Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(35)

What I hadn’t expected was that there were only two of us who advertised our abilities. I thought surely there must be more, even if I hadn’t heard of them before.

“The witch hunts of a century ago really wiped out most of those with magic,” Petrik explains, as though reading my thoughts. “Bloodlines known to carry magic were basically made extinct. Now that magic is no longer outlawed, I hope we’ll begin to see the ability spread.”

I’ve often wondered if that’s who came after Mother and Father. Someone with a violent hatred of magic. But that doesn’t explain why they killed Father.

Or why they left Temra and me alive.

“In all your studies,” I say, “have you ever read about anyone else with an ability like mine? Aside from my mother?”

“I have not, I’m sorry to say. I’ve read about those with control over many of the planet’s natural resources. Clay, plants, water, wood, minerals, animals—even the people themselves.” Petrik grimaces at the last one. “While others before you have used metals and minerals in other ways, you’re the only one I know of to combine magic with forging.

“I came across an old children’s book that talked of a man who could skip rocks great distances over the surface of the water,” Petrik continues. “There was a witch back in the day who could bend silver into any shape she wanted. She was the one to create a common currency throughout all of Ghadra, shaping the metal into coins. There are tales of an old woman who could call grains of sand to her. She could move them where she liked, make them form together to build extraordinary things: a house, a fence, the wall around a city.

“I’m afraid no one interviewed your mother or recorded her abilities. That is why I’m doing this. Life can be fleeting, and we don’t want any more knowledge lost.”

“I’m sorry if our mother’s death was an inconvenience for you,” Temra suddenly bites out.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—Temra, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have phrased it so carelessly. I only meant that what happens in our world is precious and should always be remembered. Your mother should be remembered.”

Somewhat appeased by his words, she says quietly, “I wish I could remember her. I was too young when she died.”

In my memory, she was nothing short of perfect. Beautiful, soothing, loving. I should tell Temra this, but my eyes sting just to think of her. My most vivid memory of her was shortly before she died.

I was so angry with Temra because she was playing with one of my dolls.

“I hate her,” my five-year-old self said. “We should get rid of her.”

“You want me to get rid of your sister? What should we do with her? Put her out in the street? Toss her out with the garbage? What do you think would happen to her?”

I remember feeling a little guilty, but I still thought life would be better without someone taking my things.

Mother bent down to my level. “You listen carefully, Ziva. A sister is the most special gift you could ever be given. Better than any doll. She will be a best friend you can take with you through life. Someone who will love you no matter what.”

Those words stuck with me, and they turned out to be true. When Mother and Father were gone, I was beyond lucky to have Temra with me through it all.

I’m pulled back to the present, realizing I’ve missed the turn the conversation has taken.

“We were very lucky Ziva’s ability manifested itself when it did,” Temra is saying. “Else we might have been stuck in that horrible orphanage for years more.”

“It wasn’t horrible,” I say.

“The staff didn’t hate you as they did me.”

“You pulled pranks on them. Put mud in their boots and hid their teaching supplies.”

“They asked for it. You saw the way Miss Bekis would look at me, like I was some unruly heathen of a child.”

“You were!”

“Just whose side are you on, Ziva?”

The back-and-forth feels so normal that for just a second, I forget about everything else. I can pretend we’re out in the yard, enjoying a warm summer day.

“I, too, was raised in a public house,” Petrik says. “I spent the majority of my life in the library, stuck with the same tutors day after day. I can relate.”

“Did you like growing up in a library?” Temra asks. “Sounds boring.”

“I loved it.” The two of them start sharing life stories, Temra’s full of pranks while Petrik’s life was built on rigorous study.

They’re so very different, but those differences seem to connect them in constant conversation. Temra is fascinated by everything Petrik has to tell her, and he in turn hangs on her every word.

I leave them to it, tugging on Reya’s reins when she tries to stop to eat leaves from a low-hanging tree.

“Was it difficult, being alone while also having to look out for someone younger?”

I startle at the mercenary’s voice. I hadn’t heard him step beside me.

“Of course it was.”

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Thank you, but you needn’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I hate to imagine you all alone. Raising your little sister while you yourself were a child.”