Viv shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Iridia smiled thinly. She slid the book off the desk and weighed it in both hands. “I do so look forward to your eventual departure.”
The greatsword was impossible to hide when Viv pushed her way into The Perch that evening. With no way to sling it over her back, she held all six feet of it point down before her, hoping to make her way swiftly up the stairs.
“Holy hells!” cried Gallina, immediately scuppering those plans. “Where’dthatcome from?”
“It’s, uh…” Viv realized she should have come up with an explanation for the sword’s provenance ahead of time. “I… bought… it?” she finished lamely. And entirely unconvincingly.
Brand watched her with interest as well. “Hm. Greatsword, eh? Feeling under-armed?” he asked.
Viv tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace and probably looked about the same. “Really done in for the day. Just going to head up to my room.”
She limped up the stairs, tucking the blade under her arm, and hurried to her room, where she closed the door firmly behind her. A damp sea breeze filtered through the narrow window, laced with the sulfurous smell of seaweed.
She laid the greatsword atop the leather straps of the empty bedframe, lit the lantern, and stepped back to examine the blade.
The steel glimmered along its flawless length, clean and perfect, not so much as a nick or notch to mar the edges. The leather wrapping on the hilt might have been bound and shrunk yesterday, and a beautiful but substantial silver ring formed the pommel.
Viv immediately wanted it in her hands again.
She probed her thigh, testing the receding ache there. Had Rackam cornered Varine the Pale yet? Was he still alive? Wasshe? The signal from the book strongly implied she was.
Impatience swelled in her breast. She’d been reading and idling away her days, with nothing but a little indifferent training to keep her reflexes afloat.
Murk seemed to have a sleepy power over her, a seductive song of indolence.
She’d almost let it claim her. Sure, she had to bide her timeand heal. And there was no harm in wringing a little enjoyment out of her forced recovery. She thought guiltily of Maylee.Or a little companionship, she added mentally.
But her time in Murk must draw to an end. And she needed to be ready when it did.
27
The sky threatened rain all the following day. Viv made a perfunctory visit to Thistleburr but didn’t stay. Fern was busy shelving the last of the remaining books and fussing over the wrapped packages, and there wasn’t much that Viv could help with anyway. She relayed what she’d done with Varine’s book, and Fern seemed caught between anxiety and relief, but the tasks of the day outweighed either in the end.
Viv and Maylee had planned an outing, which had been a pleasant prospect until she’d drawn forth the greatsword. She tried to recapture her anticipation as she knocked on the door of Sea-Song.
They shared a leisurely walk along the beach. Maylee traced a finger up and down Viv’s forearm in a very distracting way, and Viv described the plan she and Fern had hatched to find homes for the surplus books.
“Thanks to your baking,” she said. Viv gave Maylee’s hand a squeeze.
“Everythin’ good is thanks to bakin’,” Maylee replied with conviction.
As they strolled, Maylee talked about old friends andadventures past, and Viv laughed and nodded when it was expected. But more and more, her thoughts returned to the blade on her bedframe, drawn as if by a deadly lodestone. Her steps kept speeding up, as though she wanted the walk over and done with so she could get back. Viv had to rein herself in several times.
When they parted, Viv could tell from the bruised smile on Maylee’s face that she’d noticed, and a spasm of guilt seized her.
It didn’t stop her from hurrying back to her room though.
Behind The Perch and out of view of prying eyes, Viv hefted the greatsword, turning it in the silvery overcast light. The weight of it made the muscles of her arms and shoulders strain in a deeply satisfying way. She felt firm and hard and full of purpose, and when she executed the very different practice forms suited to the larger weapon, it was as though she’d wielded the blade all her life.
Any ache in her leg was forgotten. It wasn’t fully healed, not by a long shot, but it didn’t plague her in the slightest. As she completed a diagonal chop, the metal sighing through the air, a surprised laugh escaped her lips.
The steel seemed drawn by inexorable purpose, tracing a pathway that led back toward the Ravens. Toward where she truly belonged.
She felt the grin transform her face, a savage, joyful baring of fangs. Sweat pooled in her clavicle and flew from her forearms as she snapped the blade back and up.
Gods, it felt good.
