Page 94 of Silver & Smoke
‘Wouldyouwant this menace drooling overyourdaughter?’ Vernich snapped.
Wren rolled her eyes and stood, dusting herself off. ‘Your daughter looksmorethan capable of looking after herself,’ she interjected. ‘And Kipp didn’t know.’
At last, Vernich released Kipp’s shirt. ‘He does now.’
Kipp backed away sheepishly. ‘Heard you loud and clear, Bloodletter. No hard feelings...’
Vernich’s face was still red. ‘If you so much aslookin her direction—’
Torj nudged the older Warsword towards the door. ‘How come you never told us about her?’ he asked quietly.
‘Didn’t know she existed, did I?’ Vernich replied, sounding suddenly calmer. ‘Wasn’t until after she passed the Great Rite that she came to find me. It was only then that she told me who she was.’
‘And she’s a Warsword...’ Wilder murmured.
‘Course she is,’ Vernich retorted, the pride clear as day in his voice as he led them from the gathering space.
Kipp fell into step beside Wren, cheeks flushed, eyes bright while he rummaged for something in his pocket.
Wren recognized that expression all too well. ‘What?’
Kipp grinned, pulling out the jar. ‘Do you think she wants her fingers back?’
The piece of metal was distorted – warped by flames and alchemy, if the lingering scent was anything to go by. Wren used a pair of tongs to turn it over on the bench, drawing her lantern closer for better light.
‘It’s definitely part of a mask?’ she asked Vernich the Bloodletter, who stood just behind her, peering over her shoulder.
‘Pulled it off the bastard’s face myself,’ he grunted, pointing to a foul-looking clump on the inside. ‘That there’s part of his brow.’
Wren’s stomach rolled with a wave of nausea. Rotting flesh. That also accounted for the stench. ‘And how long have you had this?’
Vernich shrugged. ‘Few weeks? A month? I can’t exactly remember when we escaped that shithole.’
‘You haven’t done anything to it? Washed it? Tried to burn it?’
The gruff Warsword snorted. ‘Does it look like it’s been fucking washed? And no. We just took what we could. There are a few amateur alchemists among the people of the Warren – we figured they’d look into it.’
‘And?’ Zavier chimed in from the door, striding forwards to the bench to get a better look.
‘And they’re amateurs. They didn’t understand what they were looking at,’ Vernich replied flatly. ‘So whatarewe looking at?’
Wren stared at the scrap of metal, noting the obsidian colour of the front, before turning it over once more. At a guess, the piece was from the part of the mask that covered the top of the nose and brow, but there wasn’t enough of it to truly examine. However, one minor detail caught her eye.
‘See this pattern here?’ She pointed to the inside of the mask, where a series of dense grooves had been carved.
‘I see it,’ Zavier said, while Vernich grunted in confirmation.
‘In design, Master Mercer taught us that patterns like this are often used to create more adhesion between the piece and the alchemy. This wasn’t used on the manacles Silas adapted. This is a new element, used only on the masks...’
‘So what? The alchemy is more effective for longer?’ Zavier asked.
‘That would be my guess, but without a complete mask, we can’t really draw any definitive conclusions,’ Wren replied.
‘Well, I don’t know shit about alchemy,’ Vernich muttered from behind them, ‘but I’ll gladly rip another mask off an enemy’s face for you.’
Wren smiled. ‘That would be appreciated, thank you, Vernich.’
The Bloodletter nodded and strode off.
