Page 54 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Always good to be prepared,” he replied casually.

“How long does it take to make something like this?” She reached for one of the tightly rolled scrolls. If she tried to threaten Valerian with it—if she knew how to use it at all—she’d be quite disappointed to find it only gave him a button nose and extended eyelashes. When he wasn’t hunting bounties for money, he sold simple spells to bored rich ladies.

“How long did it take you to look like you could lift a boar single-handed?” he replied. The physicality of being a mercenary had helped his youthful figure fill out over the years, but it was nothing compared to her strong, muscled frame.

She snorted. “Years.”

He nodded. “It’s the same for magic. Crafting the spells takes the longest, once that’s done, it’s a few hours and the right ingredients to enchant as many objects, scrolls, or potions as I think I’ll need.”

“And you’ve just got all those spells stored in here somewhere?” she asked, tapping her brow.

She’s never shown this much interest before. Valerian paused, analyzing the thought. He’d known her for five minutes, why would he think of her in terms of ‘never’ or ‘before’? Half-distracted, he replied, “I record everything in my grimoires.”

She ran her fingers over the strap of his bag. The flickering lantern light made her fingers look long and delicate one moment, strong and sturdy the next. “You must carry something that valuable with you.”

Everyone else had disappeared from the room. Valerian hadn’t realized they’d left him and Griselda behind. He glanced at the door, brow furrowing when all he saw was a smooth wall. Wisps of spiderweb covered the area, blocking his exit.

“Get out of my head,” he whispered.

Griselda’s expression twitched and rippled, like a mask sliding off her face. “Where did you hide your grimoires, Valerian?”

The bag and all of Valerian’s tools disappeared, then the table. The room was empty except for him and Griselda. He clenched his fist and realized that he still held the dagger. Griselda was taller than him, stronger, and more importantly, they’d never fought against each other before. There was no prior memory guaranteeing her loss.

“Wouldn’t it be so much easier to cooperate?” she asked, an echo of someone else in her voice. “You don’t have to keep reliving your fear and sorrow. I can send you somewhere happier. With Olivia perhaps?”

Another name perched on Valerian’s tongue, someone he couldn’t quite remember, like a part of him had been locked away.

And the person possessing Griselda held the key.

Valerian lunged, slashing at her with the dagger. She clumsily ducked away, too slow to evade the blade. It cut a line on her side, staining her green uniform with dark blood.

There may be nothing to guarantee her loss, but there was also nothing to guarantee her victory. She would have to use her own strength and skill, something the person possessing her wasn’t familiar with.

The next time Valerian attacked, she grabbed his wrist to stop him. He yanked his arm toward the weak point of her thumb, immediately breaking her grip and attacking again. The dagger embedded deep in the meat of her arm. Blood splattered across Valerian’s face. The taste of it should have stained his teeth and tongue, but there was nothing. Simply an absence, like it didn’t exist at all.

Griselda grabbed his shoulder with her good hand and shoved him backwards. Valerian’s back hit the wall with a pained exhale. When he tried to swing at her again, his arm stuck to the wall. He turned and watched as a thick, rope-like spiderweb wrapped tighter around his arm, trapping it in place.

The walls around them glistened with the same white spiderweb. Soon, the spiders would come to feast on their captured prey.

“Why am I surrounded by stubborn fools?” she asked, gazing at Valerian with the wrong eyes. “I could give you such sweet dreams, yet you insist on suffering through your nightmares. Very well. Let me give you what you want.” She raised a hand, spreading her fingers wide as she reached for Valerian.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” He struggled against his bindings. While she’d spoken, the web had spun over both his arms and legs, slowly covering every inch of him.

“Let’s see how stubborn you are after this.” Griselda’s hand covered his face, fingers digging into his skin. She shoved his head backwards, first into the webs, and then, into darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The pounding of hoofbeats and soldiers marching echoed through the narrow city streets of Litus. Silas and Archer rode at the front of the procession, backs straight, gazes forward, a few feet of distance between their mounts. Pretending they hadn’t stolen precious minutes that morning entangled in each other’s arms, as close as any two people could be.

Bleary eyed citizens poked their heads out of upstairs windows. Some watched the procession, their gazes a heavy weight on Silas’ back. Others ducked back inside and slammed their windows shut, as if the simple barrier would protect them from whatever imagined threats the departing army conjured in their minds.

There were no announcements, no grand speeches, no warning that a third of the Arnsveldian army was leaving. Mirinda had suggested a large production, a formal goodbye to explain the state of the alliance to the Bellacostan citizens. Silas firmly rejected her idea. The last time he and Archer had addressed a crowd together, a brawl broke out. Silas’ nose itched at the memory of cartilage snapping when a stray elbow caught him in the face.

He didn’t want Archer’s last impression of Veritim Palace to be more blood spilled, afraid it would give him a reason not to return.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, a small crowd had formed anyway. The mounted officers patrolled the edges of the marching soldiers, forcing the civilians to keep their distance and watch from the sidewalks.

At the very edge of Litus, Archer and Silas slowed their horses and turned to face the army and the growing crowd.