On the Wheel (The Living Blade Book 2) Read online

  A faint light glowed within. She opened the door a crack to check if someone was there. If someone was, maybe she could wait outside until he or she left. Yes, the weather was bad. But it was just rain, and getting wet was what she intended to do anyway, and oh! It was Shade. He had stripped down to his trousers, and she could easily make out the cut she had inflicted on his pale shoulder. A dark red mark betrayed the kiss of her blade. He turned as she opened the door, his body shrouded by steam rising from the wooden tub, hair slicked back wet, the flame of his oil lamp flickering in a double image in the mirror.

  “Shall I come back later?” Nora asked.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m nearly done.” He shrugged.

  She closed the door quietly behind her.

  “Door doesn’t lock,” Shade said. “I was tempted to take a bath, but then reconsidered.”

  “Doesn’t lock? Shocking! What if wanton girls intruded while you sat there innocently bathing in the water?”

  His reflection grinned hollowly at her in the mirror. The copper surface warped his features. “Wanton, eh?”

  She laughed through her nose and shook her head.

  “I didn’t mean me.”

  He let his shoulders hang and pulled an overly sad face, and she smiled at it, dutifully.

  “I think I could maybe lure the serving girl in here for you. She seemed keen to spend some time with Noraya Smith, Spiter of Queens, Champion of the Arena.” Nora spat the words. They tasted bitter on her tongue.

  “Think I’d like to see you and that wench together. I knew I should stick around you, dirty mind and all.” He rubbed his wet hair with a towel.

  “Ugh.”

  “Well, who wouldn’t want to spend time with such a living legend?” Shade continued from deep within the folds. He poked his head out and gave her a mischievous look. “Oh, I know. Prince Bashan.”

  “That’s finally something I have in common with him then, because the legendary Noraya Smith makes me want to heave.”

  Shade chuckled into his towel, wiping it over his face.

  “Why do you keep on calling him prince?” Nora asked. “It’s Prince Bashan this and Lord Prince that. Why?”

  “Because.” Shade paused. She could almost see his answer on the tip of his tongue before he gave it. “Because that’s what he is.”

  “He’s your father.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  She raised an eyebrow at that. The likeness between the two of them was startling, especially now that Shade’s blond hair was wet and looked much darker, nearly as black as his father’s.

  “The children of Shinar…” Shade stopped as he saw her clench her teeth at the name of the temple. “The prince isn’t my father. I had others growing up. He simply made me, but that’s not the same.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Garreth came looking for me, you know?” Shade said, pulling on his shirt, hair sticking up on end. “He came to the temple and spoke to the queen, and when she brought me in to meet him, I thought, gods, maybe this is the guy. Maybe this is my father. Ugly brute, sure, but competent at what he does, a leader of men, all of them killers, and he the worst of them all. And I thought, I want that. I want that kind of man to be my father. With Garreth, if he has a problem with you, he’ll tell you to your face and be blunt about it. If you have a problem with him, he’ll take up your challenge. If you double-cross him, he’ll hunt you down and won’t stop until he finds you and then kills you. If he offers you a beer and a laugh, then you know that’s all he’s offering. Not something else. Not friendship. But here’s a beer and some time spent together. Enjoy this moment, for in the next, we could all be dead. There’s something very…honest about that. Very different from…how I grew up.

  “He took me with him, and never touched me once. Never allowed his men to touch me, either. And I liked that the most. Well that, and his training me to fight. And then I met my real father.”

  “Bit different, huh?”

  “Not as ugly.” Shade smiled. “But also not that different. A greater leader of men, all of them killers, even the barons and merchants who rally to his side and whisper against Empress Vashti with him. He fights his wars not only with steel, but he can use his courtly ways to beguile his way into another person’s favor, too, one hand bearing cold murder, the other a cup of good wine and candy sticks for the sweet tooth in you. And he’s driven. What he wants, he gets.”

  “Like the Living Blade?”

  “Just so.” Shade took a deep breath. “Which means he cannot ever be my father. He doesn’t care for me like he does for the Blade. He wouldn’t be willing to give his all for me in the same way he has dedicated his life to finding the Blade. I’m just a sharp piece of steel in his hand, just like Garreth is a sharper, deadlier tool in his hand. And that’s the way it is. All together for a greater goal. I can admire that in a man. But I can’t call that same man father. He is our lord prince.”

  “Well,” Nora said. “That sucks. Both your parents are slag.”

  “Slag?”

  “It’s a smithing word,” Nora explained. “My father always used to say that ore has two children: iron, which is pure, dependable, and slag, waste that is useful only as ballast or back-fill.”

  Just how everyone thinks of twins, she thought, but didn’t need to articulate it. The way Shade was appraising her let her know that he understood. Pity itched between her shoulder blades.

  “You’re saying that both my parents are…what’s the word? Not properly smelted?” His grin was contagious. He stepped closer.

  “I am indeed.”

  “So just like every other normal son, I don’t want to grow up to be like them. There’s a lot that can be said for normality.”

  If Bashan and Suranna had their way, Shade would be dead by the end of the year. No further growing up, no maturing, no proving that he was the better man. The itch spread across Nora’s skin. All over. She felt the anger rising, ant-like stings crawling through her veins, replacing the numbness the damn slag queen had burned into her very being in the cistern filled with sun. Good. Being angry made her feel better. More herself. She welcomed its return after the weeks of quiet on the road.

  Shade turned to face her, and without knowing what she was doing, Nora closed her eyes and found his surprised lips. For a few moments they stood like that, simply kissing, kissing, kissing. Or rather clamping their mouths onto each other. Tongues battling so hard, they’re seeking something in the depths, maybe. Hands grasping at flesh in desperation and—fuck it, yes—horniness, they lunged at this opportunity, at one another.

  Nora’s shirt was discarded on the wet floor within seconds, and then Shade’s hips pushed against her own until her back slammed against the door post. She bit his lip a little, drawing blood. He tasted of dark ale and salt. Her leg wrapped itself around his loins as his fingers reached below her waist. His lips wandered across her jawline, down into the hollow of her neck. She gasped.

  “Gods,” he muttered against her collarbone. “You’re as slick as oil. I love it.”

  She laughed breathlessly, one arm around his naked shoulder, bracing to hoist herself onto him, feeling his fingers explore the folds of her flesh. She tried not to think of how the curl of his lips right now made him look like his father. Tried not to think of the time in the Temple of Shinar when Diaz had pinned her against a door and nearly kissed her. That thought sent ripples of pleasure through her inmost parts. Shade moaned into her ear as he nibbled her lobe. She ground against him.

  Diaz’s moans as Suranna licked her tongue down his neck thrust themselves into her memory. And from whom did you think Shade learned? the queen’s voice whispered insidiously into Nora’s thoughts. She stiffened. A numbness—first in her leg, spreading through her hips, as though someone was securing tongs around her to get a better grip, to ready the next blow.

  Stop it! Stop thinking about—

  Her foot slipped on the wet surface of the washroom floor, unbalancing them both
. Nora pulled Shade down with her, and his forehead knocked hard against her chin as her back struck the flagstones.

  His hands rose to his brow, and she clutched her hurting mouth. She saw gray blotches above. Must have banged her head against something. Nora fingered through her patchy hair. Her fingertips were stained with red.

  Shade stared down at the blood, ashen-faced. Then, babbling, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a godsdamned infant.

  She pushed him away, furious again, at him, at the world, at herself mostly. But also at him, because he simply sat back on his knees as she reached for her shirt, accepting that she had pushed him away.

  “Gods.” He smiled lopsidedly. “We’re hopeless at this. Remember at the Solstice fire? I tried to kiss you and—”

  “Yeah, I remember.” She pulled her shirt back down.

  He rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah. Sure. We’ll try some other time.” He coughed and rose. “You take your bath in peace, Briar. I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

  The door opened and closed, a blast of cold air now mingling with the moist warmth within. Nora stood in the tiny washroom, alone. She closed her eyes, feeling like a hot ingot on a blacksmith’s anvil, waiting for the hammer to fall. Briar. One iron blow on metal, scattering sparks.

  Chapter 2

  Nora dangled from a low branch of a tree, her feet pedaling uselessly in the air, wondering whether her quivering arms would let go of their own accord or whether she was going slightly insane. Dawn had crept up on her solitary practice session and found her suspended between keeping her head high and her feet on the ground, doing chin-ups. Her breath misted before her as sweat dripped down her back. This was a bad idea, she decided, fingers clutching the branch. She was still weak after what she had endured at the hands of Suranna, so very weak. She knew she was recovering slowly. But she also needed to know that she was recovering, feel it. Her possibilities were slim, though. She couldn’t train with Diaz anymore. She had managed three chin-ups over the branch so far. That was one more than yesterday. Progress, right? More were not necessary. It wasn’t as though she was trying to prove something to someone other than herself. So why not drop and get breakfast?

  A breeze stirred the leaves next to her tree, and suddenly she was staring at Diaz’s face as he emerged from the brush. Her throat and stomach tightened, the bitch queen’s venom burning through the veins of her arms, still at work in her response to him. He didn’t look surprised to see her dangling there. He must have gone looking for her because the others were waking.

  “The longer you hang,” he pointed out casually, “the harder it becomes.”

  She scowled at him as he leaned against the tree trunk, folding his arms across his chest as though he intended to wait things out. Her arm muscles flexed and tightened, and she pulled her weight up one more time, chin inching toward the branch. The trembling increased, but there was no way she’d let go now. She couldn’t allow herself to give up. Not with him watching. She needed him to know that she wasn’t weak, even if it killed her. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and kicked her legs up, brushing her chin against the bark of the branch. Point made. She let herself drop to the ground and staggered a little, slamming into a slender birch stem. Feet firm, she bent over, hands on her knees, trying not to heave.

  “What do you want, Diaz?”

  He shrugged, ignoring her ragged breath, and pushed away from the trunk.

  “I would offer you my help, but I know you won’t accept it,” he said.

  Damn right, there. She stared at him, blinking away the sweat stinging her eyes. Then she snorted.

  “Well, shit, we’re close to the Suthron Pass. That means you’re free, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll never be truly free, but…yes.”

  “So now you want to talk?”

  His black eyes found hers.

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck you, Diaz!”

  Nora snatched up her discarded long-sleeved shirt and made to go, pulling the fabric over her head, angrily tugging it into place. Now he wanted to talk. After. Well, she had wanted to talk before, and he had left her standing there alone. See how he liked a dose of his own medicine.

  She didn’t hear his footsteps behind her, but he overtook her and barred her path. She crossed her arms.

  “Really?” She arched her eyebrows as far as she could.

  “Why do you train alone?” he asked, his face hard to read.

  “Why do you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that I am here and listening to whatever it is you wish to say.”

  Nora gnashed her teeth together. She told herself to say nothing in response, but saying nothing was not one of her strong points. She stared at a point beyond his shoulder and bit the side of her cheek hard. So, he was offering a kind of truce. But a truce wasn’t what she wanted, especially not from Diaz. She groaned inwardly, a hot wave of what she wanted from him flushing through her body once more. Damn Suranna. For a moment, she wrestled with the urge to shove him out of her way or—preferably—shove him against the tree and take his mouth, shut him up. She curled her fists so tight the nails left crescent marks in the palms of her hands.

  “I train alone because my master fucked himself to death in Shinar.” She spoke the words as quietly as she could, deliberating over the preciseness.

  He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he nodded infinitesimally.

  They stood close to each other amid the trees, close enough for either one of them to reach out and touch the other. Neither did. Nora moved to walk away in a different direction. This time he didn’t overtake her. He called out softly instead.

  “Shade would have killed you in the arena. Yet you manage to be civil. Even friendly.”

  Nora spun around.

  “Shade had no choice in the arena. And he suffered for it. I made him suffer.” Her voice hitched, surprising even herself.

  A flicker of anger and pain crossed Diaz’s features.

  “You’re implying I had a choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “What choice do you think I had?”

  She wanted to throw her hands up and scream at him. She pressed her lips together and swallowed the rage down, stomach churning with fury. Turn around. Take the next step. Away from him.

  “Noraya. Answer me.”

  “See what I’m doing, Diaz?” She spoke over her shoulder, voice trembling. “Walking away. Like you could have, but you didn’t.”

  * * *

  Later that day, the six of them were making the gradual climb up to the Suthron Pass, the autumn sun warming them in an old-wives’-summer heat, a last respite before the chill set in. Diaz was far to the front, cutting through the dense underbrush to clear a way for those who came behind. Bashan and Shade were talking quietly, Shade’s sentences clipped short to the prince’s long rambling. Footsteps came closer and Diaz peered over his shoulder, though he recognized the light tread. Owen fell in just behind Diaz, making sure he stayed out of the swing of the sword. A light film of sweat coated his furrowed brow, but he looked healthy despite the exertion. No darkness clouded his earnest face. If he worried about his death as a sacrifice to remake the Blade, Diaz saw no trace of it.

  “I guess you tried talking with Nora.”

  “You guess correctly.”

  “Maybe if the two of you had talked a little earlier—”

  “That was impossible.”

  “Because Suranna could have made you do something to Nora?”

  Diaz chose to answer with silence. He didn’t know. He hadn’t wanted to find out. A fiery hand squeezed his heart. Nora hadn’t forgiven him his betrayal. Nor would she soon, he guessed. He pressed his lips tighter together and chopped at the thick branches in front of them.

  “So,” Owen continued after brushing away a low-hanging branch. “Are you far enough away from Shin
ar to be…safe again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then it’s only a matter of getting Nora to listen. That shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

  Diaz snorted at the sarcasm dripping from Owen’s words. They walked on side by side.

  “So. Will you tell me why you sought to become the Living Blade in Shade’s place?” Diaz prompted after a while.

  “I have my reasons.” Owen paused and his hand trailed along a willow branch, dry leaves rustling in his palm, falling to the ground as he brushed against them. He looked back at Nora, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Owen smiled back at Diaz. “Good reasons, I deem.”

  Diaz grunted, not trusting himself to speak. They broke through the canopy, and the sunlight dazzled Owen’s eyes. He raised his hand to his forehead and stared down to the cobalt ocean spread out before them, a breeze rippling the fabric of his shirt. Diaz sheathed his sword and in the brightness, his eyes adjusted to the silver reflection breaking on the surface of the waters. Owen gazed to the east.

  “I’d love to have seen Nessa, though,” the young man said softly. “Have you ever been to the Water Temple?”