Nero Salvic~Memories of the Protector

Chapter 8

“The dagger?” Krasia asks again, still glancing cautiously at Annetta. “Why does she need it?”

I feel like the thin wooden stool I’m sat on is going to collapse under my weight, but it’s holding strong.

I, however, am not. It’s becoming tiring trying to remind Krasia what the dagger looks like and when I leant it to her. She still doesn’t quite believe that this is the real Annetta.

Annetta stand by the entrance, looking graceful despite the uncomfortable look on her face. She did mention how her shoes were hurting her feet on the way here.

As a result she now stands barefoot.

I was scolded as Krasia accused me of peeping.

‘It’s typical of him,’ Zecta had explained at Annetta’s confusion, ‘Any girl would think he was trying to catch them naked.’

I’d laughed sarcastically when she did that and she smiled snidely.

“The one I told you was the party trick dagger-” I try again, and am cut off by Zecta’s impudence as she mutters, ‘Pervert’.

The room goes silent for a moment as Krasia thinks, she looks back at Dragon as though he might remind her of it’s whereabouts, but she’s looking for support.

“It ain’t yours.” Dragon reminds her, quietly, “And ya di’n’t rightly steal it.”

Rightly my arse. How can thievery ever be considered righteous?

I snort. A short burst of stuck-up amusement.

Dragon glares at me furiously, but doesn’t pay me much attention, and sighs, turning back to his beloved.

“Just give it ‘em back.” He mutters.

Krasia grits her teeth, she clearly loves that dagger. And it truly is beautiful, I admit.

She storms out of the area, and to their little vault hidden behind a brick, coming back a short while later after a few metal-on-metal noises resound about our shoulders, and she’s holding a horn-handled dagger, a single red jewel embedded within the polished handle.

The blade is slightly rusted due to the rain that had seeped between the gaps in the bricks and the vault.

Annetta seems shocked at the condition, but it is the standard in this area, it doesn’t phase us.

There’s blood along the blade, mingled with the rust, and stained into the scratches on the horn.

Krasia hands it nervously to Annetta, who starts running her hands over the handle, along the smooth silver metal that is still apparent.

She looks up at Krasia and smiles, friendly, as always.

She begins to talk, but Krasia starts.

“Don’t clean it.” She says, speaking quickly. “I want you to remember me when you see it.”

For some reason, she looks at me when she speaks, as though I am somehow related to what she is saying.

I just look away and stand up.

“Alright.” I scowl, “You have your dagger, now go.”

“OI!” Zecta snaps, slapping my arm, “Don’t be so hasty. She’s your sister!”

“Like I want to see her that long just because she’s my sister.” I grumble, “If anything that makes me want to see her less.”

“You’re a rude ass-hole, dick-face.” She hisses.