While Tate was distracted, George held the blade out to her, hilt first with an impish grin. “I don’t suppose you’d want to hold it?”
There was an arrogance in George’s expression that said she was already anticipating Tate’s rejection. There was a reason she’d chosen to pull the Dragon’s Torment and demonstrate her abilities in this fashion. She’d hoped to cow Tate. To reclaim her pride.
Only problem was her victim this time was Tate, who wasn’t exactly known for her ability to make wise decisions that included turning the other cheek.
Tate’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t mind if I do.”
George’s expression faltered as Tate took the blade from her.
Tate kept her hiss of pain silent, hardening her face so she didn’t reveal the sudden agony rising from the places where her hand touched the blade.
She breathed through it, lifting the blade to take a closer look. There was a reason beyond foolish pride that she’d chosen to touch the blade. Someone had once told her you needed to know your enemies before the first blow was struck to secure victory.
Now, when George had no order to kill her, was the best time to examine the weapon. To find out its weakness in case it was one day turned against her.
Ilith paced back and forth in her mind, her entire attention locked on the threat Tate was holding.
Destroy it,Ilith urged.
Not yet.
It’s an abomination.
You know what this is?
Ilith went quiet, withdrawing to the corner of Tate’s mind again. Tate settled in to examine the blade carefully, noting every detail.
The metal was unlike any other sword she’d ever held and contained a glass like luster. Despite that, it still appeared sturdy and durable. Not a single chip or blemish marring its length. It was also far lighter than its size suggested. And sharp. Extremely so.
It’d have to be to cut through a dragon’s scales.
When the blade’s light tried to nip at her fingers and latch onto it, Tate held it off with her mind, forcing those soul eating tendrils back into the blade.
The knot in Tate’s chest loosened and she inhaled for what felt like the first time since George formed the blade.
“Unruly bastard,” Tate muttered.
She didn’t know how but she had a feeling from now on, the sword would obey if she was holding it.
“How did you do that?” George asked in a sharp voice.
Oh ho, George could see the black tendrils, Tate realized. She hadn’t been sure. Just because George could use the relic didn’t necessarily mean she knew how it worked.
Tate gave her a sweet smile and handed the Torment back. “Relics do weird things around me.”
Her words weren’t anything but the truth. Relics really did act oddly around her. Artifacts that hadn’t worked in centuries suddenly found new life. It was like she was catnip and they her adoring addicts.
This was different, however. Tate could feel on some level that the ability she’d always possessed, had deepened, turning into something unexpected.
George was slow to take her blade, her expression almost grudging as if she didn’t want to believe Tate’s words. Tate didn’t care, satisfied that she’d turned George’s prank against her.
“Shall we continue?” Tate asked. “After all, we shouldn’t keep the emperor waiting.”
George’s lips tightened before she stalked down the steps, moving faster than before.
“Nicely done,” Ben murmured as he brushed past Tate.
“I try.”
