Dagger and Scythe

by Emilie Knight

  “By the gods, you’re stubborn,” Scythe cursed. She was tempted not to tell him out of spite.

  Dagger’s eyes softened at her harsh tone. “I’ll admit I’m not in the best mood, but this has been hanging over us since that wedding. I’d rather it not anymore.”

  She didn’t want it there either. Now did seem like as good a time as any. She might as well get it over with.

  “Alright,” she said, “but let me get the bandages to patch you up while I talk.”

  “Alright,” he agreed.

  It only took her a few minutes to come back with the linen strips and start removing the spoiled ones.

  “I can hardly remember my old home anymore. I think I blocked most of it out. I remember dying perfectly though,” she started begrudgingly.

  He settled back while she cleaned his wounds again. She was uncomfortable sharing her death, but she forced herself too. This was one of the few things Dagger ever demanded of her, and she had dug into his death. She tried holding back the resentment as she spoke.

  “I lived in a city with my mother and father. I don’t remember the city’s name, but I don’t think it exists anymore. We lived in a tiny one-room house beside an apothecary in the poorest corner. Father worked with the blacksmith but made hardly any wages. Mother helped the family who owned the apothecary; they paid her now and then, but it was never enough. Feasts for us counted as a slice of bread for each of us; cheese was a luxury.

  “Father and Mother were always bitter with each other. He blamed her for not having a son who could work better. Mother would snap back that him never worked hard enough to provide for them anyway. They both also blamed me for not being more useful. Most of that talk started when I was six. As I grew older I taught myself to pickpocket and sold everything I could get. It got harder to rob people as I got older because I wasn’t small anymore, so I picked up odd jobs around the district for coin.

  “That couldn’t have been an easy childhood,” Dagger said sympathetically.

  “No, it bloody wasn’t. After a long day at a hot dye shop, I came home and found that my parents weren’t arguing for once. They stopped talking entirely as I entered the room. I asked if there was something wrong. Which was a stupid, loaded question. Something was always wrong.

  “Father said there wasn’t, and that they had found a way to make a lot of money fast. He was calm as he spoke. I was used to anger, so him being calm frightened me. Mother didn’t say anything; she just shivered and looked away. Father nodded to the corner of the room behind me. There was a man standing there I hadn’t noticed as I walked in.

  “‘This man is going to take care of you,’ he said. ‘You will work for him, and he’ll pay us handsomely.’ ”

  Dagger frowned, probably sensing where the story was going.

  “The new man kept looking at me like I was a horse he wanted to purchase. Only he was undressing me in his mind. It made my skin crawl. I asked him what kind of work I would be doing.

  “He didn’t say at first, only, ‘Something I’m sure you will be very good at and earn a hefty price too.’

  “I demanded to know what the job was, knowing father might hit me. The new man was taken aback too. Living that poor you had to stand up for yourself.

  “He said it was a brothel. They were selling me to a whorehouse. I turned to mother, but she wouldn’t meet my eye. I knelt by her, begging her not to let it happen, to understand. I knew she would. I begged her not to let them take me. You know what she said? She said he would take care of me. Those words felt like a knife through my heart.

  “The brute grabbed my arm and hauled me up. Father stood aside as the new man tried to take me away. I fought, though, and broke free from his hand.

  “I bolted. I had no idea where to go, so I just ran. I heard them yelling after me, but I didn’t stop. I ran the length of the city before collapsing in an alley. When the sun set, I knew what to do and I knew where to do it. It took me about an hour to sneak into the astronomy tower and creep up to the top level. Then I jumped.

  “The wind felt wonderful. I remember hitting the ground and not dying instantly. I lay there with pooling blood, shattered bones, and smashed organs. The next thing I knew Maniodes was waking me up. I don’t remember seeing Nyx.”

  Dagger stayed quiet for a long time. She didn’t want him to reply anyway. It hadn’t been good by any means. If he said the generic ‘sorry’ like humans did at funerals, she would probably leave him.

  “I would have killed them,” he said instead. “The man who tried to buy you, and your father. Your mother too, actually, because she didn’t do anything to protect her daughter.”

  Scythe paused in rebinding his arm. Her nerves were on end as it was; that comment was the charge before the lightning.

  “They’re dead now, of course. Given that you’ve been a Ferrum for nearly a century,” he said.

  “I did.”

  “Sorry?” Dagger leaned closer.

  “I did kill them. After I was chosen, I hunted down the owner of the brothel. I nailed him to the wall of his establishment and burned it down. I made sure all of the women and girls were gone before I set it on fire. I don’t know what happened to them after.

  “When I went home, mother and father were there. She fainted at seeing me, and father fell to his knees and begged me for mercy. I took both of their heads.”

  “Imagining you standing over them, beautiful and terrifying: it’s a good image.”

  Scythe didn’t reply.

  “Have you ever found them in Skiachora?” Dagger asked.

  “No.”

  “I found my father down there,” he admitted.

  “How did he die?” she asked, grabbing at the change in topic.

  “Killed while he was being robbed.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She’s still alive, not well, but alive.” His eyes darkened with the reflection.

  “The woman back at the wedding told me she was hallucinating about demons.”

  “Yes, she panicked after dinner and thought I was one. A knife through my heart was all it took.”

  “Is that why you chose daggers?” she asked.

  “Aye, why did you choose the scythe?”

  “Security,” she answered. “No one would take advantage of a woman with a weapon that big.”

  “It is daunting,” he said. “Although messy. Daggers are more precise.”

  Scythe didn’t bother replying. They’d probably end up comparing weapons for hours. They had before in a playful way. Now she wasn’t in the mood.

  She tied off the last strip on his shoulder rougher then she needed to, but Dagger didn’t react.

  “I’m glad you told me,” he said softly.

  “It was only fair.” Scythe couldn’t meet his eyes despite the kind words.

  The silence stretched between them. Scythe packed away the clean bandages and gathered the maroon-stained ones. She stood with the soiled linens, intending to burn them in the kitchen oven. There was no point in trying to clean them of that much blood.

  “Scythe.” Dagger stood as well and caught her free hand.

  She ripped it out of his grip like he was on fire. She stopped though, several strides away from him.

  The surprise and hurt in his eyes made her want to slap him. She hadn’t been able to hold back the resentment.

  “I’m sorry I forced you to share that,” he said.

  “You didn’t twist my arm.” The gods knew her father had, many times.

  “I might as well have,” he said, looking solemn. “Do you feel better at least, having talked about it?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want this hanging over us either,” he sighed.

  “What the fuck did you expect? Did you think I’d enjoy telling you how my father beat me, how I murdered him and my mother? You had the happy life with parents who loved you. Did you really think people from the other end of the spectrum were going to have a fun time talking about it? You w
ere the only one in my life who hadn’t forced me into anything until now.”

  The rage was boiling over again. His sorry expression wasn’t helping either. It just made her feel guilty at being angry, which made her angrier.

  “I am sorry I betrayed that,” he said, “but it had to be said.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” She swept her arms wide in a mock bow, then turned on her heel.

  Chapter 28

  Dagger took his time making his way back up to bed. He had woken up only hours ago feeling great. As they talked to Axe, a dull ache had begun to rise from the unexpected movements. Then once they were back home, the wounds were screaming at him.

  Talking to Scythe and hearing her story had distracted him for the moment, but he had been bitter with her beforehand. He hadn’t intended to, but he wasn’t in his right mind. Still, Scythe didn’t deserve that.

  She hadn’t been on the balcony or in her chambers as he passed. He decided to leave her be, assuming that’s what she wanted. She had lived her entire life and death that way. It was what she was accustomed to.

  The bloodstains were still on the sheets, but Dagger didn’t care. He crawled into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

  Scythe still wasn’t around when he woke up. Judging by the drastically changed length of the candles, he’d been unconscious again for nearly twenty-four hours. He didn’t want to spend the entire night in bed, but knew he should take it easy. His body wouldn’t let him do otherwise.

  He went to the cellar and cracked open an old wine bottle. The result was sour but pleasant. Taking his pouch of peanuts, he went to relax on the balcony. The disappointment at the sight of it empty didn’t surprise him.

  Something Scythe had said hadn’t left him. She had described them as living on opposite ends of a spectrum. He hadn’t realized the extent until last night. His family hadn’t been as wealthy as royalty, but they were well-off. He had a home with two floors, while Scythe had a single-room shack. He had parents who loved him, while hers disowned and tried to sell her. He had his sister to relate to, while Scythe had no one.

  He was grateful that Scythe had confided in him about her death, but the moment was bitter. She hadn’t done it willingly. He didn’t know how to make it up to her, either. She already knew his death. She didn’t know the details, though. It wasn’t much of an option, but it was the only card he had to play.

  Dagger ran a hand through his hair and set down the empty goblet. His wounds ached again, but they weren’t screaming. He stood to find Scythe. Luckily, he didn’t have to look far.

  She stood in the broken-glass doorway. Surprise crossed her face at the timing of him turning around before she looked away, embarrassed.

  He was about to suggest they talk properly, but she beat him to it.

  “The woman is sick.”

  At first Dagger had no idea what she was referring to, then remembered the guests they had kidnapped and tortured. Listening to screams of pain and feeling the gentle softness of exposed organs might clear his mind at the moment, but he had to stay focused. He wondered if Scythe had the same idea of the torture and that was why she had been down there.

  “How badly?” he asked.

  “The raw skin of her arm is infected,” Scythe replied in a monotone. “I cauterized it days ago, but it’s still rotting.”

  “Sonofabitch.” Dagger stepped around Scythe and headed for the cellar.

  “She’s not in there,” Scythe stopped him. “I put her in one of the servant’s rooms.”

  She gestured for him to follow, and he did, quietly. The room she stopped at was in the empty servant’s quarters. There was only a single bed inside.

  The woman was on the bed, unconscious and tied down. The sickly-sweet stench of infection permeated the air. Dagger sat by the woman’s side and gently unwrapped a section of the linens. The skin around the burnt meat was swollen and red. The scab itself oozed pus thick and green.

  “We should cut off her arm,” Scythe said leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “I was going to just do it, but I thought I should let you know.”

  The passive sarcasm was almost as thick as the pus.

  “I appreciate it,” he said, letting her be angry.

  “Keep an eye on her. I’ll get something to start a fire in to cauterize the stump.” She walked off without a second glance.

  “Let me help you with the brazier,” he called after her.

  “I carried a full-grown woman up here. I’ll be fine.” Scythe didn’t even slow down.

  Dagger sat on the edge of the bed beside the woman.

  “Is being passive-aggressive normal?” he asked her.

  Of course, there was no reply. At least she was breathing.

  Scythe returned with the iron brazier, kindling, and a cleaver. She met his gaze as she handed him the cleaver, but kept her eyes guarded.

  “Start hacking,” she said, turning back to the brazier. She struck the flint together and started the small fire.

  Dagger stayed guarded himself and addressed the woman again. There was no headboard so Scythe had to use the feet of the bed as anchors for the ropes. The rope was just long enough to prevent the woman’s arms from going numb, but short enough to stop her from untying herself.

  Unfortunately, the infected arm was on the side against the wall, away from Dagger. He shifted her body as much as he could and straightened her arm at the shoulder. The elbow stopped at the wall, leaving the arm bent, but it would do. He took aim.

  She woke as the cleaver met bone. Dagger felt the crack of the bone vibrate through the handle rather than hearing it over her scream. He hadn’t gone all the way through. The awkward angle, along with his injuries, slowed him. Scythe hadn’t gagged the woman, and she bucked as she screamed.

  “Don’t move!” he shouted.

  The screams cut off with a choke, but she stopped squirming. Tears and snot poured down her face as the blood poured from her arm.

  Dagger gave one more swing of the blade and the meat gave. He tossed the rotted arm aside, held a bunch of the bedclothes to her stump, and handed the cleaver back to Scythe.

  Scythe buried it in the flames. The woman screamed and bucked again, but he held her down. It took only minutes for the blade to glow, but the sheets had soaked through with a deeper red.

  Scythe handed him back the blade, hilt first. Dagger pulled the sopping sheets away and pressed the flat of the hot blade to the stump. Burning flesh mixed with the noxious infected air, creating a nauseating effect.

  Once a warm scab was left where her arm had been, Dagger stood. The woman curled onto her side, crying. It was the best they could do.

  “We should move her to a clean bed,” Dagger suggested.

  “There’s one next door.”

  She helped him untie the woman, who tried to squirm away from him. He lifted her tenderly and followed Scythe to the other room. This one was identical to the last.

  Dagger set the woman down on the bed. “Can you get the ropes?” he asked Scythe.

  “I already brought them.” She had them in hand.

  “Ah, good… thank you.”

  They tied her to the bed as before, listening to her whimper. They left her there to rest, locking the door with Scythe’s key ring.

  Scythe walked away. He called after her, but she didn’t stop or even glance his way. He let her go, deciding to go to the cellar for something to go with the wine.

  The man down there was screaming for his wife. His curses grew more colorful and vulgar as Dagger sat against the door, trying to enjoy the tart wine and the screams.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the man had stopped yelling a while ago. The restlessness was driving him mad. He left the cellar to find Scythe.

  He found her kneeling in the garden. Only then did he notice the mess it was in. Plants were torn up by the roots, and half of the vines were gone.

  He knelt in the soil next to her. She didn’t look up. She kept watching
her hand, the one she had held against her body in the servant’s quarters. His breath caught when he realized what she was examining.

  Blisters lined her thumb and index finger, and the skin was a tight red.

  “Scythe, what happened?” he asked gently.

  “When I was heating up the cleaver the handle wasn’t long enough.” Her voice was dry.

  Dagger took her hand to see the damage more closely. She let him but still didn’t look up.

  “You should have balanced it on the brazier’s edge,” he said. “Just held the end for balance.”

  Scythe shook her head. “Letting go like that meant I would have had to grab it properly again before handing it to you. It would have taken time that woman didn’t have.”

  The blisters would heal, but the flames raising them had to be excruciating. Yet she hadn’t let go.

  Scythe took her hand back, cradling it in her lap.

  “Did you do all this?” he asked referring to the torn-up garden.

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t kill our guests or save you from the chains.”

  That last part left him feeling like he’d been punched in the chest. His three days of imprisonment had tormented her as much as him.

  “I’d like to plant chives,” she said almost too quietly to hear.

  “We can do that,” he said, not sure why she wanted chives in particular.

  “Why didn’t you kill Basil?” she asked, finally looking at him. “I saw you hesitate before handing me the knife.”

  “I wanted to,” he admitted. “I wanted to feel his blood pulse through my fingers. But I kept thinking about Thomas.”

  “About his family.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say but let slip, “You never had a family.”

  No sarcasm, just silence. She looked away again.

  “Scythe, I can’t have this hanging over us too,” he admitted.

  “I don’t want it there either,” she said. “I don’t care about sharing it now. It’s just brought up a lot of things I’d rather forget.”

  “If you want, I’ll tell you of my death,” he said. “Tell you exactly what happened. Then we’re even.”