Swordheart

by T. Kingfisher

Halla of Rutger’s Howe had just inherited a great deal of money and was therefore spending her evening trying to figure out how to kill herself.

What an opening

“I am the servant of the sword,” he said. “I obey the will of the—great god, woman, put on some clothes!”

But if she were hallucinating, would she really have included a man coming out of the sword and yelling at her to put on more clothes? Well … yes. That is exactly the sort of thing I would do.

“Yes. That’s why I’m the servant of the sword. I’m in the sword.” He pointed to the sword in her hands. There was a look on his face as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or begin yelling. “This sword here?” “Yes. That sword. That you’re carrying. Which just summoned me. Because that’s what it does.”

This reads like Monty Python?

Halla had tried to love her and then had tried to like her, and then had tried to be dutiful and compliant, and finally had settled for not being too obviously relieved when the woman had dropped dead.

“Are you asking me if I think I can fight one guard and a group of elderly women with embroidery hooks?” “… yes?” “My lady Halla, I have fought dragons on multiple occasions.”

Sarkis turned around and began to beat his forehead very gently against the wall. “The great god is punishing me,” he said softly, “for my crimes. I cannot go to his hell, and so he has sent a woman to torment me.”

Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the magic sword.

It was rather tiresome, being an heirloom, but you got used to it, and at least everyone knew what to expect.

“There’s sheep?” He gave her a fixed look. “Do the sheep in your land attack travelers?” Is he joking? It seems like he must be joking … Sarkis’s face was so grim and the scar through his eyebrow made him look so stern that she couldn’t be sure. “Yes,” she said. “Constantly. I’m surprised we haven’t been set upon by attack sheep already.” He did not crack a smile. “Of course they don’t! They’re sheep!” His lips twitched.

“That’s … that’s very sweet. Thank you.” “I am not sweet. Did I mention that I’ve fought dragons?”

Sometimes Sarkis hated arguing with himself. He kept being right.

but my mother, the human one, she had terrible nerves. Why, a thunderstorm left her completely deranged. She’d take to her bed for days and call for brandy. And cauliflower. I mean, I don’t know why she wanted cauliflower, I’ve never thought cauliflower was a particularly soothing vegetable, but it certainly made my mother happier, so we’d cook it up whenever the weather started to turn. Do you have any cauliflower?”

I'm-

“Can your husband not speak for himself?” “I can,” said Sarkis. “Then why don’t you?” “My wife talks enough for both of us.” The mounted man snickered. The priest shook his head, turning back to his horse. “I will pray for you.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Halla. “That’s better than cauliflower!” “Wife,” said Sarkis, putting his arm around her, “quit your nattering about vegetables.

“What if there are assassins hiding in all that junk?” “Then I’ll tell them hello for you.”

One of the grimmer realizations of Sarkis’s youth had been the discovery that knowing you were being an ass did not actually stop you from continuing to be an ass.

“So what exactly is your problem with me going to the market dressed like this?” “Men will stare at you,” muttered Sarkis, hunched over the next potato. “Well, that’d be a first.” “And then I will be forced to beat them.”

“You’ve got a rather large sword for a woman,” said Scar, looking over at her. “Yes, but I’m told it’s not the size of the sword that matters,” said Halla. She frowned. “Although my husband used to say that, and do you know, he never told me what it meant?”

“Many madmen walk among the sane, and the lines are blurred beyond all recognition. And many people who we would consider sane wreak unimaginable harm in the world, so people call them mad.”

Halla gasped. “Oh gods, there’s an arrow sticking out of you!” “So there is.” “Does … does that hurt?” “It does not feel great, no,” Sarkis said. “Should I pull it out?” “Please don’t.” “What should I do?” “You should keep your head down.”

“What would you say if I tortured you?” asked the bandit leader conversationally. Halla blinked at him. “Err … ‘ow,’ probably? ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ something like that?” What a bizarre question. What does he expect me to say?

“Do you want me to stab her?”

Mood

No one will offer her disrespect in my hearing, man or woman, or they will answer to me.” He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Malva slapped Alver’s arm. “Alver! Are you going to let him talk to me like this?” Alver eyed the sword and Sarkis and said, “Yes, mother, I believe I am.”

“I go where you go. Wherever that may be.”

“No, no! It’s just—my husband—” She put her hands to her forehead. White Rat help her, she was blushing. “I mean, he’s dead.” “I’m aware, yes.” A line formed between Sarkis’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You loved him very much, then?” “What? Oh gods, no!” Her vehemence seemed to have astonished him. He stared at her, clearly baffled, and then she saw something dark and chill rise in the back of his eyes. “Did he teach you pain?” he asked softly. “I’ll kill him.” “He’s already dead.” “Do you think that will stop me? Give the word and I’ll hunt him across the great god’s hells and tear his soul out through his bowels.”

“Halla. I need you to do something for me.” “Yes?” “For the next ten minutes, the only words I want you to say are ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Harder,’ ‘More,’ and ‘There.’ And if you don’t like what I’m doing, ‘Stop.’ Can you please do that for me?”

As hot as fire, as sweet as sinning,

He had said things to her in his own language that she would have found astonishing if she understood, and foremost among them was, You’re mine.

“No, no! That’s not it—I mean, you were lovely—” He fell on his back with a groan. “Lovely,” he said. “There’s a death knell. Clearly I should swear to celibacy and join one of your decadent southern religions. Is there one that involves stabbing things?” “The Dreaming God, but only demons.” “I can stab demons. Demons are very stabbable.”

“So!” said Zale brightly. “How about this weather?” “Rainy,” said Halla gratefully. “Very rainy.” “And these ropes! So … uh … rope-like.” “Yes. With the hemp. And the knots. Very much so.”

Why are these two alone together again?

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. People manage to kill each other all the time. How hard can it be?”

They stress me out

Sarkis wondered if he should put himself away or if it was more menacing if he just stood there with his good bits on the packing crate.

“Yes, yes! All of it! It’s yours, I release it!” “Thank you,” said Halla, lowering the knife. “I don’t think you have to thank him,” said Zale. “Since he stole the sword to begin with.” “Seems rude otherwise.” “Well, Rat forbid we be rude.”

Rat forbid

“And as I am now a wealthy enough widow to be automatically respectable, I do not need to worry about having a very handsome lover lurking around the house.” “I’ll kill him,” said Sarkis.

“Marry me.” Halla blinked at him, not sure if she’d heard correctly. “If you marry me, you won’t be eccentric. No, dammit, this is coming out wrong. Marry me to marry me, not because of your neighbors. I’ll kill your neighbors.”

“Only the first family is blood. The rest are made by time or love or battle.”