“Are you sure about this?”

  Runa and Severine stood on the edge of the Rim. The Cauldron lay spread out in front of them, a boiling patchwork of strange and altered landscapes. The tepid bog was still nudging the Sweetmeadow from Pothollow’s doorstep on one side, and a valley nobody wanted to look at was making an attempt on the other side, but it was slow going. The Sweetmeadow was reluctant to be moved on, and small landslides and puffs of magic erupted as the three lands jostled for space.

  Maybe Tam would get his harvest after all.

  She took Severine’s hand. “I’m sure. Come on. Sweetmeadow, or the Valley Unsightly?”

  “Rolling hills of grass and wildflowers, or a gully that makes you close your eyes so you can’t see the monsters until you’re already inside them? Hmm. Let me think.”

  “The wildflowers will eat you, too.”

  “At least I can see them coming.”

  “Does that make it better?”

  “I notice you didn’t suggest the weirdly warm bog.”

  “And I’m not going to.”

  They headed down into the Sweetmeadow. They weren’t the only ones. Corvin was there, stealing moss from the banks of the fast-moving streams. He spotted Runa, and they exchanged a nod. There were a few other locals out harvesting the last of the solberries, but most people were down on the less-cursed side of the hill, busy with harvest. Runa and Severine walked deeper into the cursed land, until they were hidden behind one of those gently rolling hills.

  The Night was only a few feet away.

  And everything Runa didn’t want to be hummed beneath her feet and in Severine’s pack.

  Severine pulled off her packroll. “You’re sure?”

  “I am.”

  “Sure-sure?”

  “Yep.”

  She sighed. “Can you tell I’m having second thoughts about this?”

  “I got a hint.” Runa reached out and touched her gently on the side of the face. “Remember what we agreed.”

  “If your eyes start glowing, push you in the Night and run?”

  “That’s the one.” She rummaged in a pocket. “Chuck this at me first.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something Corvin brewed up for me.”

  “You told him about Bloodburster?”

  Runa thought back to her cryptic conversation with the apothecary. “I told him enough.”

  Severine shook the bottle, and its contents burbled ominously. “…And it does what?”

  “Makes it easier for you to get away.” Runa held out her hand before Severine could say anything else. “Sword.”

  Severine glared at her. “There’s usually a bit more pageantry,” she complained.

  “You want this to go the way it usually does?”

  “No, but…” She sighed and undid the ties on the swordpack. Bloodburster’s ruby eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

  When had she started thinking of them as eyes, again?

  Severine unsheathed it, and its gnarled blade only reflected enough light to pick out every stain and pitted scar on it. She held it flat on her open palms.

  “Remind me what we’re doing here again?”

  “I’ve already wielded it once, but that was in battle. I need to know what it feels like to hold Bloodburster when nobody around me is in danger. If I can do that…”

  Severine shot her a dirty look. “This is why I never told you. You know that, right? You’re going to selflessly take on literally the most evil sword in the world, because I couldn’t shut up about it well enough.”

  “Better I take it than anyone who actually wants to use it.”

  “Or I could keep looking after it and making sure it gets into nobody’s hands, the way I have been for the last ten years?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Runa leveled her gaze at her. “That wasn’t working out so well, Severine.”

  Severine’s shoulders slumped. “It was fine.”

  “It got so bad you tried to give it to a skeleton.”

  “I didn’t know the skeleton was alive.”

  “No shortage of the unalive in the Cauldron.” Runa searched Severine’s face. She didn’t need to look far. “You know we have to find another solution, Severine, and this is the obvious first step. If it doesn’t work, we’ll find something else.”

  “Something better than hiding it in a place famous for its hordes of undead and larger, even more ravenous hordes of adventurers searching for magical loot?” Severine asked with glum self-awareness.

  “Something like that.”

  Severine took a deep breath. Runa watched her chest rise and fall, a muscle in her jaw tightening.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready. Wait, I don’t want to do it this way.”

  Severine shifted her grip on the huge sword, holding it hilt-first towards Runa instead of holding it out on her palms. She put on a brave smile.

  Runa reached out and wrapped her hand not over the hilt, but over Severine’s hand. Despite the day’s warmth, Severine’s skin was cool.

  “Make sure you’ve got the potion ready, too.”

  Severine showed her the bottle in her other hand, ready to throw. “Are you going to tell me what’s in this?”

  “Nope. Just don’t hesitate if you need to use it.”

  Runa waited until Severine nodded, then moved her hand to Bloodburster’s grip.

  Goosebumps exploded up her arm. A wizard had once told her that goosebumps were an evolutionary leftover from the days when humans and trolls had fur all over their bodies, and the bumps were their bodies’ attempt to puff themselves up to look bigger than whatever was threatening them.

  Runa generally didn’t have the problem of not being bigger than whoever she was facing. But right now, her body was doing its best to go full spherical snowcat.

  She closed her fist around the sword’s grip.

  Ahhhhhh.

  It was the sound of the first air to rush into a tomb that should never be opened. The sun baking blood-soaked fields. The last inhale before battle.

  It was old, and never tired, and was never satisfied.

  And it had found its master.

  “Is that how we’re going to do this?” Runa muttered.

  The sword’s attention turned to her, inescapable as the sun. Her nostrils twitched. She smelled burning. Blood. Her muscles already ached with the slaughter, but she would—

  “I won’t,” she said quietly. “I don’t want any of that.”

  She was vaguely aware of Severine edging quietly away. Good. She should keep doing that. Runa couldn’t spare any attention to tell her so—her whole being was focused on the sword, and on the murderous intent it was trying to make her own.

  The sword’s voice slipped into her mind, so sharp she didn’t know it was there until it spoke. Thousands of lives had been cut short by her blade, and thousands more would be. Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands—

  “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  The blood-and-burning filling her body hesitated. Yes, it continued, yes obviously it’s a lot of work, it’s THE work—

  “I’ve already got a job. Two, if you count the one I ran out on.” A bead of sweat trickled down Runa’s temple. Not from the heat. She could talk a good game, but the sword’s intent battered into her from the bones out.

  It hissed displeasure at her standing up to it. Well, too bad for it.

  She tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt. “You chose me, or fate chose me for you. I don’t know what way around it goes. But I’ve played this game before.”

  You could rule the world!

  “I could have ruled several. I’m here because I chose not to. I wanted something different, and I got it.”

  The sword thrummed in her hand. Inside her, it searched as though her mind was the blood-soaked field whose acrid scent she inhaled with every breath.

  And how is that working out for you? it asked.

  Runa stilled. “What do you mean?” she asked gruffly.

  Is it everything you dreamed of, when you ran away from everything you could have been? Throwing yourself into danger to save those who prance merrily into it of their own accord? Letting yourself be bullied into getting up before dawn each day to feed the people in this small, stupid village, and pretending to them all that it’s thanks to your skills they get their daily bread? What would the people here say if they knew they could have ANYBODY take your place, so long as the volcano sprite was still there? Would they still want you? How much will you have to do to keep their trust, their patience, when they find out the truth?

  Runa swallowed down the growl rising in her throat. “Stop it,” she muttered.

  Wouldn’t it be easier to just KILL THEM ALL—

  “STOP!”

  Runa thrust the sword away. It dropped to the ground and the smell of burning blood left her nostrils. She coughed—forget her nostrils, the smell felt like it was stuck to the insides of her bones—and ducked to the side as something whizzed past her head.

  Glass shattered. A grove of waspthorn the height of a human man exploded out of it.

  “What the hells!” Severine yelped, and Runa turned to see her frozen mid-about-to-run-away, eyes wide.

  “You got the throwing bit right, at least.”

  “That was bottled waspthorn? What if it had hit you?”

  “Then it would have slowed me down some, which is the point.” She frowned at it. “I’ll have to tell Corvin to make it the size of a full-grown me next time, not a human.”

  “Next time?”

  “I notice you’re not running away.”

  Severine folded her arms and gave her a cross look. “Well, you’re not swinging a sword around bellowing about bringing death to the world, so.”

  “And you still chucked the waspthorn grenade at me?”

  “Your eyes were glowing red!”

  Huh. “Uh, they do that. Sometimes.”

  Severine stalked closer. “When?” she asked accusingly.

  “Just sometimes.” Runa looked down at Bloodburster, lying where she’d chucked it on the ground.

  As much as swords could look like anything, it looked kind of pissed off.

  But also… smug.

  “Is it saying anything?” she asked Severine.

  “No.” She took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep.” Runa stooped and picked up the sword. Not by the hilt. She wasn’t wielding it. She was holding it, by the bluntish part of the blade nearest the pommel.

  It was silent. The only taste on her lips and her nose was the sweet bewildering floral of the Sweetmeadow.

  “All right,” she said unsteadily. “How does this work? Do I get a scabbard with it, or is there an extra fee for that?”

  “You’re not taking it.”

  “I’m holding onto it. For now.” Because I sure as all hells don’t want anyone else to pick it up, she added silently.

  And as for what it had said, when it burrowed into the most bruised and fragile parts of her mind…

  It didn’t mean anything.

  It probably said that sort of rubbish to everyone.