Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(20)

There’s no point in stressing over how we’ll be received or if we’ll be received or if we’ll be believed when we claim to be relations. Our main concern is escape.

“We have to find them,” I answer.

“But they don’t know us. They’ve never met us. Did Father ever even talk about them?”

“Not that I remember. But they’re family. They’re our only hope.”

“Okay,” Temra says after a moment. She riffles through a bunch of tools atop one of the worktables and stalks over to me. “That’s good. We have a destination. But we need to take precautions.”

“Precautions?”

I hear a snip, and then my head feels significantly lighter. My hand flies to my ponytail, only to find it practically gone.

“Temra!”

She shoves the scissors at me. “Now you do me.” She turns around, brandishing her curly locks.

“No!”

“Time is precious right now. We need to alter our appearances as much as possible. Now start snipping.”

Maybe it’s silly, but only now do I start to cry. I didn’t cry when Asel wronged us. I didn’t cry when I knew we’d have to leave the city or when I realized I’d have to betray the most dangerous individual in the world.

But as I cut through my sister’s beautiful hair, I start sniffling.

Temra has no tears to shed. When she turns back around, she’s as strong as ever.

“Kymora can never have the sword,” she says.

I nod. It takes a few minutes to light the kiln, but once it’s raging with heat, I carefully toss the sword inside. Let it melt and destroy the magic with it. Temra doesn’t move as I do this. She stares off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.

Though it kills me to say the next words, I push through: “Kymora didn’t get a good look at you. She probably won’t even remember you. You could stay. Not here, of course, but in the city. I can manage—”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Temra says. “We’re sisters, Ziva. We’re in this together. I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever. Besides, Kymora saw me. She knows I’m your sister. If she couldn’t find you, how long do you think it would take before she came looking for me to draw you out? I’m safest with you.”

I shut my eyes, feel tears threatening again. “I’m so sorry, Temra. I never meant to put you in danger.”

“We can discuss it on the road. You better make room in your pack for taffies.”

And she disappears in the direction of her room.

I don’t know how the Sister Goddesses blessed me with the most perfect sister, but they did. It’s beyond selfish, but I am relieved and eternally grateful to have her with me for this dreadful turn in my life.

My hands shake as I pack.

I’m not going to panic. I’m not going to panic. There is no time for panic.

I keep my mind on the tasks I need to accomplish. That’ll keep it off the danger.

Gather food. Clothes. Money. Pack the horse.

I have quite a bit of money lying around the house, but most of my coins are stored at the Lirasu Bank for safekeeping. Dare I go to collect more?

There’s no time. The warlord could be watching the house for all I know. We can’t risk venturing into the middle of the city.

In the forge, I grab what few weapons I possess. A staff. A shortsword. A spear. I wrap them all in a bundle and attach them to Reya. Temra and I take some of the daggers from the shop and hide them into our clothing wherever we can. We take extra shoes for the horse.

“Oh no,” I whisper under my breath.

Temra raises a brow.

“What are we going to do for safety on the road? We’ll be traveling at night. Two girls alone.”

“That might be to our advantage,” Temra says. “We’ll likely travel unnoticed if we don’t use the road.”

“But we’ll be slower if we don’t take the road. We need to put as much distance between us and the warlord as we can.”

Temra is quiet for a moment. She looks as though she wishes to say something. Then, “I think we should hire protection. I know of a mercenary staying at a tavern located on the edge of the city.”

Though my whole body tenses at the thought of adding a stranger to our small party—in trusting a stranger with our safety—I nod. “It’s our only option.”

When Reya is all loaded up, Temra and I don our cloaks, and I take a long look at my home and sanctuary.

I expect to feel a sad longing, but all I can seem to think about is that sword and its magic. Magic that I can still feel …

I turn to Temra. “I need to check something.”

I plunge back into the house as quickly as possible, making a beeline for the forge and the kiln in the center. As I peer into the dying embers of the oven, my stomach sinks to my toes.

It can’t be.

Using a pair of tongs, I grasp at what I hope to be indistinguishable remains of the weapon.

But the sword is intact. Unmelted. Perfect as though I’d just finished it.

I’m not about to try breaking it apart with my tools; the sword would only resist my blows as it did after I imbued it with my secrets.

It can’t be destroyed.

My head swims with panic. How did this happen? How could I have done this?