Read Online Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) by Timandra Whitecastle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Timandra Whitecastle
Ads: Link
stared down at the wet leaves, black with his blood.
He stopped twitching after a while.
Blood covered her right hand. It grew cold. She wiped the back of her hand against her trousers.
“Noraya?” Becca sat on the ground, arms around her knees, head on her arms.
“I’m fine,” Nora said. I’m fine?
“Is he dead?”
“Think so.”
Becca started to rock back and forth. “What about the others?”
What about the others? The question rang throughout Nora’s whole body. Her legs gave way under her, and Nora shuddered and sat down. She was gulping air like a fish on land. Her head was reeling. This was not good.
“Don’t know,” she said.
Nora waited for the elated feeling of surviving, or a feeling of guilt over the life taken. She waited for the earth to open under her and Lara herself to drag her down to the silent road. Or maybe Tuil would strike her down with lightning or blow courage into her nostrils. A battle rage to take her into a killing spree. But nothing came.
She sat on the ground with her friend and a dead man. After a moment, Nora pushed the body toward the edge of the ridge. He was heavy. She placed her feet on both of his shoulders and shoved her weight against his. Slowly he budged, until the weight of his dangling legs pulled him over the rock shelf. There was a thud and a rustle of leaves below them. Nora sat sweating at the effort and then reached for Becca’s hand.
She was just one girl with one knife. If they caught her—one more rape, one more death—would it really matter to them? But as much as her legs were ready to run into the dark and off to the Vale, her heart wouldn’t let her. Because if she ran, what then? She’d be safe, yes. Becca would be safe with her. And maybe the trained men of the Vale would applaud the brave girls who fought back. But she knew if she left with Becca now, there would be no turning back. The Ridge was not her home anymore. Her home was dead, just like the body in the forge, and those men had taken it from her. Now all that was left was the possibility of a new home with Wolfe, looming over her head like the black clouds of the autumn skies. But that was what she had been running away from to start with.
She sighed. Marry Wolfe, and maybe the talk would stop. Stay, and she might die. But at least she’d have tried to do what was right. And if you didn’t do what your heart told you was right, what was the point? You didn’t let others suffer to save yourself. She couldn’t live with that and the knowledge that she’d probably never see Owen again. Her empty stomach heaved with the thought.
Either way, it all seemed to boil down to never seeing Owen again. She should have stayed with him. Stayed with Prince Bashan, the jerk, and his company of scumbags. At least she’d have Owen close by. Even if he thought…Nora clenched her teeth as rage flooded her thinking. The anger swept an idea along with it, one Owen would have berated as stupid. But Owen wasn’t here. She grinned in the dark and clutched her knife. The knife was always there. Touch of iron. Touch of home.
Chapter 8
“C an you walk?” Nora stood up and held out her hand.
“I think so.” Becca nodded and grasped Nora’s hand hard. She bent double, one arm pressed around her stomach, but gave her a faint smile. Becca’s eyes were blue slits. She seemed as close to her former self as she could get tonight.
“At the inn, are there still horses in the stable?” Nora asked.
“I, I think so. Why?”
“How many men did you count?”
“What?”
“How many men were there, Becca?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, please.”
Becca took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Him and four in the common room.”
“He’s dead, though. Two guards at the door makes six.”
“And their chief’s in the suite upstairs. There’s a guard there too, I think.”
“Eight. Doesn’t seem enough to overthrow the Ridge.”
Becca shook her head. “No, there were more at
He stopped twitching after a while.
Blood covered her right hand. It grew cold. She wiped the back of her hand against her trousers.
“Noraya?” Becca sat on the ground, arms around her knees, head on her arms.
“I’m fine,” Nora said. I’m fine?
“Is he dead?”
“Think so.”
Becca started to rock back and forth. “What about the others?”
What about the others? The question rang throughout Nora’s whole body. Her legs gave way under her, and Nora shuddered and sat down. She was gulping air like a fish on land. Her head was reeling. This was not good.
“Don’t know,” she said.
Nora waited for the elated feeling of surviving, or a feeling of guilt over the life taken. She waited for the earth to open under her and Lara herself to drag her down to the silent road. Or maybe Tuil would strike her down with lightning or blow courage into her nostrils. A battle rage to take her into a killing spree. But nothing came.
She sat on the ground with her friend and a dead man. After a moment, Nora pushed the body toward the edge of the ridge. He was heavy. She placed her feet on both of his shoulders and shoved her weight against his. Slowly he budged, until the weight of his dangling legs pulled him over the rock shelf. There was a thud and a rustle of leaves below them. Nora sat sweating at the effort and then reached for Becca’s hand.
She was just one girl with one knife. If they caught her—one more rape, one more death—would it really matter to them? But as much as her legs were ready to run into the dark and off to the Vale, her heart wouldn’t let her. Because if she ran, what then? She’d be safe, yes. Becca would be safe with her. And maybe the trained men of the Vale would applaud the brave girls who fought back. But she knew if she left with Becca now, there would be no turning back. The Ridge was not her home anymore. Her home was dead, just like the body in the forge, and those men had taken it from her. Now all that was left was the possibility of a new home with Wolfe, looming over her head like the black clouds of the autumn skies. But that was what she had been running away from to start with.
She sighed. Marry Wolfe, and maybe the talk would stop. Stay, and she might die. But at least she’d have tried to do what was right. And if you didn’t do what your heart told you was right, what was the point? You didn’t let others suffer to save yourself. She couldn’t live with that and the knowledge that she’d probably never see Owen again. Her empty stomach heaved with the thought.
Either way, it all seemed to boil down to never seeing Owen again. She should have stayed with him. Stayed with Prince Bashan, the jerk, and his company of scumbags. At least she’d have Owen close by. Even if he thought…Nora clenched her teeth as rage flooded her thinking. The anger swept an idea along with it, one Owen would have berated as stupid. But Owen wasn’t here. She grinned in the dark and clutched her knife. The knife was always there. Touch of iron. Touch of home.
Chapter 8
“C an you walk?” Nora stood up and held out her hand.
“I think so.” Becca nodded and grasped Nora’s hand hard. She bent double, one arm pressed around her stomach, but gave her a faint smile. Becca’s eyes were blue slits. She seemed as close to her former self as she could get tonight.
“At the inn, are there still horses in the stable?” Nora asked.
“I, I think so. Why?”
“How many men did you count?”
“What?”
“How many men were there, Becca?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, please.”
Becca took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“Him and four in the common room.”
“He’s dead, though. Two guards at the door makes six.”
“And their chief’s in the suite upstairs. There’s a guard there too, I think.”
“Eight. Doesn’t seem enough to overthrow the Ridge.”
Becca shook her head. “No, there were more at
Similar Books
