The dicine in Marron’s chest felt like winter—cold and clean and temporary. She could feel it working, a silver barrier between her mind and the Blade’s song, but already the edges were warming. The joy leaked through in thin threads, testing the boundary.
One day. Maybe less.
Aldric secured the wrapped Blade to the food cart with trembling hands, using leather straps reinforced with iron buckles. "If it flares again—if you feel the joy—you tell imdiately."
"And then what?" Marron’s voice ca out flat. She was so tired. "You lock up? Tie down? The joy doesn’t care about rope, Aldric."
"Then I’ll—" He stopped, his throat working. "I’ll do what I have to. To keep you from hurting soone."
The unsaid words hung between them: To keep you from hurting yourself.
Lucy’s jar sat on the ground where Aldric had set it down, out of reach. The blue sli was still pressed against the far side of the glass, her glow dim. When Marron took a step toward her, Lucy contracted further, making herself as small as possible.
The rejection was a knife under the ribs.
"Lucy, I—" Marron’s voice cracked. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t an—I wasn’t—"
But Lucy knew better. Lucy had seen what was behind Marron’s eyes when the Blade sang. Had seen the smile.
Marron knelt in the dirt, her hands pressed against her thighs to keep them from shaking. "I won’t ask you to forgive . I won’t ask you to trust again. But I need you to know—I’m going to fix this. Sohow."
Lucy didn’t respond. Her tendrils curled tighter around herself.
The Eternal Copper Pot exhaled from its place in the cart—a soft, mournful breath. The Generous Ladle’s handle had lost its usual warm glow. Even the Cart itself felt heavier, its wheels resistant when Aldric tried to adjust the straps.
They were all afraid. Not just of the Blade—of her.
I did this, Marron thought. I chose to keep the tools together. I chose to work with the Crock even knowing the risks. I chose to refuse Sienna’s trade.
I chose this.
The System flickered to life in the corner of her vision, the familiar transparent overlay appearing with its clinical precision:
[STATUS ALERT]Moonlight Flower dicine: 74% EfficacyEstimated Duration: 18-22 hoursWarning: Blade Resonance IncreasingDistance to Slicer’s Wielder: Approximately 40 kiloters, approaching
Marron dismissed it with a thought. She didn’t need numbers to tell her she was running out of ti.
"We need to move," Aldric said. He’d finished securing the Blade, though his hands still shook. "Put distance between us and Luria. If the Slicer’s wielder is coming from the east, we go west. Break line of sight, maybe the resonance will—"
"No." Marron stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "Running just ans we’re fighting on ground we didn’t choose. And it ans more people between us and the wielder."
"So what, we just wait here? Let them co to us?"
"We go to them." Marron’s voice was steadier than she felt. "We find whoever has the Slicer before they get close enough to—before the joy—"
Another pulse from the wrapped Blade. Scarlet light seeped through the leather and cloth like blood through bandages. The dicine in Marron’s chest strained, cracking at the edges.
She gasped, pressing her hand to her sternum. For just a mont, the joy blazed through—pure and perfect and so, so right. She could feel the Blade’s happiness, its desperate longing to be complete, to be reunited with the sibling it had been calling for across centuries—
"Marron!"
Aldric’s hand on her shoulder brought her back. The dicine reasserted itself, cold flooding through her veins. The joy receded, but slowly. Too slowly.
"Eighteen hours," she whispered. "We have eighteen hours before the dicine fails completely."
"Then we find them in seventeen." Aldric’s jaw was set. "We take the Blade, we confront the wielder, and we—" He stopped. "What do we do? How do we stop soone from carrying a tool if they don’t want to give it up?"
"I don’t know yet." Marron looked at the food cart, at the three other tools waiting silently. "But I know who might help us figure it out."
She placed her hand on the Cart’s wooden sidepanel. The surface was cool under her palm, almost cold. The Cart wasn’t humming anymore—it hadn’t since she’d nearly killed Lucy.
"I’m sorry," she said to it. To all of them. "I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for bringing danger to you. But I need you to trust one more ti. Just until we stop the Slicer’s wielder. Then—"
Then what? If she survived this, what ca next? The Council would confiscate the tools. Edmund would seal them away. Everything she’d fought for would end in a vault sowhere, proof that he’d been right all along.
Unless she could prove there was another way.
The Cart’s wheels unlocked slowly. Not the smooth, eager movent of before—this was reluctant. Cautious. But it was agreent.
The Copper Pot ward by a few degrees. Not its usual comforting heat, but enough to show it was still listening.
The Generous Ladle’s handle glowed faintly green. A promise, despite the fear.
"Thank you," Marron whispered.
Aldric was already consulting a map he’d pulled from his pack. "If they’re coming from the east, the most direct route to Luria goes through Ashmark. Old city, lots of trade. If we cut north through the Thornwood, we can intercept them before they reach the main roads."
"The Thornwood." Marron grimaced. "That’s two days on foot."
"We don’t have two days."
"No. We have seventeen hours." She looked at the Cart. "Can you move faster? If we need to?"
The Cart’s wheels creaked in what might have been affirmation. Or protest. It was hard to tell anymore—the easy communication between them had fractured when the Blade sang.
Marron picked up Lucy’s jar carefully. The sli imdiately retreated to the far side, her tendrils pulling in tight. The rejection stung, but Marron forced herself to speak gently. "You don’t have to stay with , Lucy. If you want to—if Aldric can take you sowhere safe—"
Lucy’s glow flickered. For just a mont, the sli’s tendrils extended—not toward Marron, but toward the wrapped Blade on the cart.
Then Lucy pulsed once. A deep, deliberate blue.
No.
She wasn’t leaving. Not because she forgave Marron. Not because she trusted her again. But because—
Because she’d seen what happened when companion-slis were left alone with tools that couldn’t distinguish between friend and food. Because she understood, in whatever way slis understood things, that this was bigger than one mont of betrayal.
"Okay," Marron said softly. She secured Lucy’s jar to the cart, making sure it was far from the wrapped Blade. "Okay."
Aldric shouldered his pack. "I need to send a ssage. To Edmund. To tell him—"
"To tell him what? That we’re hunting the Slicer’s wielder? That I refused Sienna’s trade?" Marron shook her head. "He’ll send people to stop us. Or worse—he’ll send people to kill before I can beco what he thinks I’ll beco."
"He deserves to know."
"He’ll know when we succeed." Marron gripped the Cart’s handle. "Or when we fail. Either way, we don’t have ti for his interference."
Aldric’s expression was pained, but he nodded. He pulled out his leather-bound ledger and wrote quickly:
Tracking Slicer’s wielder. Marron refuses containnt. dicine holding but failing. Will report when situation resolves. If we don’t report within 24 hours, assu the worst.
—A.V.
He folded the page and sealed it with wax. "I’ll leave it with the next courier post we pass. If sothing happens to us, at least he’ll know we tried."
"Nothing’s going to happen." Marron’s voice was firr than she felt. "We’re going to stop this. We’re going to find a way that doesn’t end with the Blade buried in a mountain or buried in a grave."
"And if there isn’t a way?"
Marron looked at the wrapped Blade, at the scarlet glow pulsing beneath the leather. At Lucy’s dim, frightened form. At the three other tools waiting with reluctant trust.
"Then I’ll ask you to do what Sienna promised. I’ll ask you to stop . But not yet. Not while there’s still a chance."
She turned toward the north path, toward the Thornwood and whatever waited beyond it. The Cart rolled behind her, heavy but willing. The dicine in her chest pulsed cold and steady.
Seventeen hours. Maybe less.
Behind them, the forest where Sienna had stood was empty. But Marron could still feel the Champion’s words like a brand: When you’ve proven that tools and wielders can face danger without becoming it—co find .
I will, she thought. I’ll prove it. Or I’ll die trying.
The Blade pulsed once more, and this ti the joy that leaked through the dicine’s barrier wasn’t just happiness. It was recognition.
The Slicer knew they were coming.
And sowhere on the eastern road, a butcher with scarred hands and a mandoline that glowed red wrapped his tool more carefully and smiled a smile that had nothing to do with kindness.
"Coming to ," Greaves murmured. "How convenient."
The Perfection Slicer humd its agreent, and the distance between siblings grew smaller with every step.
Reviews
All reviews (0)