Del’s face was colorless. “Tiger—”
“Think about it,” I said. “And think about me for a change, instead of your oaths of honor. Instead of your obsession.”
Shock receded slowly. I’d struck a number of chords within her, but clearly she was unprepared to deal with what I’d said. And so she returned to the original topic. “I still say—I still say—the bet is a waste of time.”
I shrugged. “So let’s test it.”
Her eyes were assessive. “How much are you willing to wager?”
I stared hard at her for a moment. Then pulled my sword from its sheath.
It felt right. Warm and good and right, like a woman hugging your neck.
Like a fully quenched jivatma making promises to protect you.
All the hairs stood up on my arms. It took all the strength I had to put the sword down. In fitful, tarnished moonlight, the new-made jivatma gleamed.
Color drained from her face. I nodded confirmation of the question she wouldn’t ask. “Now you know how serious I am.”
“But—you can’t. You can’t wager your sword.”
“I just did.”
She stared at the weapon lying mutely in front of my knees. “What would I do with it?”
“If you won—and you won’t—anything you want. He’d be your sword.”
“I have a sword.” Her left hand went out to touch the harness and sheath lying at her side. “I have a sword, Tiger.”
“Then sell it. Give it away. Break it. Melt it down.” I shrugged. “I don’t care, Del. If you win, you can do whatever you want.”
Slowly she shook her head. “You have no respect for things you don’t understand.”
I cut her off. “Respect must be earned, bascha, not bought. Not even trained, as it is in Staal-Ysta. Because until tested, respect is nothing but a word. Emptiness, Del. Nothing more than that.”
Still she shook her head. “That sword was made for you—made by you—”
“It’s a piece of steel,” I said curtly.
“You completed the rituals, asked the blessing—”
“—and stuck it into you.” I shocked her into silence. “Do you really think I want a sword that tried to kill you?”
Del looked at Boreal, sheathed by her side. Remembering the circle. Remembering the dance.
Her tone was oddly hollow. “I would have killed you.”
“You tried. I made you mad, and you tried. Fair enough—it was what I meant to do, to throw you out of your pattern.” I shrugged. “But I didn’t want to kill you. I didn’t intend to do it. The sword wanted to do it … that bloodthirsty, angry sword.”
“Angry,” she echoed.
“It was,” I told her. “I could feel it. Taste it. I could hear it in my head.”
She heard something in my tone. “But—now it isn’t angry?”
I smiled grimly. “Not so much anymore. Just like that hound, it got what it came for.”
Del nodded slowly. “You killed someone, then. After all. You’ve quenched your jivatma.”
I squinted thoughtfully. “Not—exactly. Killed something, yes, but not what you might expect. And not in the way you told me.”
Del, frowning, was very intent. “What have you done, Tiger?”
“Killed something,” I repeated. “Cat. White, dappled silver.” For some reason I said nothing about the pelt, which I’d tucked away into saddle-pouches. “But I didn’t sing.”
“Snow lion,” Del said. “You didn’t sing at all?”
“I’m a sword-dancer, Del. Not a sword-singer, or whatever it is you claim. I kill people with my sword. I don’t sing to it.”
Del shook her head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t really matter if you didn’t sing aloud. Even a mute can earn a jivatma. Even a mute can sing a song.”
I scowled. “How?”
She smiled. “A song can be sung in silence. A song can be of the soul, whether anyone hears it or not. Only the sword counts, and it only requires the soul and all the feelings in it.”
I thought of the song I’d heard on the overlook by the lakeshore. The song I’d heard in my head ever since I’d named the blade. Thanks to the Cantéada, I’d been unable to forget it.
And now it was my sword.
“I don’t need it,” I declared. “I don’t want it, Del.”
“No. But it wants you.” She pointed to my sword. “To find you, I used my jivatma. I painted the sky with my sword—you saw all the colors. You saw all the lights. All from a song, Tiger—and you could do the same.”
The questions boiled up. “Why did you do it? And how did you find me so fast? Especially with that wound … it should have put you down longer than my own did.” A sudden chill touched a fingertip to my spine. “You didn’t do anything—odd—did you? Make any promises? Any pacts? I know how you are about those things.”