Page 134 of Night's Reckoning
Tenzin flipped open the chest and saw the pockmarked red glass still flecked with sand and mud. She lifted it and carried it to the upended bookcase. She tried to open the case, but it was stuck shut, the seam too packed with dirt and debris.
Johari shook her head. “We tried, but we couldn’t—”
Tenzin still held the bronze blade in her hand. In one hard crack, she brought the hilt of her sword down onto the glass case, cracking it in the middle.
Johari’s eyes went wide. “What—?”
“The point”—Tenzin smashed it again—“is the sword.” The case broke into several large pieces and a hundred tiny ones. One shard flew up and struck the side of Tenzin’s jaw. Another flew into Johari’s face, leaving a red gash across her cheek.
Tenzin wiped the glass away with a swipe of wind, and a torrent of tiny blades flew up and struck Johari across her torso. Blood wept through her clothes, and Johari flinched but didn’t move.
The Laylat al Hisab, last great work of the swordsmith, Harun al Ilah, was cradled in a bed of cracked leather, nearly as perfect as the day it had been finished.
Tenzin lifted it in her hand, the gold hilt set with rubies for the Fire King and sapphires for Zhang. A whirling firebird was etched on one side of the blade and a coiled dragon on the other. The finish was dull but the edge was unmarred by corrosion. With even a little care, the blade would shine again.
The sword’s deadly beauty caused an aching deep in Tenzin’s chest. Though the decorations on the hilt were rich, the Laylat al Hisab was no ceremonial blade. The balance and weight were perfectly calibrated to a warrior of her father’s elemental ability and strength. It was, in all ways, perfect. And perfectly deadly.
Tenzin looked at Johari, the thief who had stolen everything. Blood and tears streamed down the vampire’s face. She was standing against the wall, eyes locked on Tenzin, though nothing but her own fear held her.
“You didn’t ask Saba for help?” Johari asked.
Tenzin raised the sword, leaving her bronze blade among the shattered glass, and tested it against her thumb. The steel edge was lethal, and blood welled in a fine, straight line.
“Why would I ever ask Saba for help?” Her eyes cut to Johari. “You have seen what conditions come with Saba’s help.”
Johari was wrecked. “My sire sent others first. She hoped to avoid my involvement. She wanted Benjamin Vecchio gone from the beginning so neither of you would be on the ship. There were supposed to be men in Shanghai who injured him.”
The two vampires who went after Ben near her house. It felt like so long ago, Tenzin had nearly forgotten.
“But he fought them off,” Tenzin said. “He was too smart for them.”
“I don’t know what happened, but she sent me a message. Injure the young man—do not kill him, no matter what—and take the sword. When he found it…”
“You could fulfill both tasks at once.” She thought about another broken body. “And the human, Meili?”
Johari shook her head. “I panicked. She’d found the glass, and I was terrified the humans would bring up the sword during the day. I had to get it from the ocean before anyone saw it. I couldn’t let others know it had been found. As long as it was never found—”
“You could avoid any suspicion. It would just be one more mysterious artifact, lost to the sea. And we would never know Saba had taken it.”
Johari nodded. “The human was unfortunate.”
Tenzin felt the wind whipping around her. The boat rocked to the side, the storm drawn by her fury. “And what about Ben?”
“He is alive, isn’t he?” Johari looked confused. “He was to be changed. She said he would be changed.”
“He is changed,” Tenzin said quietly. “But not by me. Zhang has a new child now, one far more powerful than any of Saba’s countless progeny.”
Johari looked pale but resolute. “Nevertheless, I am glad he is alive.”
Tenzin held out the sword and walked toward Johari, pointing it at her throat. The blade shone dull in the flickering lights of the hallway while waves rocked the yacht back and forth. Tenzin floated above the floor, steadied by the air around her.
In her mind, she saw the sword piercing Ben’s back, the pain and torment as she flew him to her father. The pointed cobblestones against her knees as she begged. The taste of his blood and the ecstasy of his bite. The cold hatred on his face.
“You escaped your fate once.” She put the blade to Johari’s throat. “Tell me why I should let you escape again.”
Johari’s face was bleak. “You shouldn’t.”
The whispers came like a swirling typhoon, building and building in her mind.
