. Had to make sure he was safe. She hadn’t looked for him earlier, but she knew where he’d be. The library, of course, poring over some ancient scroll or other, so oblivious to the festivities he probably didn’t even realize it was nighttime other than the fact that his candle was burning next to him. She tripped on the hem of her dress and missed a step, and her heart upped its already frantic beat. There was the door! She threw herself against it, mildly aware that Diaz had skidded to a halt, noticing she wasn’t behind him any longer. He backtracked.

“Noraya! What are you doing?”

“Finding Owen!” She threw the door open and ran into the library. “Owen!”

The table was overflowing with papers and books. His chair was empty, the wax at the top of his candle still soft. It had just recently been blown out. She punched her fist against the tabletop and, sucking her grazed knuckle, looked around. Where could he have gone? She didn’t know. She didn’t know and couldn’t know, and he could be anywhere. Her heart was beating for them both. She took a deep breath and hid her face in her hands. She had told him to go down to the festivities. He had gone down. And she hadn’t been there. And now he could be in trouble. And it was her fault. “
Why don’t you leave the library, Owen? Come down and play, Owen.
” It was her fault! She had to get out of the library and find him. She stopped.

First she had to get out of this dress. She slid out of the tunic, undid the belt around her hips, and then yanked the dress over her head. It slumped in a pile on the floor like a wilted flower. Nora was on her way out the door in her woolen trousers she had worn underneath the dress (for practical reasons—standing around at night tended to get cold) and a long-sleeved shirt, pulling the fur tunic back on as she shivered from the sudden chill. Better, though—much better. She could run without fearing she’d trip over the hem of the dress and break her neck on the stairs.

Diaz was gone. She stopped shortly at the entrance to the dining hall and scanned the faces there for Owen’s. He wasn’t there, either. She slowed to look around once more, making sure she hadn’t overlooked him, and then ran down another flight of stairs, beelining for her room and grabbing her knife. If he wasn’t in the temple, he was either in Scyld’s courtyard, which would be great because she could then herd him up to the highest tower of the temple and lock the door behind them both, or he was in the lower courtyards. And that would be hell, simply because he could be anywhere down there.

A sudden silence filled her ears. She frowned. The drums! The distant rhythm of the drums had stopped. It had reverberated through the stones like a second heartbeat, and now it wasn’t there anymore. She ran back up to the entrance and shoved and elbowed her way against the stream of the crowds heading for the safety of the inner temple.

She ran out into the cold, ever downward, her breath a mist before her. Far below, she saw the turmoil in the lower courtyards, illuminated by the raging Solstice fire. A loose line of men ran up the broad causeway, accelerating as they saw the confused panicking human hive bottlenecked into the tight space before and behind the red gates. Sharp thwacking noises pierced the night. Arrows were thunking into the wood of the red gates and into the people below them. Men and women fell screaming, pulling others down with them. Children were wailing and being trampled. She took a shuddering deep breath, braced herself for the onslaught, and plunged into the crowd, throwing herself against them. People were pressing in on her from all sides. She was inundated with blind, raging faces and grasping hands. Suddenly there was space. She broke through the flood of people and nearly stumbled into the Solstice fire. Embers fell onto the tips of her boots. Arm shielding her face, she edged around the bonfire; there was a little space just beyond the reach of the flames and the crowd. Resin spat at her, and sparks fell like tiny orange starbursts.

Beyond the glare of the fire was a churning dark mass of men. The attack had drained the drink out of the heads of fathers and young men, instant sobriety holding them tight in its grasp. They fought back with knives and axes, roasting forks, thick logs of wood, whatever they found. Mostly desperation. Yet the attackers, seen up close, weren’t much better. Most wore leather chest pieces and had crude spears and shields. Some had swords with battered edges. Knives ripped and slashed into bodies. Women shrieked. Nora made out Garreth’s huge frame where the attack was heaviest, a rock in the waves, and pushed toward him. He was bellowing orders at the men around him, his one white eye gleaming, the other half of his face covered in blood that was not his own. He flashed her a tense grin and stabbed a broken wine bottle into the face of an attacker.

“Owen?” she screamed into his ear.

“Shade?” he yelled back.

Nora dodged a stabbing sword and swore, tightening the grip on her knife. Garreth turned and thrust with his blade, piercing the attacker’s chest. Another arrow whisked past. Nora flinched. She turned back and scanned the mass of people pressing in on each other to get through the red gates. Across the Solstice fire—that was where she had seen Shade and Calla last. But they weren’t there anymore. They could be anywhere. Owen could be anywhere. In any side street. Taking cover in any of the houses. She closed her eyes, then opened them. Just in time to see Garreth kick another attacker’s knee out with a dull crunch, slicing through the downed man’s neck. She briefly loosened her grasp on the knife’s hilt, only to clutch it tighter.

Find Owen. Don’t just stand here! Find him!

She pushed past Garreth, ignoring his shout.

T
he roar of the fighting
was behind her. Nora swallowed. Her footsteps echoed against the stone houses. Her mouth was dry. People were still fighting, dispersed in tiny pockets. Some men were making a brave stand against the attackers, and a woman was wielding a cast-iron skillet with fearsome efficiency, while others simply cowered behind the crumbling walls, trying to hide themselves and their families. Their scared faces floated like pale ghosts in the unlit streets and windows of abandoned houses as she ran by, yelling for Owen. One side street after another. The same scenes repeating themselves in variations. Two men with swords were hacking at a man on his knees with no weapon, one hand raised above his head to ward off their blows, the other shoving his wife away as she held their baby. Nora clenched her teeth. She darted in to stab the attacker’s neck while his sword was still swinging high. Her knife plunged into his throat from the side, and he grabbed at the blood, his eyes widening like an owl’s. The other man she slashed, opening up his belly. The stench of guts filled the street. She raked the knife up across his ogling face and kicked him down. The woman was screaming in terror as she gripped her baby and fled.

Nora wiped her brow free of her hair, which was coming undone, and found her hand to be sticky with blood. She jogged on.
Over there!
She heard the sound of metal ringing on metal. Someone was putting up a fight. She took the next corner and saw it was Shade. He had found a sword, or taken one from the attacker lying at his feet, and was circling a second man warily. They crossed swords in an explosion of movement, staring at each other intently. Nora ran up and deftly stabbed the man in his turned back. He gasped and clutched his chest, half turning to her. Shade cut him down ruthlessly, opening his rib cage. And then they stood facing each other on the dark street. She found herself smothered in a tight embrace.