Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(12)

Temra sweeps up broken glass from the displays, while I right all our items for sale in the shop. With heavy hearts, we discuss our options.

“I could quit school,” my sister says. “Find work now. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with those idiots, and we could get out of town that much quicker with the two of us working.”

“Not an option I’m willing to consider.”

“The only other option is leaving now. We can’t live like this. Fearful of vandalizers or thieves or maybe even something worse. Who knows how things might escalate?”

“We really should involve the governor, not just the city guard.”

“It won’t help. Asel will only make our lives worse. The governor isn’t about to imprison his only child and his friends, and I guarantee that incarceration is the only thing that’ll stop—”

The bells at the top of the shop door ring as the hinges swing inward. We both turn in surprise, because we put out the Closed sign while we cleaned.

Two men in scarlet uniforms bearing falcons on their chests enter the shop. They give Temra and me disinterested looks before doing a sweep of the area. One of them goes into the forge. He leaves the door open behind him, and I watch as he opens a few of the larger cupboards—those big enough to hold a person, I realize.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Temra demands before I can. I rack my memory for anyone I know with a falcon as their sigil.

When done, the guard who stayed in the shop knocks on the door twice, and another figure joins them.

The warlord.

I’d completely forgotten about my conversation with Kymora, and I’m embarrassed that she’s arrived to see the place in such a state.

Temra looks the woman over, forgetting the rude guards. “My lord, welcome to the Zivan Smithy.”

“Warlord,” I correct her.

Her eyes widen, and she looks at the woman with blatant fascination. “Warlord. Please do forgive the mess. We had trouble with some vandals today.”

Kymora doesn’t comment on the state of the shop. She says, “Ziva, good to see you again.”

“And you,” I say.

Kymora walks around the shop, taking in what remains of all the displays. She pauses at a row of daggers behind a now broken glass case.

“Everything in the shop is imbued with magic, Warlord,” Temra says, ever the perfect saleswoman. “Those daggers never dull.”

Kymora strolls around the space, looking for all the world like she couldn’t care less about the broken glass at her feet. She picks up objects seemingly at random before replacing them. Temra is quick to tell her what everything does. She does not insult her by relaying prices. A woman of the warlord’s status would not be encumbered by something so trifling as money.

Kymora comes to a stop in front of a quiver of arrows. She draws one out to examine the point.

“Those were designed to hit flying targets,” Temra says. “For hunters of geese and other fowl. They’ll never miss the heart of the bird they’re aimed at.”

“It’s all extraordinary,” Kymora says at last. “I see why word of you has spread to the whole of Ghadra, Ziva. I’ve had occasion to run into some of the weapons you’ve forged, including a pair of daggers that shattered anything they came into contact with. I finally decided to make the trip myself to commission a weapon.”

“Thank you, Warlord,” I say, remembering the weapons in question. I made them last year for a mercenary who wanted something that wouldn’t weigh her down on long journeys.

“Is there somewhere we might talk in private?” she asks.

Temra narrows her eyes at the woman, assuming—and probably rightly so—that she’s the one who isn’t supposed to overhear the conversation.

“We could step into the forge, but I’m afraid it’s worse off than the shop, since we haven’t even started setting it to rights.”

“It’ll do fine.”

I precede her through the back doors; a harsh tingling pricks along my spine at having my back to her, but there’s nothing else for it.

Kymora shuts the doors behind her, leaving her men with my sister. No—to guard the only entrance into the shop. Someone like her likely has hundreds of enemies if she needs to take such precautions.

It’s unusually cool in the forge. The embers in the kiln have died, and evening is approaching. The windows are open, as is my habit to do so first thing each morning. Kymora promptly closes them so she won’t risk being overheard. Candlelight illuminates her form.

“I have a proposition for you,” she begins. “Something I think will greatly benefit us both. I want to commission a weapon, and if you make it up to my standards, I’d like to offer you a job at my estate in Orena’s Territory. The position will pay handsomely, and you’ll be making magicked weapons for my soldiers.”

“You want me to come work for you?” I echo.

She’s not the first to offer me such a position. I’ve had major noblemen send missives with similar offers, and I even received one from Prince Verak. As word of my abilities began to spread, more and more powerful people wanted to use me. I’ve turned down every offer, of course. I like my independence. Thankfully, no one is in a position to try to force me to do their bidding. Not with the young territories still trying to find their footing. Powerful people have much more important things to focus on at the moment. This is just another reason why Temra and I need to make our way to the northern continent as soon as possible. I’m becoming too well-known.