Chapters (53)
- Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area- Western Half
- Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Eastern Half
- Map of Kingdom of Finfalla and Surrounding Area - Full Map
- Important Trigger Warning
- Prologue
- PART I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Interlude: The River of Life
- PART II
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Interlude: Fallow Fields
- PART III
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Interlude: Of Man and Monster
- PART IV
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- POSTLUDES
- Postlude 1: Lana Vica
- Postlude 2: Ludo Vica
- Postlude 3: Cainan
- Acknowledgments
- An excerpt from Heartsworn, Volume II in The Forsworn Oath, available for preorder now!
- PART I
This woman had killed before. Probably more than once. And she was more than willing to kill again. Perhaps they had more in common than he’d first thought.
“I am a man from Marchessault, nothing more, nothing less. Employment dried up so I decided to try something new. Hunting small game. Selling pelts and salted meat. There is demand for this sort of thing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Fine. If you tell me who you are and what you’re doing in this forest, I’ll do the same.”
“You first. After all, I asked you so nicely.”
“Nicely? No man should be threatened with his own weapon.”
“Fair enough.” She drew the dagger away from his throat and casually tossed it from the cliff.
“Hey!” he said, futilely reaching for it but catching only air. In the two seconds he was distracted by his dagger’s demise, she’d somehow armed herself with another knife, which was already pressed to his throat in place of the previous one. “Are you happy now?” she asked. “This one is mine.”
“That was a fine dagger. One of the best I’ve ever owned.” Compared to the loss of his weapon, everything that had happened before had been a series of minor annoyances. Void, some of it had been enjoyable even, his entertainment for the day. But now he was angry.
“If you tell me the truth, I’ll replace your blade with one of mine. They are just as fine.”
“How do I know you’ll follow through on your promise? How do I know you won’t kill me if you don’t like my answer?”
“You don’t.”
“Then it seems we’re at an impasse. Kill me if you must. The truth can die with me. I will have no regrets.” It was a lie he liked to tell himself on almost a daily basis lest he drink himself into oblivion. Half the time, he did anyway.
Calling someone’s bluff was a calculated risk that usually offered three possible outcomes: 1) the someone was a real bluffer, and the upper hand would soon be reversed in his favor; 2) the someone didn’t yet know whether they were bluffing and hoped they wouldn’t be called on it, so when they were, they would be momentarily distracted while considering their next course of action, which would then give him an opportunity to turn the proverbial tables on them, or; 3) they weren’t bluffing at all, which meant he’d made a very grave mistake.