Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(3)

“Then?” Temra prompts.

“And then I couldn’t breathe.”

I head outdoors, Temra following. Our city is located in the middle of a conifer forest. It rains every other day of the week, and the sun is constantly battling the clouds for dominance in the sky. Today the sun shines brightly, warming my skin through the light breeze.

Our parents kept chickens and a goat in the backyard when I was little. I remember helping Mother collect the eggs each morning. But neither Temra nor I care for such responsibilities, so the land mostly serves as an area for me to demonstrate my weapons.

When I judge myself to be a safe distance from the house, I grasp the mace tightly before taking a swing in the direction of the old cedar tree.

Nothing magical happens.

Though rare, there have been a few times when I’ve unwittingly magicked a weapon and had to figure out how it worked.

It’s rather frustrating.

I try bringing the shaft down against the dirt-packed ground, but that does nothing either. On a whim, I breathe onto the mace, since my face had been so close to it during my attack.

Still nothing.

“Let me try,” Temra says.

“Absolutely not. You might hurt yourself.”

“I’ve handled your weapons before.”

“But oftentimes my weapons have long-range effects. Until I’m sure what it does, I won’t let you—”

Temra falls to her knees, her hands going to her throat as she makes a gasping noise. I’d started twirling the weapon over my head, and I immediately stop and rush over to her.

“What happened?” I ask. “Did you swallow something?”

A burst of air fills her lungs, and she stares wonderingly at the weapon. “I didn’t swallow anything. It’s the mace. Do that again.”

“What?”

“Spin it over your head in a circle.”

I give one full rotation of the weapon, and this time Temra is ready. “I can’t breathe when you do that.”

I stare at the mace in shock before handing it over to her. “Now you can try.”

She does, and I feel the effects instantly. The mace is sucking the air away from me, toward itself. I step farther and farther away. Once I reach about ten feet, I can breathe again.

Temra stops the motion. “Incredible!”

“I’m glad my sheer panic is good for something.”

Temra looks on me sadly. “It’s all right, Ziva. Whenever it happens, I’ll be here for you.”

As the older sister, I should be there for her. But more often than not, she is the one saving me. Temra should have been the one to receive our mother’s gift for magic. She is so much stronger and braver than I will ever be, but I don’t think she realizes how much my gift took away my own childhood.

I’m glad that, at sixteen, Temra is able to concentrate on more trivial tasks, like flirting with boys and focusing on her schooling. But me? I’ve been providing for us since I was twelve. I often wonder if spending so much of my formative years locked in a forge somehow made me fearful of everything else. At eighteen, I hate to leave the house and be around people.

Or maybe it’s simply an effect of the magic itself. I’ve no one to ask for answers about magic. Mother was killed when I was five, long before my gift manifested.

“The local tournament is only months away,” Temra says. “I’m sure we’ll have many more customers passing through the city between then and now. Everyone is going to want a Zivan blade.”

She’s trying to make me feel better. I appreciate the effort, but I’m still reeling from the effects of my attack.

“It’s a phase,” Temra says, reading my thoughts. “It will pass eventually.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

But I don’t believe it for a moment.





CHAPTER

TWO



It’s Tuesday, which means we go out for dinner.

I hate going out.

There’s a small relief when I see that our usual table is free. I make a beeline for it, taking the far chair. It’s my favorite spot because my back is against the wall. No one can get behind me, and I can see the whole room.

I don’t like feeling as if people are staring at me, and it’s a sensation I can’t shake off when my back is exposed to a large space.

Temra and I make a show of raising the menus, but we both already know what we want.

The waitress greets us both by name before taking our orders. “I’ll have the cauliflower soup and fresh bread,” Temra says. “She’ll have the lamb and steamed vegetables.”

I nod with a forced smile on my face toward the waitress. It’s an arrangement Temra and I have. We’re both terrible cooks. Everything seems to be burned or soggy when we try. Still, I’d rather eat poor food and be safe at home than out and about where strangers can watch me eat. Temra, on the other hand, loves eating out, so we have a deal. We can eat out for half the week; the other half we take turns cooking at home. And Temra always orders for me so I don’t have to talk to anyone but her.

I place my hands atop the table in front of me and twist my fingers together, a habit I’ve had since childhood. A light buzzing sensation has taken root just under my skin. In an attempt to distract myself from my discomfort, I say, “The governor came by to collect his weapon this afternoon while you were at school.”