Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (43 page)

Owen threw up his hands. “Imagine you don’t belong anywhere. The wights don’t socialize with you, and humans flinch whenever you approach. You meet someone. Someone beautiful, someone interesting, someone powerful. And that person reaches out to you. For the first time in your very long and lonesome life, you are touched, desired, wanted.”

“As though she really felt that way,” Nora scoffed.

“What matters is that he believed it. Is it really so hard to see what he saw in her? You’ve felt her influence yourself. I saw you two kiss and it was…stimulating, and I’m saying this as your brother.” He made a face. “And another thing. You’re not here to talk with me, Nora. You’re here because you’re bored. You’re bored and I can’t fix that for you. Only you can. Go and find something to do. You’re in the middle of the biggest distraction palace of the world. You don’t need me to entertain you.”

“Did you even touch those two girls you left the throne room with?”

“Why would I? I’ve read books and seen illustrations on genital diseases. One word: chlamydia.”

“Ew. Why do you even read that kind of stuff?”

“Go and find something to do, please,” Owen said more softly. “There, we talked. The book, please…”

She stared at his outstretched hand, taking in his determined expression, holding up a moment longer.

“Fine. Have it your way, then.” She rolled her eyes once more as he snatched the book from her hand. She watched as he flicked through the pages until he found the right spot. He always found the right spot. She got up and left.

*     *     *

Little houses adorned the streets
in most areas, houses hewn of the red stone, but some were whitewashed with intricate patterns stenciled into the white. These whitewashed houses were larger, airier, sometimes two-storied, and when Nora peeked inside of an open door, she saw with surprise that it was a tavern of a sort. At least, in the background was a bar and a girl as a barkeep. Instead of the usual wooden tables and benches, each tavern had comfortable-looking alcoves separated off from the main bar room and filled with lush cushions. Where the curtains were drawn closed, she heard high-pitched laughter, and sometimes clouds of sweet-smelling smoke cascaded into the lower floor of the tavern like rolling fog banks.

In one of the taverns Nora spotted a familiar face at the bar, so she walked into the nearly empty place and took a seat.

“Hullo, Garreth,” she said.

“Blech.” He gave her a look with his good eye and took another sip.

“Rough night?” the seemingly ageless woman behind the counter asked, looking Nora up and down. Her mouth was painted the same shade of dark red her hair was colored, and she had a voice like gravel.

“You speak my language?” Nora asked, surprised.

“Hon, alcohol speaks everyone’s language,” the woman said and set down a glass holding a pale golden liquid.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Garreth said, and half of his face moved into a grin. The scar down the entire length of his face, splitting the eyelid of his blind white eye, transformed his smile into a demonic leer.

Nora took a sip and grimaced as she swallowed. She needed to stop drinking whatever they put in front of her here.

The barkeeper woman set a small silver box between her two silent guests busy with their drinks. When she opened it, Nora saw a little heap of finely ground salt, only it was a pale gold salt with flakes of red sprinkled throughout. The woman winked and stuck a tiny, delicate silver spoon into the substance, then told them it was on the house before stepping behind a curtained-off area.

“Great, you scared her off with your ugly mush,” Garreth rumbled.

“What’s this?” Nora poked the silver box.

“Sun Dust.”

“What do we do with it?”

“You could lick your finger and take some. Works better if you rub it into your gums. Other people sniff it. Others smoke it. But what do we do with it? You and me? We don’t take it, girl. That’s what.” He downed his glass in one go.

“It’s a drug, huh? Is it good?”

He scowled and turned in his seat.

“Do I look like a wight to you? Black eyes, miserable face? Then stop teasing.”

Nora laughed. “What are you doing here, Garreth? Money run out?”

“Nope, everything’s on the house for us select few. Haven’t been billed for anything.” He burped. “And it’s a rotten shame.”

“It is?”

He rolled his shoulders.

“I’m not a complicated man. I don’t pretend to have complicated pleasures. Expect nothing and you can enjoy everything, Nora. Expect everything and you won’t enjoy anything.”

“That’s…pretty deep,” Nora said, stunned.

“It’s better when you pay for things you value. Things have worth then.”

“Stop it, you’re creeping me out. Let me check your eyes aren’t black.”

When he laughed, it sounded like he was choking up phlegm. She nearly slapped him on his broad shoulders.

“Know what’s better than paying money, though?” he asked, scratching his nose thoughtfully.

“Tell me, oh wise one.”

“Taking it from some poor sod with a bad hand at betting.” He cocked his head and gave her a critical look-over. “How’s your training with Diaz going? You two ever sparred down in the training hall?”

“There’s a training hall?”

“There’s something even better.”

His grin was contagious. Maybe there was something to do here after all.

*     *     *

Nora hunched her shoulders up
against the loud revelry she had stumbled into on Garreth’s account. The old warrior had led her deep down into the temple, a part she had not yet visited. They had passed under an open wooden gate and now stood in a round space, like the bottom of a deep well, where the light from the open sky high above them filtered through an orange sun sail that was ripped and tattered in places. Shafts of light spilled into the red stone pit where groups of men brawled while others stood on bleachers to the side or wooden stands scaffolded up high on poles, cheering and calling out. The wooden boards and poles were black with the dried blood of who knows how many gamecocks that had died there, or fighting dogs. But the center of the pit was reserved for fighting humans, and in its middle was a large table, the quiet eye in the storm. This was where the bets were made. This was where the referees of the fights were sent forth from. This was where Garreth stood patiently, arguing with a man who looked more like a scribe than a game runner. After a while the old mercenary ambled over to where Nora stood and dropped something into her hands: a wooden cuff with a number.

“Now, remember, this isn’t about killing people,” Garreth said gruffly. “Don’t fight like you mean it. You’re an unknown entity, and a woman fighter at that. So don’t expect great opponents. In fact, choose people you know you can easily take down. See that girl over there?”

She looked to where he pointed. A young, beautiful girl with almond-shaped eyes was twirling two sleek curved blades like she knew how to use them. Her moves were jittery, though; a buzz ran through her body. Nora nodded and pulled the cuff over her forearm.

“See the red in her eyes?” Garreth went on. “That’s why we don’t do Sun Dust. Easy target. And see that woman?”

He pointed at an enormous woman warrior who was pounding a wiry young man into the red sand with her bare fists, each of her breasts the size of Nora’s head.

“It’ll be just like training,” Garreth said, watching Nora’s doubt play over her face. “Only I’ll be making a bit of money for the both of us, because I know how good you really are.”

He slapped her shoulder and made his way to one of the bleachers, nestling in with a large group of drunks.

The almond-eyed girl came closer along with one of the referees, who was dressed in white to stand out more.

“Are you ready?” the referee asked Nora in a bored tone, suggesting he didn’t care if she was. She nodded, clutching her wooden training baton, feeling very stupid. The referee asked the pretty girl the same question, then held up a black flag to signal the fight had started.

The pretty girl twirled her blades in complex figures before and around her slim body. She threw one in the air and caught it by the handle as Nora bent her knees low, on guard for an attack. But instead the girl dodged blows that Nora hadn’t even thrown. She jumped and pirouetted around, waving her dual swords in a fancy-looking way. Nora had to duck and sidestep a few wild hits, but the girl wasn’t actually doing anything except showing off her mad sword-wielding and acrobatic skills. She actually posed before jumping high to stab Nora from above.

Nora was getting tired of the antics. Maybe the girl was high as fuck, but this was no way to fight.

As the girl let out a high-pitched shriek, sighting in on her supposedly easy opponent, Nora leaned back and head-butted her. One of the two blades clattered to the floor as the girl clutched her smashed nose. Oh gods, was she crying? Nora rolled her eyes, stepped closer to the sobbing girl, and cupped her head gently in her hands. The girl looked up, her beautiful eyes red with burst veins. Nora nearly felt sorry for her.

Nearly.

She broke that pretty face on her knee and called for the next fight.

A
small but heavy purse
hung from Nora’s belt as she made her way back to her rooms, elated because her muscles felt sore and used for once. And because she’d had a few drinks to celebrate with Garreth. Oh yeah, and because she had won against all odds, of course. That too. She walked on and on through the dusk-lit temple, staring at the bright torchlights above her and the loud, ugly people around her. Music beat heavily on her eardrums from a tavern close by. There was some kind of commotion going on.

She stopped in the cavernous hall, gaping wide-mouthed at the marble pillars of the women. So beautiful. Why was something so pretty when it was so messed up? People pushed past her, jostling her. She moved to the side, but there were still so many people walking by—lots of men, very few women. Nora was bracing against the stream when she heard the baby cry.

First she looked up, then around. This was not a place she had expected to hear a noise like that. She looked down at her hands, checking whether they were covered in blood. The baby in Calla’s blood-soaked memories had cried like that. A newborn baby cry. But Calla wasn’t here. Nora let her empty hands drop to her sides. There
was
a baby crying. And a woman, too, farther down in the cavern’s deeps, leading toward the black throne room, where everyone else was going. She joined the crowd and let herself be carried down with it. The gates to the throne room were open, and people were pushing through to get inside. Nora was still at the back of the throng when a hush fell.

The baby had stopped crying.

Nora elbowed her way closer to the front and caught a glimpse of Suranna standing before the gates with a baby swaddled in cloth in her arms. A young woman had thrown herself before Suranna’s feet. Rough hands had torn her black dress, and she kept trying to pull it over her full breasts as the milk dripped out of them in answer to the baby’s cries.

“Daughter.” Suranna touched the young woman’s blonde head, her voice smooth and soothing as honey. “What is this you bring before me?”

“My queen, I didn’t mean wrong. I, I simply loved my baby so much that I hid him from you.”

“Don’t cry, Keren.” Suranna stooped low with the baby in her arms as the woman called Keren started to sob once more. “If the wind changes, your face will stay like that.”

“Please, I just want to keep him. Please.”

Suranna sighed deeply, as though arguing with a rebellious child. “The rules are the rules. This is the Temple of Fire. We never water truth down.”

“Please. I beg you, Great Mother.”

“Yes, I am the Great Mother. All life born in this temple belongs to Shinar. This little one is ours.”

The young mother screamed violently as the women standing among the crowd took up the chant, echoing Suranna’s words in an eerie singsong of various tongues. It made Nora’s skin crawl.

“
All life born in this temple belongs to Shinar. The little one is ours. The little one…belongs to Shinar. All life is…Shinar.
”

“Don’t!” the young mother screamed. “Please. Don’t throw him into the fire! He’s mine. He’s my baby. Don’t make him pass before Shinar.”
Shinar. Shinar.

Nora shuddered. The crowd pressed in on the young mother as Suranna turned her back to them and strode into her throne room, the baby still in her arms. The gates shut soundlessly behind the queen’s regal figure. The other women were still chanting, closing in on the young mother. Men grabbed the sobbing woman, and two of the other women closest to her pulled her dress over her head. She was naked, her breasts gleaming wet and her belly still soft and stretched from the recent birth. She didn’t fight, just let herself be laid down, gently, as though going to sleep, as though exhausted from crying. She didn’t even gasp when the first man entered her.

Instant sobriety hit Nora and she shoved automatically toward the sinister circle. The crowd rippled and flowed into a new shape around her, like a shoal of fish swarming around an obstacle. Men jostled each other to form a line while the chanting women pooled together around the young mother. Communal judgment. Nora was squashed between two men. One looked down at her with a sneer. He was loosening his belt already. She grabbed him by the shoulder to punch his face when she felt an arm hook under hers and drag her backward, nearly toppling her. She spun around to see who dared stop her.