The Usurper's Crown Read Online Free PDF Page B

reached inside his coat, and pulled out a short-bladed knife that glinted dully in the firelight. Ingrid stared, for she had never seen such a thing. The dark blade was not all of a piece. Instead, it was three separate strips of metal, braided together and twisted into a wicked-looking point.
    “The blade is cold iron,” he said. “Such is supposed to have power over spirits and haunts. I was glad — ” He broke off the sentence, and began it again. “I was glad to find out such sayings were true.”
    “And is the haunt gone then?”
    “Only for tonight. The iron tore your sister’s shawl, which was holding him here despite your calling her and the holy names you invoked. But he himself is not injured, nor could he be by such means.” Avan looked at the blade with an expression of regret, and then tucked it back into his jacket.
    “And how did you come to know so much?”
    “I was well taught as a boy.”
    Which was no answer, and Ingrid saw in his face that he was clearly aware of the fact.
    Before she could ask another question, Grace stirred under her hand. She gasped once, sharply, as if in pain, and her eyelids flew open.
    “Where …” Grace pushed herself upright. Ingrid expected her next words to be “am I?” Instead, Grace stared wildly toward the lake. “Where is he?”
    Ingrid knelt down in front of her sister, putting her body between Grace and the water as she had put herself between Grace and the ghost. “Who is he?” she demanded, grasping her sister’s shoulders. “What has he done to you?”
    Grace’s eyes searched Ingrid’s face without recognition for a long, painful moment. “He is cold,” she said. She spoke slowly, dragging each word from somewhere deep inside her. “He saved me. I would have drowned, but he freed me from the water. I promised I would not leave him alone under there.”
    “Ask her if he told her his name.”
    Ingrid started, almost letting go of Grace. For a moment she had forgotten Avan. She frowned at him.
    He had laid his stick across his knees. “She will not be able to hear me. She is too far gone to hear any but those of her own blood.”
    Ingrid nodded once, as if she understood what was happening. She tried to catch Grace’s gaze again, but Grace was stared over her shoulder, searching for the ghost. Ingrid grasped her sister’s chin as if she were still a child, and pulled it back down so that Grace would be forced to look at her.
    “Grace, what is his name?”
    Again, that heartbreaking pause while Grace came at least a small ways back to herself. “I don’t know. I just know I promised. He’s alone. It’s so cold.”
    Grace began to tremble, and Ingrid’s determination to find immediate answers melted away. She wrapped her arms around Grace’s shoulder. “This is no good. I have to get her home. Our family will be … frantic.”
    “Yes.” Avan stood, still keeping hold of the stick. “Can you manage her?”
    “Since she was in diapers,” replied Ingrid. She stood, keeping a firm grip on Grace’s shoulders. Grace struggled briefly, which Ingrid found she expected from the way Grace’s gaze would not leave the shore. But Grace seemed to lack the will to fight for long, and sagged against Ingrid’s chest. “Although, I swear, I wish this were as simple,” Ingrid breathed.
    Ingrid found herself grateful that Avan pretended he did not hear that.
    Avan let Ingrid lead the way, holding tight to Grace and pulling her forward one staggering step at a time. The farther they moved from shore, the weaker Grace seemed to become until Ingrid found herself supporting her sister’s entire weight. She looked toward Avan, intending to ask for help, but then she saw the way he walked, stiff and alert, his arms ready at his side, clutching the stick the way he had clutched the knife. He walked like a soldier, she thought, as if he was expecting an ambush. Perhaps he was. The thought of that sent a fresh thrill of fear through her, and Ingrid kept