the Black Mother, were empty. The Quiet Mountain was living up to its name—the choir she’d heard when they’d first stormed the assassin’s stronghold was still silent.
Sidonius sat opposite her, perusing the first volume of the so-called Nevernight Chronicles. He’d borrowed it from Bladesinger once she was done, flipping pages and tearing mouthfuls off a roast chicken he’d purloined from the Red Church larders. Bladesinger had only skimmed the first, and she was now halfway through the second chronicle. But she’d stopped before she reached chapter twenty-four.
Their battle with the silkling.
“’Byss and blood,” Sidonius murmured, turning the page with greasy fingers.
“What part are you up to?” Bladesinger asked.
“Ashlinn just stabbed Tric.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Ruthless little bitch.”
“Aye,” Sid said, flipping the book and looking at the cover. “You know, it’s actually not a bad read. I mean, if you don’t mind footnotes and a fuckload of cursing.”
“Eh.” Bladesinger sniffed dismissively, tossed a long saltlock off her shoulder. “You can tell it was written by a man.”
“… How’s that?”
Bladesinger raised an eyebrow and peered at the big Itreyan. “You didn’t think the sex scenes gave it away?”
“I actually thought some of the smut was quite good?”
“O, come off,” Bladesinger scoffed. “‘Aching nipples’? ‘Swollen bud’?”
Sidonius blinked. “What’s wrong with ‘swollen bud’?”
“I’ve not got a fucking flower between my legs, Sid.”
“Well, what would you call it, then?”
Bladesinger shrugged. “The little man in the boat?”
“Why the fuck would you name a part of a woman’s nethers the ‘little man’?”
“Something about the visual appeals?” She shrugged again. “Rowing is hard. It’s nice to imagine a man actually doing some work between the sheets for a change.”
Sid grinned and shook his head. “You’re a fucking bitch, ’Singer.”
Bladesinger laughed. “You only just noticed?”
The big Itreyan guffawed, topped up her cup of wine. Raised his own.
“What are we drinking to?” the Dweymeri woman asked.
“To Butcher,” Sid declared. “An ill-mannered, foulmouthed, fuck-ugly bastard I was proud to call brother. He lived and died on his feet in a world that tried to force him to his knees. May he find his familia waiting for him by the Hearth.”
“Aye,”’Singer nodded. “And may we be slow to meet him.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Sid said, quaffing his wine.
Bladesinger downed hers, too, wincing as she placed the cup back on the table. Her swordarm ached abominably. The scar across her forearm was vicious, the tattoos that adorned her body were twisted and puckered about the wound. Sidonius pretended not to notice, but that only irked her more.
“I suppose I should give you thanks,” she finally growled.
“For what?” Sid murmured, pretending to be reading.
“Fighting our way out of the stables earlier,”’Singer said. “On the second set of stairs when that big bastard came at me with the punching daggers. He’d have stuck me if not for you.”
“Bollocks,” Sid said. “You’d have moved. I was just being careful.”
“You were just saving my life is what you were doing.”
Sid shrugged, remaining mute.
’Singer sighed, wincing again as she stretched her swordarm.
“It’s never quite healed right. Since that silkling cut me open in Whitekeep, I’ve not got the strength I once had. Nor the speed.” She shook her head, saltlocks swaying. “The suffi named me Bladesinger when my mother presented me at Farrow. Only a few turns old, and they knew I’d be a warrior. But what song can my blade sing now?”
Sidonius waved her off with a frown. “Never fear, it’ll come good.”
“You know it won’t, Sid,” she snapped. “You know it’s as good as it’s going to get. I’m a swordswoman who can’t swing a sword. A liability is what I am.”
Sidonius tilted his head, peering at her with his bright blue eyes. “The finest warrior I know, is what you are. You’ve saved my life a score of times. You’re still my sister on the sands, and off them, and when we follow Mia to the Crown, there’s not another in this Republic I’d rather have watching her back beside me.”
“… You think she’ll go, then.”
“I know she will.” Sidonius looked into the dark above their heads. “And she knows it, too. She’s meant for more than vengeance, that one. Always has been.”
“She seems frightened.”
“Aye.” Sid sighed, shook his head. “But not for long.”
“I can’t come with you. I’m as useful as balls on a priest with this arm, Sid.”
“So fight with your other one,” Sidonius said, looking back into her eyes. “Fighting’s not just about steel. It’s about heart. Wits. Guts. You stand head and shoulders above just about anyone I know on all three