Page 93 of The Half King
“I’ll be tested,” Cerise finished. “And I don’t know how. It must be practically impossible, though. If no one has seen the Petros Blade in a thousand years, that must mean no one has ever passed the test.”
“Not necessarily,” Daerick argued. “I used to think the sunset runes were a myth. I had never seen them, and neither had anyone I’d ever talked to. If I hadn’t come on this journey with you, I would be none the wiser. Just because we haven’t seen the blade doesn’t mean it’s been untouched for all this time. Maybe it’s been granted and then it disappeared afterward, like the runes just did. Any number of people could have won the blade, and we would never know.”
“That’s true,” Kian said. “Besides, anyone smart enough to earn the Petros Blade would be clever enough to hide it. Only a fool would show off something so valuable and easy to steal.”
General Petros grunted while he stoked the fire with a pointed stick. “Laying hands on the most destructive weapon in history isn’t supposed to be easy.” He glanced at Cerise. “But if anyone deserves to win it, it’s you, my girl.”
“I agree,” Kian said. “I have faith in our lady of the temple.”
The tang of energy thickened the air as Father Padron cast his protective enchantment over the camp. Cerise looked to him, expecting to hear his commentary on the subject of faith, but he had no words to offer. He simply turned on his heel and strode to his tent, taking his supper with him. Maybe it was nothing, but she noticed he’d been more quiet than usual since her Claiming Day. And once or twice during the afternoon ride, she’d caught him sneaking a sideways glance at her, almost studying her, as though he had sensed a change in her but couldn’t pinpoint the difference.
His silence made her uneasy. It wasn’t like Father Padron to hold back his opinions, not even the hurtful ones.Especiallynot the hurtful ones. She would almost prefer to hear his lectures than to wonder what dark thoughts he was hiding from her.
Kian brought her back to present company with a clap of his hands. “Rest well tonight,” he told the group. “We’ll need all of our strength in the morning.”
He gave Cerise a wink as he vanished into the shadows—a silent goodbye and a reminder to study well, since they had decided she would stay behind for one more lesson with Nero.
Cerise repeated her ruse from the night before, pretending to drink arrowroot syrup with her supper and then waiting inside her tent for the rest of the group to fall asleep before she crept out into the darkness to meet Nero on the fringes of camp.
Again, they found a stone slab entrance to the Below, and Nero spent the evening hours teaching her how to cast a defensive shield and how to deliver an offensive blow. Cerise practiced the drills over and over until she learned to protect herself, and when she returned to her tent, it was with a fraction more confidence than before.
The next morning, the group packed up camp and rode northwest for five clicks. Much like their approach to the Blighted Shrine, the path grew steeper and more treacherous as they neared the Petros Blade’s hiding place. The horses began to struggle to keep their footing. Cerise was just about to suggest that they stop and tether the horses when Daerick suddenly jerked upright in his saddle and snapped his gaze to hers.
“I see it,” Daerick told her, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality.
Dread settled in her stomach. She had seen that faraway look on his face before, and she knew what it meant. His curse was leaking through the veil of time, revealing to him the secrets of the universe and destroying his mind in the process.
“What do you see?” she asked him.
“It’s the air here.” Daerick turned his eyes to the space in front of him, fanning out his fingers at a phenomenon visible only to himself. “The particles are slippery. Magic won’t hold.” He laughed in wonder. “I understand how it all works now—how the particles fit together to create the forces of nature. It’s so simple. How did I miss it before?”
Cerise glanced around at the rest of the group. Judging by their heavy expressions, everyone understood what was happening. Even Father Padron put aside his haughtiness long enough to give Daerick a pitying glance.
“Lord Calatris,” Kian called, maneuvering near enough to clap Daerick on the shoulder. “Remind me what your sister is called—the tall, busty one with the brown hair. I named my mare after her, but now I’ve forgotten what to call her when I slap her on the ass.”
The teasing seemed to work. Daerick blinked out of his trance and into a scowl. “You saylower your expectations,” he retorted, “because I’m not half the man my mother was.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Kian said. “Does she have a nickname?”
Daerick flashed a rude hand gesture. “Is this short enough for you?”
Kian grinned and delivered another pat. “Glad to have you back, my friend.”
Daerick turned his face away, clearly embarrassed by his lapse in sanity. “Enchantments won’t hold here,” he told the group. “So whatever we have to do to get the blade, Father Padron’s magic won’t work.”
That made sense to Cerise, considering the weapon had been hidden to protect it from warmongering kings who might have sent priests to retrieve it. But what she didn’t fully understand was how magic could be absent from any place that contained an enchanted object. There had to besomemagic surrounding the blade—otherwise, it wouldn’t be able to move to a new location at each full moon. Perhaps there were multiple kinds of magic in nature, and the energy that protected the blade was different from the energy of priests. She wished she could ask Daerick if he had seen the answer, but she didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Maybe she would ask him later in private.
The group rode in silence for a short while longer, and then they were forced to tether the horses and continue on foot. The higher they climbed, the more Cerise detected a foul scent in the air, an unfamiliar odor that grew stronger and stronger until Blue whined and pawed at his nose. Soon the group crested the next peak and found the cause of the smell.
“Acid,” Nero said, waving a hand in front of his face.
Less than ten paces ahead of them stood a bubbling pool of acid so deep that Cerise couldn’t see the bottom. Rimmed by a circle of mud, the shallows bore a yellow tint that deepened to a greenish hue at the center. Beads hissed and fizzed where they leaped out of the pool and landed on the cracked soil.
She strode to the pool and inched as close as she dared, peering below the liquid’s surface. Something caught her eye—a gleam of sunlight on metal. When she squinted, she could barely make out a double-edged blade with a polished steel hilt. The weapon was smaller than she had imagined, the approximate length of her forearm. It hung suspended within the deep as if gripped in an invisible fist.
“There it is,” she said. “The Petros Blade.”
Kian pulled her back from the edge. “Careful. You’re making me nervous.”
