Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(38)

Neither Petrik nor Temra questions the hasty response.

“Why is it that you’ve never met your relatives before now?” Petrik wants to know.

“They live far away,” I answer.

“Which is strange to begin with,” Petrik says. “Most people don’t go far from where they’re born. And didn’t you say your father took your mother’s last name?”

“Yes, but that’s not uncommon. Many couples within the princesses’ territories do that to honor the matriarchal rule.”

“I’m just saying it kind of sounds like your parents wanted to hide from these relations.”

“And why would they do that?” Temra asks.

“I don’t know,” Petrik says. “What if their business is illegal?”

“That might help us,” I say, “considering we’re on the run from … powerful people.”

“But what if they try to exploit that and sell your whereabouts to these powerful people?”

“We’re not about to tell them we’re on the run, now, are we?” Temra says, slapping Petrik playfully on the back of his head. “You worry too much, scholar. Why don’t you stick to reading and let Ziva and me worry about our relations?”

Petrik grumbles something under his breath, which Temra either doesn’t hear or pretends not to.

Petrik’s thoughts don’t worry me, yet I get a sinking sensation in my stomach when the house is in sight.

It’s a large estate, with many pens holding all manner of livestock. Pigs, goats, and birds almost as tall as I am with vibrant blue featherless heads.

The rain is pouring down by the time we reach the front step, and I’m nearly in a full panic over how we will be received, as though the rain might be an omen from the Sisters.

Which is silly. It probably rains here every day. Still, we’ve been so scared for so long on the road. It’s hard to let those fears go now.

“Here we go,” Temra says with a hopeful grin. “I’m so excited!” She knocks on the door, and we wait.

A man who looks so much like my memory of Father opens the door. I feel tears threaten my eyes just at the sight of him.

“Yes?” he wants to know. “If you’re here to sell anything, you’d better leave before Volanna finishes her morning prayers.”

Before I can think over the words, I say, “Are you Darren’s brother?”

The man blinks. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Who are you?”

“Darren is—was—our father.”

A heavy silence follows, and the man—our uncle—steps back. “I think you’d better come inside.”





CHAPTER

ELEVEN



We tie Reya off to a railing. Temra grabs the bundle of weapons to bring inside for safekeeping, while Petrik removes the saddlebags. We wipe our muddy boots on the colorful rug just inside the front door. The spacious receiving room is immaculate, with statues in the likenesses of the Sister Goddesses positioned on decorative tables. Ebanarra is always done in white while Tasminya is in black.

“Please have a seat. I’m sure Mother will be down shortly.”

He leaves us standing there, dripping from the downpour outside. We shuck our cloaks and hang them on nearby pegs. We’re so dirty from weeks of travel that we don’t dare sit on the finely upholstered couches.

“Who are you going to tell them I am?” Petrik asks. “If the mercenary’s cautions about magic are true, we probably shouldn’t tell them I’m a scholar studying magics.”

Temra thinks a moment. “A cousin on our mother’s side.”

Petrik blinks. “All right, then.”

I fiddle so violently with my fingers that they turn red. Temra reaches out a hand to still me.

“It’ll be all right, Ziva. Maybe we’ll even get to sleep in real beds tonight. Who knows? Think of happy things right now. I can do all the talking.”

It feels like hours before anyone joins us, when in reality I’m sure it’s only minutes.

A woman with her hair cut into a gray bob enters the greeting area. She wears a short skirt that doesn’t quite reach her knees. Sandals cover her feet, and her sleeveless shirt shows off beautiful tattoos of local flowers, marking her from her wrists to shoulders. Blue eyes flit from Temra to me and back again. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “You look so much like your father. You have his eyes. And you his nose.” She laughs sadly. “I’m your grandmother, Volanna. Would it be all right if I embraced you?”

Temra runs into her arms without hesitation, and guilt replaces any fear I may have had about this encounter. I didn’t realize how starved for comfort Temra was. But it makes sense. We’ve been on the run for over a month. Before that, it’s just been the two of us. No parents or even parental figures.

I’m not one for hugs with strangers, so I do not embrace Volanna when she turns to me. Instead, I plant an awkward smile on my lips.

But Temra captures her attention once again, telling this woman our names, our ages, where we’re from. She introduces Petrik.

When Volanna asks what happened to our father, Temra tells her how Father and Mother passed away when we were young, leaving it at a home invasion gone awry. Temra and I slept through the whole thing, and I found our parents in the morning. At least that’s what the matron of the orphanage told me. I have no memory of that day, for which I’m grateful. Temra, of course, doesn’t include any of those details. She explains how I’ve provided for us while Temra has focused on her schooling. Volanna nods politely and squeezes Temra’s hand reassuringly through the painful bits.