The Queen of Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

permanently consuming the soul of its wielder, until either the host died or he or she was too far separated from the blade (which was also fatal). Sword had been Heath’s partner through ten incarnations, each one distinctly Sword but heavily seasoned with the mannerisms and experience of its current “owner.”
    There were many stories of cursed items that influenced their owners’ behavior. Sword was the opposite—he was an intelligent artifact that was influenced by his wielders.
    “I call that maneuver Heart and Soul,” the scarred Fodder said, admiring his new countenance once in the surface of his blade. “Get it? You do one in the head and the other in their—”
    “I get it.” Heath retracted his blade. “Please tell me giving cute names to your killing blows isn’t your new quirk.”
    “Nah, I don’t think I’m that witty,” Sword said. “We should get out of here before the Invocari decide to investigate a noise disturbance. I’m pretty sure they heard that screaming bitch all the way up in the Overlook.”
    “Was that really necessary?” Heath indicated the head on the boardwalk, the girl’s mouth and eyes frozen wide in a perpetual shriek of horror.
    “She was no saint.” Sword grabbed his scabbard off the ground and shoved his blade inside. “You know how you always said you’d put me in people who deserved it? Well, this asshole’s a part of me now, and the lot of them deserved much worse than a quick death. And he worked for Cordovis, which is several orders of magnitude worse.”
    Heath held his hand over the bodies. “In the name of Ohan, Lord Father and bringer of Illumination, I command your return to the Light Eternal. May you shine forever.” This was called the battle eulogy because the whole rite consisted of exactly twenty-three words, a holy number of life, and it could be said quickly over a mass grave during the heat of combat or a hasty retreat.
    Sword rolled his brown Fodder eyes. “You know doing four seconds of priesty shit doesn’t make up for the fact that three out of these four kills were yours, right? If he existed, your god would be right pissed at you over this carnage.”
    Heath turned away. “You didn’t grow up down here. No one will give a shit about poor old Cosgrove, except the eight-eyed piranhas that live in the alchemical waste pools or the shadow urchins who’ll pick their pockets clean when we head out of here. This place made them the way they are. They deserve at least a small measure of humanity.”
    Heath tore off his bloody doublet and tossed it into the river, revealing reinforced black leather armor strapped with hidden throwing knives. He then paused, doubled over, and puked in the river. It came on without warning. Sword’s meaty hand rubbed his back.
    Sword scrunched his brow. “You don’t get sick.”
    Heath wiped his mouth and dismissed Sword’s concern. “It was probably that rancid wine I had at the Oar. Forget about it.”
    “I hate it when you get all serious,” Sword moaned as he followed him.
    “Me too.” Heath sighed. “I do have just the thing to lighten the mood, however.”
    “Oh?” Sword placed his hands on Heath’s. “That’s riiiight…I’m a man now. A big rough-and-tumble Patrean bloke with scars and everything. And nothing gets me more worked up than a good fight. Or a really one-sided fight. Any fight actually…”
    “Let’s keep it professional.” Heath picked up Sword’s bloody hands, raised them off his shoulder, and casually released them to the air behind him. “I meant that I have a job for us that you might find interesting. Do you know anything about Harrowers?”
    Sword froze. His eyes lit up like a little boy unwrapping his first training sword. “Are they back?”
    Heath shook his head. “There’s been a rash of harrowings lately, all in Rivern and sometimes more than one a night. That’s never happened, as far as I know. And what’s more, someone’s been spotted at the scenes