Warbreaker

Chapter 35

Vivenna awoke sore, tired, and terrified. She tried struggling, but her hands and legs were tied. She succeeded only in rolling herself into an even less comfortable position.

She was in a dark room, gagged, her face pressing awkwardly against a splintering wood floor. She still wore her skirt, an expensive foreign one like those that Denth complained about. Her hands were tied behind her.

Someone was in the room with her. Someone with a lot of Breath. She could feel it without even trying. She twisted, rolling onto her back in an awk ward motion. She could see a figure silhouetted against a starlit sky, standing on a balcony a short distance away.

It was him.

He turned toward her, face shadowed in the unlit room, and she began to squirm with panic. What was this man planning to do with her? Horrible possibilities leaped to mind.

The man walked toward her, feet thumping roughly on the floor, the wood shaking. He knelt down, pulling her head up by the hair. “I’m still deciding whether or not to kill you, Princess,” he said. “If I were you, I’d avoid doing anything more to antagonize me.”

His voice was deep, thick, and had an accent she couldn’t place. She froze in his grip, trembling, hair bleached white. He appeared to be studying her, eyes reflecting starlight. He dropped her back to the wooden floor.

She groaned through the gag as he lit a lantern, then pushed the balcony doors closed. He reached to his belt and removed a large hunting dagger. Vivenna felt a stab of fear, but he simply walked over and cut the bonds on her hands.

He tossed the dagger aside, and it made a thock as it stuck into the wood of the far wall. He reached for something on the bed. His large, black-hilted sword.

Vivenna scrambled back, hands free, and pulled at her gag, intending to scream. He whipped the scabbarded sword toward her, making her freeze.

“You will remain quiet,” he said sharply.

She huddled back into the corner. How is this happening to me? she thought. Why hadn’t she fled back to Idris long ago? She’d been deeply unsettled when Denth had killed the ruffians in the restaurant. She’d known then that she was dealing with people and situations that were truly dangerous.

She’d been an arrogant fool to think that she could do anything in this city. This monstrous, overwhelming, terrible city. She was nothing. Barely a peasant from the countryside. Why had she been determined to get herself involved in this people’s politics and schemes?

The man, Vasher, stepped forward. He undid the clasp on that deep, black sword, and Vivenna felt a strange nausea strike her. A thin wisp of black smoke began to curl up from the blade.

Vasher approached, backlit by the lantern, the sheathed tip of the sword dragging along the floor behind him. Then he dropped the sword to the floor in front of Vivenna.

“Pick it up,” he said.

She untensed slightly, looking up, though she still huddled in the corner. She felt tears on her cheeks.

“Pick up the sword, Princess.”

She had no training with weapons, but maybe . . . She reached for the sword, but felt her nausea grow far stronger. She groaned, her hand twitching as it approached the strange black blade.

She shied away.

“Pick it up!” Vasher bellowed.

She complied with a gagged cry of desperation, grabbing the weapon, feeling a terrible sickness travel like a wave up her arm and into her stomach. She found herself ripping away her gag with desperate fingers.