Page 126 of Curse of Darkness
I nod. She may as well.
Amaya scowls as if she saw him asking for permission. “I can fight already. I’m good with a knife. But I’ve never held a sword. I want one.”
Finn stalks along the racks, searching for the smaller wooden swords that suit the youths who’ve started training. “Maybe….”
“Not one of them.” Amaya trails him. “I want a real one.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want,” he tells her. “It will take years of discipline and daily exercise before I’m putting actual steel into your hands.”
“I’ll ask Thalia.”
“You can ask Thalia all you like,” Finn retorts. “You think she’s going to give you a sword? She might rule the castle, but this training yard is mine. This armory is mine.”
Defiance lights in her eyes, but there’s something else there…. “Why do you want a sword?”
My words cut right through the imminent argument. Amaya hesitantly strokes one of the hilts of the training sword. “I couldn’t stop him.”
“Who?” But I know.
This time, the tears in her eyes threaten to spill. “He hurt her. He hurt her and I couldn’t stop him.” She starts to tremble, her eyes bleeding of color as the Darkyn within her rouses. “I know I’m not big enough to face a Darkyn warrior, but if I knew how to wield a sword…. Maybe I could have…. Maybe she wouldn’t….”
“Oh, child.” Grimm butts against her legs. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him.”
This time a tear slips down her cheek. “He was huntingme. If I hadn’t been up there….”
Her whisper nearly tears my heart into two.
“If you hadn’t been up there, then he would have found a way inside the castle.” Drawing the dagger from my belt, I flip the tip of it into my fingers. “And none of us would have known until it was too late. Your mother’s safe. She’s well. None of this is your fault. Here.”
She’s barely nine years old.
But I was seven the first time I killed a wolf.
Seven the first time I saw one of my friends die, torn to pieces by the rest of the pack.
The life she’s known was one of joy and laughter, but it was also one of pain and suffering and fear. Old Mother Hibbert was a kind old soul, but she was only one aging fae woman against an entire forest of nightmares, and while she did her best to protect and feed all her charges, sometimes the forest took its own toll.
“You should have your own knife.” I offer her the hilt. It’s old, the leather sweat-stained and ragged, and the blade thin with years of sharpening. It’s more decorative than anything else. “This is Wolf’s Tooth. My foster brother, Cian, gave it to me when I was fifteen. We swore a blood oath with it. I think he’d like it if… if you could keep it safe for me.”
Amaya’s eyes widen and she looks up as if I just offered her the moon.
“Excellent progress,” Grimm assures me.
There’s no hint of malevolence within my chest as I glance down at her raven-dark hair. She can barely breathe as she accepts the dagger, holding it displayed on her fingers as if she can scarce believe it’s real.
“It’s mine?” she whispers.
“Yours.” I reach out and brush my thumb along a wisp of her fringe.
A chill runs through my veins. I blink as Death rises, stirring within me as if he’s only just sensed the presence of the slither of Darkyn soul within her.
Only Finn notices when I jerk my hand back, clenching my fingers. I turn the move into something else, unhooking my belt and drawing the sheath clear so she can put it away.
“Thank you,” Amaya gushes, palming the hilt and twisting the knife this way and that, as if she’s imagining invisible foes standing against her.
“How goes your training?” Grimm asks. “Have you forged the shadowsteel yet?”
“Almost,” Finn says casually. “He can conjure it. He just can’t hold it for long.”
