Page 90 of Kill the Beast
When the sword had been hammered into shape, Lyssa prepared some clay, mixing it with the blood she had spilled during Ragnhild’sspell and the dirt from Eddie’s grave, stirring until it was the right consistency. Then she daubed it all along the blade, careful to control the thickness in the right places. The clay temper would give strength to the cutting edge and necessary flexibility to the rest of the sword, ensuring that it was not so brittle it would break. Getting it just right took all of her focus, which meant that for another short while, she could lose herself in her work and not have to think about her world falling down around her.
While the clay dried, she made the quillons and began forming the handle, shaping the wood until it felt comfortable in her hand and fit onto the tang correctly. Later, she would wrap it with the leather she had braided and the blood-soaked cord Rags had prepared, but for now she set it aside and took a much-needed break in the hot springs, soaking muscles that ached after so many hours of labor.
Long after darkness had settled over the Wood, and the balmy night air was buzzing with insects, Lyssa tested the clay temper with her finger. It was ready. The late hour suited her fine—she preferred to heat-treat her blades in the dark, since it was easier to tell the difference between all the subtle shades of yellow, orange, and red that relayed the blade’s temperature. She slid the almost-sword into the coals and waited.
Once the clay-daubed blade was ready to be removed from the forge, she reached in with her tongs and fished out the glowing metal, plunging it into her quench-tank, a cloud of steam billowing up from the water and enveloping her. She moved the sword back and forth in the water as it cooled, praying to the Lady all the while that the metal wouldn’t crack. It was always a possibility, even with Valdalian steel, but the Lady granted Lyssa Her favor that night, and the blade emerged intact.
Next, she scraped off the clay and tempered the naked blade one final time in heated sand. It was a trick Honoria had taught her, along with the even niftier trick of stealing a few hours of sleep on the smithy floor while the metal baked.
Finally, the blade was finished. Lyssa spent the morningpolishing and sharpening it, then fitting on the quillons and handle. After that, Ragnhild rejoined her in the smithy, and Lyssa attached the pommel and wrapped the handle in leather and cord, while the witch stitched the sheath with spells.
“It’s ready,” Rags said as Lyssa slid the sword into its sheath. “Are you?”
“Almost.”
Lyssa bathed in the hot springs again, to make sure any lasting wounds were as healed as they could be before the fight, and pulled on fresh clothes that she could move in easily. She holstered her freshly loaded pistol, in case she ran into any Hound-wardens, then strapped the sword to her back in lieu of her pack, the hilt within easy reach of her right hand. When she gripped it, the knots of the blood-soaked cord dug into her palm, a reminder of her oath.
She met Ragnhild at the stone archway as planned, and was surprised to find Nadia and Brandy there as well. The bullmastiff was sitting in front of the Gate, whining at it.
“What are you doing?” Lyssa asked him.
“He’s still waiting for Alderic,” Nadia told her. “He’s been here the whole time you were forging the sword. He won’t even eat.”
“Well, stop it,” Lyssa said, nudging the bullmastiff’s rump with her boot. “He’s not coming back.”
The dog whined louder, his ears flattening as he looked back at her with wide, sorrowful eyes.
“I said he’s not coming back!” she snapped.
“Calm yourself, girl,” Ragnhild warned her. “Focus on the task at hand. Let go of everything but your oath.”
Lyssa nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady the pounding of her heart, and letting it out slowly. “Let it go,” she muttered.
The old witch patted her cheek. “Try to come back to us, will you?”
Lyssa had promised Alderic that, once. She wouldn’t promise it again. Instead, she squeezed Ragnhild’s shoulder, rubbed Brandy’s ears in apology and kissed him goodbye, and avoided Nadia’s piercing gaze as she turned to face the stone arch.
“Bleakhaven,” she said, and stepped through the Gate.
She was finally going to finish this.
She was finally going to kill the Beast, and fulfill her oath to Eddie.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
LYSSA EMERGED FROMthe alleyway where the Gate had spit her out and looked up at the sky over Bleakhaven. The darkness had a bluish cast to it, night waning into morning.
Not long, now.
To her right, warm light spilled onto the street from the Morningstar’s soot-streaked windows. The other shops in the square were dark, but there were brightly colored wreaths hanging from each door; the single gas lamp and the bench beneath it had been draped with flower garlands to herald the arrival of spring, and there were hand-painted banners advertising the upcoming festivities, to begin at dawn. While Lyssa was killing a monster in the woods, the children of Bleakhaven would be begging for candies door-to-door, decorating eggs, and racing rabbits for a pocketful of prize money.
The door of the Morningstar burst open, and someone in a hooded cloak staggered outside. Lyssa backed into the mouth of the alley and watched the figure weave drunkenly away from her, toward the forest at the edge of town. It was impossible to tell from this angle, with the billowing cloak obscuring the person’s body and the deep hood covering their hair, but she suspected that it was Alderic.
One last drink before the end.
She shook the thought off roughly and started after him, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn’t notice her if he turned around. She didn’t want to see his human face again, didn’t want to talk to him. It would just make everything harder. But he walked with purpose, and didn’t look back.
