I swallowed. “I’m holding onto it for him.”
Now his dark gaze fastened on mine. The intensity in it riveted me, and my heart did an odd flip. What was it about this guy? Compelling wasn’t a strong enough word.
“I didn’t think that sword was something you walked away from,” he said.
My focus sharpened. First, he’d been able to draw it from the scabbard, now he claimed he knew what the sword was. “What do you know of it?”
His eyes skittered away again, and he shrugged. “Not much. It is ancient history where I come from, and so tied up with myth that who knows where the fucking truth lies.”
Once again, Nemi thwapped him along the back of his head with her wing. More questions buzzed around in my brain. “Where are you from?”
His expression became guarded. “Now who is being nosy?”
When he didn’t add anything further, I selected a book from the pile and dropped it in front of me. He wasn’t the only student to have secrets, but it surprised me how badly I wanted to know his. If I pushed, though, I was pretty sure he’d leave. So instead I asked, “I’d like to hear what you know.”
At first, I didn’t think he’d tell me. He closed his reference tome and folded long, strong fingers around it.
Just when I thought he was going to push away from the table, the bird pecked him again. His fingers whitened on the book, but then, he began to speak. Of not just one story, but several—apparently there were many versions. Sometimes the wielder was an unknown peasant, sometimes a bastard son of a king. One of the stories involved a king proclaimed by the pulling of the sword free from a stone, which would have beenunlikely except everything I’d read about this weapon seemed far-fetched.
But although the beginning of the stories varied, the end did not. In every version, the king had died after being betrayed by someone he trusted.
When he finished, I found myself clutching my book with a thundering heart and eyes pricking with tears.
He’d recounted the story with his own gaze fastened on the shelves behind me, but now he looked into my eyes, and said, “Are you okay?”
His voice was slightly hoarse, but there was genuine concern within it. And it elicited a response from me. “Every wielder of this sword dies.”
“Everyone dies.” His eyes flared turquoise again.
“Yes, but what if it is because of the sword?”
He was silent for a moment as he regarded me. When he spoke, there was an odd note in his voice.
“So tall-dark-and-dodgesome does matter to you,” he said.
It was as though he stared straight into my soul, and perhaps because of that, instead of calling him nosy, I whispered, “He does.”
His eyes narrowed. “He seemed surprised when I drew that sword.”
“It doesn’t let just anyone do that.”
“Does it let you wield it, too?”
I nodded.
He pushed his book aside. “Perhaps Fate has spread its favors, this time. Just be careful that it also doesn’t gift you the same ending.” He rose, moving as though his body hurt him, before he fastened his gaze on me. “So be careful who you trust.”
The statement seemed curiously emphasized, and for just a moment he hesitated, as though he would say more. Then thetiny bird on his shoulder twittered at him, and he walked stiffly away, vanishing into the aisles.
I regarded the stack of books he’d left behind. They were all general references on the realms and their inhabitants.
Strange that he would be researching those things. But that wasn’t all that was odd about Tez. Or about my reaction to him.
From deep within, I sensed a surge of something indefinable. As if Caliel had thoughts on the matter.
I waited. But when he offered nothing, I reached for my first book.
Maybe not all the sword’s wielders ended up betrayed and dead on a battlefield.
