The Living Throne (The War of Memory Cycle Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

again, capering to Cob's side happily.
    Settling down on the cold rock, Cob glanced sidelong to where Dasira still stood.  She seemed trembly beneath the furs, the utility knife twitching in her hand, gaze averted.
    “So,” he said, then swallowed his next words as the massive wolf half-collapsed into his lap, quill-less belly bared for rubbing.  Cob complied, and for a long moment there was nothing but the twitch of paws and loud, contented wolf-groans.
    Then Dasira echoed, “So.”
    He barely knew where to start.  They hadn't spoken seriously since those few moments outside the caravan-shelter, where she had approached him all but frozen and given her unconditional surrender.  Her confession.
    And now she'd been crippled for his sake.
    “I appreciate your help,” he said, digging fingers into Arik's thick fur.  “You told me what to expect from Enkhaelen, and you did us no harm.  If he traced us through you, so what?  Who knows how many other ways he can do it?”
    She slumped down beside him, still hidden in her furs.  “I could have done more.”
    “Did you know about the manor?  What we were gonna find there?”
    “No.”
    “Then it's not your fault.  You almost died tryin' to kill him.  That's what matters to me.”
    She snorted faintly.  “Didn't even get close.  I'm only alive because he never actually attacked me.  I just...got within his aura.  And now...”  The furs shifted in what might have been a shrug.  “I'm useless to you.”
    “Y'don't have to fight.  That's never why I—“
    “Cob,” she said harshly, “I'm barely alive.  The bracer can only do so much, and this body's brain is seriously damaged.  I can think clearly, speak clearly, move and breathe because of the bracer, but my balance, my reflexes and coordination...  They're all shot.  And I can't fix it.”
    “That's why—“  Cob swallowed, remembering Darilan in the snow, the hilt of the broken sword sticking up from his eye-socket.  “That's why you had me stab you in the head?”
    “Yes.  Kill or maim the brain and I can keep the body alive, but I can't use it.  I...”  She turned away, and when she spoke again, her voice was a rasp.  “I wanted to sleep.  To forget and be forgotten.  But Enkhaelen found me and pushed me into another body.  It's nothing I wanted; I never would have chased you again, but he said you were in danger.  That he had another agent with you.  And I couldn't just...let him have his way.”
    “Another agent?”
    “When I attacked him, he said he'd made it up, but...”  She shook her head.  “He's a habitual liar.  I thought it might be Arik, since he's a predator.  Or maybe Ilshenrir.  Enkhaelen could have killed him, but just scarred him a bit.  Suspicious.”
    In his lap, the wolf stopped wiggling, ears cocked warily.  Cob sighed.  “I don't wanna think about that.  Maybe it's true, but to what end?  That piker's had plenty of chances to kill us, but he doesn't.  I don't understand.”
    “He wants to use you.  For what, I don't know.”
    “And you...  You're sure you can't repair yourself?”
    “Not enough to be useful.  I'm made to steal bodies, not mend them.”
    “You know I can't let you do that.”
    She nodded and turned her face toward him, and he saw for the first time that her pupils were unequal.  The one on the damaged right side looked normal, but the left was blown wide.  “It's why I haven't.”
    Part of him wanted to say, No, I was wrong.  Do what you must.   It might have been bigger than the part that said, It's not right.
    He almost wished he was still the boy who had fled the Crimson camp: that brick-headed idiot who felt decisively about everything.  He no longer knew where the lines were, or if they'd even been real.  Right and wrong, Light and Dark, wise and foolish...  How was he supposed to know which was which?
    “There's nothin' else we can do?”
    Dasira sighed.  “Rest, I guess.  Bodies mend themselves in