“You did pay for it,” Ree points out. “Like you just said: it’s your boat, now.”
“Not that I have any use for it after this,” he answers with a laugh. “I don’t fancy trying to cross the ocean in it. Maybe I should sell it to somebody else? I could use the money; it’s a long way home.”
When Therdiad runs his craft aground on the shore, Ree splashes in again to pull it up higher. They can’t do much to conceal it, but he’s also taken her to a different stretch of the coast than before, she thinks. Farther from the village. “We had to hide,” Therdiad explains. “The local Cruais really doesn’t like people trying to go to the Lhian’s island.”
He hasn’t asked whether Ree has the blood. She probably couldn’t have left the island if she didn’t . . . but she likes that he hasn’t asked. He trusts her. Even now, that feels a little strange.
But it’s a strangeness she could learn to enjoy.
They find Ectain cul Simnann and his people camped out in a shallow bowl of land, where they can at least light a fire without it being visible for miles. Every one of them leaps to their feet when the three travelers approach, though Ree can see them staring dubiously at Aadet. Probably wondering what part of my anatomy I pulled him out of. Either that, or the Lhian does a side trade in healthy young men.
The Cruais approaches, leaning on a stick, with everyone else trailing behind. Ree’s been thinking about this the whole way back, and acts before he can speak. She takes the vial from around her neck and tosses it to him.
He drops the stick and nearly falls over his own feet, rushing to catch the precious object. Ree suppresses the urge to grin: he may or may not be able to recognize the difference between her two aspects, but she doesn’t want to clue him in that something has changed. No, the idea here is to see what he does next.
Ectain cul Simnann, Cruais of his people, doesn’t waste any time. He opens the vial, sees the blood inside, and nods. Looking directly at her, he says, “Archon of unknown name, I free you from your service to me and mine.”
She doesn’t feel anything. Of course not: the cord he’s trying to cut snapped back in the Lhian’s cave. But it tells her what she needs to know.
“You’re a man of your word,” she says. “Unnecessary, as it turns out—I freed myself, with no help from you.” Or from the Lhian. “But I’m glad to know you meant it.”
He blanches. Probably he’s remembering the threat she made before leaving, and imagining what she might have done to him and his if he tried to go back on his word. Or even what she’s going to do now. But Ree’s anger toward him has faded from what it was before.
Faded—but not entirely gone. “Did you know what she would take from me?”
The Cruais looks down. “In specific, no. In general . . . yes.” His shoulders slump. “Forgive me. Our people tried, repeatedly, and failed. I thought only an archon could win through. It seemed worth the chance—even though I knew the cost to you would be terrible.”
Aadet got through, she thinks. But then again, Aadet wasn’t there for blood.
The Cruais struggles briefly with himself, then loses the fight. “What you were made to give up, in exchange for this. Is there . . . can we make you whole somehow?”
His tone isn’t optimistic. Ree doubts he could do anything, even if she knew for certain what she has lost. If there’s a force in the world that can make her whole, she doesn’t yet know what it is. But again, she likes that he has asked.
She doesn’t want to tell him what happened, though. It’s too raw, this wound she can’t identify. Instead she says, “The blood. It gives the gift of prophecy, doesn’t it? Why so little?”
The smile he directs at the vial is sad. “Because knowledge of the future is an unchancy thing. We’re caught between two blades at home—a war I don’t want to join, but don’t have any choice in. I need to know which side will keep my people safe, or at least as safe as they can be. But I would not want to reach any further than I must.” Then he looks up at her. “If you wish, one drop of this is yours. I presume an archon who drinks of it will gain the gift, just as a mortal does. Or I will drink for you, and answer the question of your choice.”
Before she paid the Lhian’s price, she would have refused, out of the conviction that the future held nothing worth knowing. Now . . . now she refuses for a different reason. Ree shrugs and grins. “Eh. It takes away the excitement, knowing what will come next.”
The Cruais accepts that rapidly enough that she knows the offer wasn’t easy for him to make. Or maybe he can tell she’s reveling in this moment of utter freedom: she can go anywhere from here, do anything at all. She’s in no hurry to have someone, even a well-meaning prophet, push her down any particular path.
Ree introduces Aadet then, leaving him to explain how he got to the island, and what he went there for. It isn’t her story to tell. The Cruais invites them to go back with him to his own territory; it’s only a few days away by sea, and there, he promises, he will celebrate both their victories with a feast.
But Aadet, unlike Ree, has somewhere he needs to go. With many apologies, he says, “I should get back to my own people. They—they aren’t exactly waiting for me, but—”
Ree takes him aside while the others pack up. “You got what you needed from the Lhian?” she asks quietly. He nods, and she says, “Then give it a few days to settle. Think through what you know, and how you’re going to use it. A week more or less probably won’t make any difference to the people of Solaike—but it might make a very big difference to what you do.”
Aadet takes this in, eyes distant. She hasn’t convinced him. Ree adds, “I’m pretty sure the Cruais’s lands are close to a larger port—some place you can sail from. It may not take you straight home, but at least you’ll be headed in the right direction.”
He brightens and turns to tell the Cruais that he’d be delighted to accept the offer of hospitality. Ree, following, hides a grin. He doesn’t need to know that she was lying through her teeth about the larger port. She has no idea where they are, much less the Cruais’s own lands: that knowledge, if she ever had it, hasn’t come back to her yet.
He’ll find out eventually, of course. But she’ll make it up to him. She’s free, and she has a piece of her true name; she can go anywhere she likes. The more she thinks about it, the more she feels like starting with Aadet’s own land.
After all, she hears there’s going to be a revolution.
About the Author
MARIE BRENNAN is an anthropologist and folklorist who shamelessly pillages her academic fields for material. She is the author of several acclaimed fantasy novels including A Natural History of Dragons; The Onyx Court Series: Midnight Never Come, In Ashes Lie, A Star Shall Fall, and With Fate Conspire; Warrior; and Witch. Her short stories have appeared in more than a dozen print and online publications.
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Also by Marie Brennan
Cold-Forged Flame
Lightning in the Blood (forthcoming)
THE LADY TRENT MEMOIRS
A Natural History of Dragons
The Tropic of Serpents
Voyage of the Basilisk
In the Labyrinth of the Drakes
DEEDS OF MEN
Midnight Never Come
In Ashes Lie
A Star Shall Fall
With Fate Conspire
Warrior
Witch
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Begin Reading
About the Author
Also by Marie Brennan
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
COLD-FORGED FLAME
Copyright © 2016 by Bryn Neuenschwander
Cover illustration by Sam Weber
Cover design by Christine Foltzer
Edited by Miriam Weinberg
All rights reserved.
A Tor.com Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-9138-4 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-7653-9139-1 (trade paperback)
First Edition: September 2016
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Marie Brennan, Cold-Forged Flame
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