Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) by Timandra Whitecastle Read Free Book Online Page B

his riches and a comfortable life. And Diaz? When they had first met five years ago, Bashan’s cause had given Diaz the possibility of regaining his honor and finding a new sense of purpose. Purpose he had lost after… An echo of a woman’s laughter disturbed his thoughts. Don’t think that! Don’t go back! Focus on what’s before you. The Blade. Find the Blade, find purpose. It was never that simple, though, was it? Moorfleet had shown that. Every day the young prince sank lower and lower to new depths of debauchery and, bound to him, Diaz was pulled down alongside, not knowing how to cut the cord. An oath was an oath, and once you broke your word, even in the least of things, then all words had failed and every oath meant nothing.
    He frowned, remembering the same words spoken by the girl, Noraya. Two thin strands bound together. Maybe it was the twins who’d caused his doubts, made him feel the need for introspection. The boy, Owen, in particular. The way he looked at Diaz, as though being a pilgrim master meant being flawless, all duty and honor and sacrifice for the code. Hadn’t he seen it that way once? Didn’t he still? And the girl—Bashan was right. She was insolent, impulsive, and reckless, albeit with noble intent. She had said no one taught her how to fight—and why should they? She was a girl, and a charcoal burner. But also strong and capable. The order would profit from more female masters of that spirit. From more masters of that kind in general.
    So twins really did have their own magic about them. He smiled. They’d be able to spend two or three months together at the Temple of the Wind before Bashan continued his search for the Blade come spring. And maybe Diaz could teach the twins a thing or two in the meantime. He’d never had students before. Maybe it was time.
    *     *     *
    Dawn was creeping into the world, coloring the last of the night charcoal gray. Some of the early risers among the men were waking as Diaz noiselessly walked into the encampment on the far side of the River Line. His wet clothes steamed as he stood next to the fire to dry. He nodded a greeting at the weary watcher on guard duty and then looked for Bashan’s figure among the sleepers. There. The boy Shade slept close to the prince, as always. And next to the pale, blond boy lay the dark-haired head of Owen. Good. It was as he had told Bashan. Maybe Diaz’s word did still have some influence on the man. Bashan was still malleable.
    Then he doubled back. There was only one dark-haired head. The girl was gone.
    Diaz blinked and checked he hadn’t missed her among the men. No, she wasn’t there. His gaze wandered over the grass around the encampment, looking for footprints leading away. There weren’t any. She wasn’t anywhere. He took a deep breath and tried to find the calmness within he had felt only a few hours ago. Instead, he stormed over to Bashan and grabbed him by his collar. The prince woke face-to-face with an angry wight.
    “What the…?”
    “Where is she?” Diaz demanded, shaking Bashan awake.
    Bashan wiped a hand across his face and focused on Diaz.
    “Where’s who?”
    “The girl. The girl, Noraya. The girl I told you I’d hold you responsible for.”
    “She left. It wasn’t my fault!” Bashan held up his hands over his head as though warding off a blow. “She and her brother—they had a fight. She wanted to leave, so I let her go home. Why are you so—I don’t know…what’s the matter with you? I thought you wanted to go pray or something.”
    Diaz let Bashan go. He turned around to face west and stared back across the Plains in the direction from which he had just come. She had wanted to go home? It was a few days’ travel to Owen’s Ridge. If there was still an Owen’s Ridge to go to.
    “Talk about tranquility! You said nothing was to happen to her. Nothing has happened. I swear no one touched her.” Bashan was still talking. It didn’t matter. Diaz tuned him