Page 110 of Mistress of Bones
She had taken not two steps into the wider street when someone slammed into her. She went sprawling to the ground with a grunt, then rolled and got to her feet, hand immediately going to her rapier.
“Where were you?” came the harsh demand from the alleyway.
The three figures spilled out to join the one who had knocked her down.
“Doing a perimeter walk,” the newcomer answered. A female voice. “Like you asked me to. This one”—she gestured toward Edine with the dagger in her hand—“slipped past me.”
Edine shuffled backward, but the woman waved her dagger. “Not so fast.”
“How long were you listening?” Iriana’s friend asked.
“I listened none,” Edine answered. She looked for an escape route, but they had her surrounded.
Four versus one. Well, she had faced those odds before, against bullies back home, hadn’t she?
But those had been kids, and these were adults armed with rapiers and daggers, and Edine had never been quite so good with her sword as Nereida. Her sword! She hadn’t even named it yet.
Oh, how she wished Sío were here.
“She’s here. That’s enough,” one of the men said. “Get rid of her.”
Edine swallowed but raised her rapier.
She had come alone to find her fortune, and it appeared that alone she would find it.
THE PRESENT
Azul lay on a narrow bed in a small room. A window graced one wall, its shutters open to the late morning sun. The sheets were clean, the white walls high and bare, and someone had put her into a thin nightgown.
Sombra sat on a stool by an old trunk, legs stretched in front of him, back relaxed against the wall, and arms crossed over his chest. He wore the same clothes as before, but his hair had been brushed and fell loose around his shoulders.
“You’re alive,” Azul said, then winced, the void inside of her trying to feed off her guts. But innards could not feed the soul. Nothing could. It would either grow back, or stay as it was. And what if she were stuck this way for the rest of her life? Tears started to form but she blinked them away.
Sombra nodded. His face showed some bruising, but their adventures had not marked him otherwise, except for the dirt on his clothes and the occasional rip in his sleeves.
“En…” Azul swallowed hard. She could not breathe. “The emissary? D-Death?”
He stood, pointing at the door.
“Are we at Almanueva?”
A shake of his head.
Not at her brother’s mercy then.
Air finally made it into her lungs. It helped with the gnawing hole at her core. It helped calm her heart.
“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up and gathering the sheet against her waist. Belatedly, she noticed a hulking mass of fur lying at the bed’s end—the large gray feline she’d brought back to life. It opened one eye to look at her, huffed, and went back to its rest.
Sombra retrieved his hat from the top of the trunk, bowed deeply,and stepped outside. Somewhat rude, and definitely not helpful, but Azul found a strange sort of comfort in Sombra’s familiar actions.
“We are in Valanje’s local house,” said the Lord Death from the doorway.
He strolled into the room and took the stool her shadow had vacated. The seat was too low for him, and he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He wore no emissary mask—she supposed there was no need for one anymore, but she missed the sight of it—and unlike Sombra, he had changed into clean clothes. His hair was tucked into a braid at the nape of his neck; his violet-gold eyes gave nothing away.
This man, who had intruded into her life, into her thoughts, into her heart, was nothing but a shell now. A suit of clothing worn by someone else.
How could she ever reconcile the sight of him with the knowledge of what had been lost? Of what could have been?
