Silverlight (10 page)

M
y outburst left me drained, a little
embarrassed, and oddly cleansed. A gathering storm had swept over the landscape
of my soul and cleared the air. I would’ve done it sooner, had I known it would
bring such a tentative calm. This was the most settled I’d felt since we left
the Blue Lantern Inn.

Yes, I was clear-headed and focused, at least
for the moment. I tucked my arm in Magnus’s as we walked back up to the house. “Do
you want to know the worst thing about those years?” I asked quietly, not sure
I wanted to stir up the past, but feeling as though I should. Perhaps more
importantly, I
could
.

“What’s that?”

“Not being able to read Garai’s moods.”

“Oh?”

“He seemed so normal sometimes. As though there
were a decent man in there somewhere, trying to break free. It always threw me,
but I came to fear him more when he was reasonable than when he became the
monster.”

Magnus gave me an oblique look.

“Sometimes he’d actually talk to me as though I
weren’t his prisoner. Usually at dinner. Still, I’d speak only if spoken to. I
didn’t want to do anything to anger him, because . . . Well, the nights were
long if he was angry.” I kicked up a puff of sand.

Magnus sighed. “Thinking of you in that man’s
hands . . . the mistreatment you endured because of my brother . . . it drains
me, Kymber.”

“Well, it drains me as well, but I think you’ll
understand once I tell you.”

“Go on then. It’s hard to hear, but Jarl said
it was important for you to find perspective.”

Perspective. How many times in my life would I have
to readjust my perspective? Still, I nodded. “Maybe so. I’m doing what I can.”

“Good enough.”

We had cleared the top of the stairs in the
cliff. The house was just beyond, safe and comfortable and warm, infusing me
with courage.

 “I was cautiously optimistic the first time
Garai invited me to one of his dinners. He even sent two lady servants to bathe
me and fix my hair. I have no idea where he got it, but he sent a lovely
taffeta dress. Dark blue with light blue lace.” I laughed, wry, humorless. “And
you know how I feel about dresses. Still, it was a kindness and I soaked it up.
He’d never done anything like that before.”

Magnus and I made it to a small stone bench at
the edge of the garden, overlooking the sea. He gripped my arms and sat me down
upon it, taking a seat beside me.

It was a breezy day. I stared out at the
roiling blue-green water and the white foam tips on the waves. So ordinary and
so breathtaking. Certainly not a sight that should be taken for granted.

“Anyway.” I shifted to one side and gripped
Magnus’s hands. “The ladies brought a mirror to my room when they were done
dressing me. The difference was shocking. I wasn’t sure it was me in that
mirror. I didn’t look as desperate as I felt. My eyes were not so dark and
hollow. I remember smiling a little, just before the women took me to the
dining hall. No chains. No shackles. I didn’t know what to make of it.” I eased
out a slow breath.

“Well, there were two men sitting at the table
when I got to the hall. Balfrin and Taylo. Friends of Garai’s from the
Shadowlands. He introduced us and escorted me to my seat, but I couldn’t look
at them. It was so ingrained in me by that time.”

“What was ingrained?” Magnus asked.

“Averting my eyes. Calling as little attention
to myself as possible. The meal was served in due time. I ate as the men
talked, actually enjoying the banter between them. My human contact was limited.
Hearing another voice was like a gift to me.” I stared off into the distance,
my chest tight.

“I prepared to go back to my room at the end of
the meal, as the servants were cleaning up, but Garai pointed at me and said to
his friends, ‘She’s yours for the night. Don’t hurt her too badly, or I’ll kill
you both.’ And just like that, the nice dinner was over. Over. Until the sun
came up the next morning.” Goosebumps rose on my arms. I gave a snort of
derision. “I wasn’t taken back to the comfort of the room I’d been sleeping in.
No, I was dragged back to the aviary and thrown into a cage. Like rubbish. I
didn’t even have the strength to cry.”

Magnus went absolutely stiff, his breathing
ragged. “I swear I am going to kill Garai. I am going to cut him into little
bloody pieces and spread his fucking carcass from one end of this land to the
other. What kind of an animal does that to a woman?”

I put my hand on his arm to keep him seated. “Listen,
I didn’t tell you that to anger you. Do you understand now why stability
frightens me? Garai delighted in lulling me into a false sense of security,
then kicking my feet out from under me. The normal and harmless was anything
but in Pentorus.”

Magnus growled and bared his teeth.

 “I have worse stories. It took me a while to
catch on to what he was doing. And now, when you’re kind, or Mrs. Toolwin sets
a meal and wine on the table between us, so much food that I’m sure I must be
dreaming. . . well, all I can do some days is lock myself away in my room. It’s
complicated, but I’m asking you to give me wide sway when I disappear behind a
locked door. I feel like I can get better, but some days are worse than others.”

He spoke through clenched teeth. “How can you speak
of the things that happened to you as though you’re telling a campfire story?
How do you do it, Kymber?”

“The same way you did when you thought I was
dead. My mother used to say tomorrow is just one wish, one hope, one dream away
from yesterday. It wasn’t so hard to bear if I could remember that.”

F
or two months, we did
nothing but walk and eat. I gained weight and got stronger. My outlook improved
with my health. The better I felt, the more positive I was about life.

Alas, my hand was not cooperating. Jarl was
having mixed success. He was able to pry my fingers loose from the palm a bit,
but not enough to grasp anything. Despite making an extra nightly effort with
warm compresses at Seacrest, my hand opened no farther. I would likely never
hold a sword again.

It was another beautiful, warm morning, but
Magnus and I made the trip to Jarl’s office in silence. Once again, the
physician did what he could, then leaned back and pressed his hands to his
thighs, mumbling in frustration. “The fingers just aren’t responding anymore.
I’m afraid that’s it.”

 The disappointment on Magnus’s face was almost
too much to bear.

I put my good hand on Magnus’s knee. “It
doesn’t matter. I’m strong and healthy now. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Shoulders bunched, he threw my hand off and
stalked to the window. “Yes, and it’s a big something, but I had so hoped we
could retrieve Silverlight for you.”

“Getting it back means traveling to Pentorus.
I’m not sure I could ever set foot in that place again. In any case, it was
your idea.” Not quite the truth, but we were all looking for someone to blame
at that point.

Magnus turned and threw his hands into the air.
“I just . . . I wanted . . .”

“You wanted everything to go back to the way it
was before I was taken. We both know that’s not possible.” I went to him and
pressed a gentle hand against his back. “Nothing we do will change what
happened to us. Can’t we make the choice to go forward from here?”

Jarl wiped his hands on the towel draped over
his shoulder. “I apologize to both of you. I sincerely thought I could open
that hand up enough to . . .” Eyes round as full moons, he stopped and tipped his
head. “Wait a minute. Why can’t we . . .?” He rose and began to pace, one
finger in the air. “If we can’t fit her hand around a sword grip, why can’t we
fit a sword grip into her hand?”

“What?” said Magnus. “That makes no sense.”

“Oh, but it does. We’ll have Jorge the
blacksmith
make
a grip that fits her. We‘ll have her make a fist around
a soft ball of clay.”

“Why?” Magnus gripped his chin, staring at Jarl
as though the physician had gone mad.

 Jarl waved his hands in the air. “To get a
mold. A cast of her hand. Something for Jorge to work with.
Holding
a
sword will not be a problem for her. It’s getting one into her hand in the
first place.” He looked so pleased with himself, I had to laugh. “We’ll
circumvent the problem by having someone
make
a grip for her.”

“You might be on to something there, Aldi,”
said Magnus. “Calvin Azim can make the blade.” He looked down at me. “I’ll wrap
the grip with wool and soft leather, so it’s comfortable in your hand. Will you
do it?”

“This idea has so many holes, it’s practically
a sieve.” I laughed.

“It isn’t,” Jarl insisted. “We have nothing to
lose and everything to gain. Say yes, Kymber. Say yes, and Magnus and I will
move mountains for you.”

I inhaled, tempted to refuse, but there was no
reason to say no. Jarl was right. My hand was strong enough to
grip a
sword, once it was firmly in place. Besides, their enthusiasm was infectious. “I
think you’ve both lost your marbles, but yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”

They took a cast of my hand that very day.
Magnus ran down the street to the potter and bought a damp lump of clay while
Jarl worked to keep my hand loose. As they tried to stuff that ball of clay
into a hand that barely opened, I laughed. I laughed at myself and Magnus and
Jarl, a happy sound that lifted me up like the breeze beneath a kite.

When they were done, I was messy and my hand
ached, but the experience felt like forward progress. Why would I ever say no
to that?

Maybe they didn’t know it, but the three of us
had become a team: two determined men rethinking a sword grip to get a blade in
my hand, and the ruined warrior willing to humor them. 

I felt it then. A dim spark fighting for life
deep inside me. Long buried, but not completely extinguished.

It passed quickly. It was a wonder I sensed it
at all – a small taste of the love I once felt for Magnus Tyrix.

T
wo weeks later, we got a note from Jorge, the
blacksmith in Adamar, summoning us to his shop. My hilt was done, but he wanted
to make sure it fit my hand to his satisfaction before it was passed on to
Calvin Azim, the swordsmith.

It was a moment I had anticipated and dreaded
all at the same time. I think Magnus felt the same. We met Jarl in front of
Jorge’s shop, tied our horses, and entered with one man on either side of me.

Jorge was a big, brusque, dark man, bald as a
newborn baby. Sweat rolled off his forehead as he pounded a glowing horseshoe
into shape on an anvil. 

“The hilt is done?” Magnus asked when the
blacksmith failed to take note of us.

Jorge nodded and kept on pounding. “Sent word,
didn’t I?”

We waited several more minutes. Magnus finally
shifted on his feet and headed toward Jorge, but I grabbed his arm. “I’ve
waited this long to hold a sword. I can wait until he finishes.”

Magnus gave me a look but stepped back. Jorge
must have heard what I said, as he pushed the half-formed shoe into the glowing
coals of the forge and smiled, his teeth perfect white against his dark skin.
“I like you,” he said, pointing at me with the end of his hammer. “That hilt
for you, little lady?”

“It is.” I returned the smile. “And I thank you.”

“I like working jobs for the ladies.” Jorge put
the hammer down and wiped his hands on his apron. I pitied the person who had
to clean the light tan smock. Black handprints streaked it from chest to hip on
both sides. “The ladies appreciate what I do here. They say thank you.”

“Make no mistake, Jorge, we all appreciate what
you’ve done for her,” Jarl said. “May we see it?”

“Hold your horses, Aldi. Give me a minute.
Things like this can’t be rushed.” Jorge walked to the back of his shop and
plucked something small and dark from a crooked and stained wooden shelf.

He walked back to me, his eyes holding mine. He
slowly opened his massive hand to reveal the hilt hidden within.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Except
for the color of the guard and pommel, it resembled Silverlight’s hilt. An
exact replica of the closed fist of my scarred right hand, cast from a blend of
metals to give it strength.

“Open up, little lady,” Jorge said.

I hesitated, terrified it would fit, terrified
it wouldn’t. I attempted to spread my fingers and failed. 

Jorge laid the hilt against my upper wrist and
thumb. “Going to have to be open wider than that.”

I finally had to resort to prying my fingers
open with my left hand. Jorge slid the grip into my palm and closed my fingers
over it.

It was so snug I barely felt it. I lifted my
hand to show Magnus and Jarl. “Look at this. It fits.”

“Like it was made for you,” said Jorge. “And it
was. Jarl said you were brilliant with a sword, but someone you trusted hurt
you real bad. So I did my best work for you, little lady. Hope you like it.”

I turned to him, nearly breathless. “Oh, Jorge,
it’s perfect.”

“Does it hurt?” Magnus asked.

“No. Not at all.” I allowed myself to feel the
hilt, its weight and size, and tried to put my thoughts into words. It was the first
time since Tariq cut me that I’d held such a thing. How does one describe the
sensation of racing across the plains on the back of a wild horse? Or how it
feels to jump off a cliff and suddenly realize you’re able to fly? 

“Swing it,” Jarl said.

 I took a few steps and made a figure eight in
the air, as we’d been taught in academy. The weight was off without the blade,
but the hilt didn’t shift in my hand.

Not once.