Read Online The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four by Elizabeth Hunter - Free Book Online

It had been dyed a deep blue that matched her eyes. Her hair was long and wild. She’d taken it down when she returned to her cottage and had no desire to put it up again. She stepped into her boots, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and walked to the library.
    It was open. It was always open and available for reading or meditation by the sacred fire. She heard Henry reading aloud and followed his voice down a long hallway. She passed his room on the left and walked farther down to a small chamber where a light flickered under the door. She hesitated for only a moment before she knocked.
    Her stomach dropped when she heard his footsteps, but she didn’t run or wilt like a ninny. Damien opened the door. The light was at his back, so she couldn’t read his expression.
    “Sari?”
    Why hadn’t she rehearsed what she wanted to say? Because even she wasn’t capable of embracing a man who’d stated an interest in her and then just stomped off. That would be… unseemly.
    “Sari, are you all right?”
    “I like your voice,” she blurted out. Then she waved a hand. “But that’s not why I came here.”
    She stepped closer and slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close until his arms came around her shoulders. They stood in silence, and Sari felt his heart beating in his chest. Again she noticed the smell of his hair and the fine scent of clean sweat at his neck. Blended with that, the smell of ink, incense, and oils from the ritual bath. She took a deep breath and felt his arms tighten.
    “I’m not saying it is me,” she said softly. “I am not saying it isn’t. But you deserve to be chosen, Damien. I think you are a good man, a scribe who knows honor and sacrifice, and you deserve to be chosen.”
    He didn’t say anything, but his arms pressed around her and he didn’t let go.

CHAPTER SIX

    S UMMER flew faster than Damien had ever remembered. The barley fields were shorn and the flocks ready for breeding. Summer gardens had given up the last of their bounty and cellars were full.
    And the new beer that Sari and Henry had brewed was ready to be shared with the village.
    It was an impromptu feast, but no less cheerful for it. Damien sat in the corner watching his old friend and his laughing girl as they danced down the center of the lines while the fiddle, lute, and pipes played cheerfully by the fire. One song flowed into another, and Damien couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. Their race couldn’t truly become intoxicated by anything other than magic, but beer and liquor did allow a certain mellowing of their normal faculties.
    Henry and Sari were the heroes of the evening. Their first batch of beer had not turned out well, but the second batch did. The nights were growing longer and the wind colder, but that night voices were raised and dancing filled the longhouse as the whole village enjoyed the fruits of their labor and the feast Ingrid and Matthew had prepared. Three children ran past him, laughing and tripping over each other while they chased a dog that had run into the party. He was so distracted by the spectacle that he didn’t notice Sari approaching.
    She plopped down on the bench next to him and sat astride, leaning forward as he rested his back against the wall.
    He was completely in love with her. Of course he was. Days flew by and weeks had turned to months. Damien’s initial admiration and fascination had turned into something far deeper the longer he knew her. Sari was strong and honest and beautiful, and he wanted her. Mostly he wanted her to admit that she had feelings for him as well.
    Damien smiled. “Hello, milá .”
    “You refuse to tell me what that means.”
    “It means… my little cabbage.” He told her something different every time she asked.
    Sari threw her head back and laughed. “Who would call someone a cabbage?”
    “The French.”
    “Truly?” She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re not dancing.”
    “No.”
    “Are you bad at