Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(40)

“They’re called penguins,” Volanna explains. “They’re normally found in very cold climates, but this is a special breed found in the fjords.” We quickly learn that Volanna loves animals, and she tells us the name of every fish as we spot them.

We laugh over the birds playing with one another. They push each other into the water, play games of chase.

At one point, Temra excuses herself to find a privy, leaving me alone with Volanna.

“It’s all right,” she says once my sister is gone. “Your father was the same way, you know. Very shy. A man of few words. More comfortable when he was on his own. I didn’t think he’d ever go off and leave me, let alone marry. I’m happy he found someone to share his life with.” She gives me a warm smile. “All I’m saying is, you can say as little or as much as you’d like. I understand and don’t hold it against you either way.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I offer her my first sincere smile.

I hadn’t known that about my father. I don’t remember him being shy or soft-spoken. What I remember is him throwing me high into the air and catching me. I remember him dancing with me, having me stand on his toes while he’d twirl me around the room. And I remember him telling me stories, though I can’t recall what they were about.

“I am glad to be here and to have met you,” I say. “I hope you don’t think differently.”

“Not at all. I can’t wait for us to grow closer.” She leans over to hand me a smelly sack full of dead fish. I reach in with my fingers, pull one out, and toss it into the water. I watch in fascination as two penguins race for it.

Before the day’s end, I set out to find the nearest smithy in the hopes that she’ll let me borrow her tools and forge. Temra waits outside with Volanna while I enter the shop. Temra obviously knows I need to make arrangements for Kellyn’s longsword, but Volanna thinks I’m commissioning something.

Stepping into the forge is like stepping into a hot bath. I breathe in the smells, take in the familiar tools. I feel relaxed at once.

Wornessa is nearly two feet shorter than I am, but her arms are so much broader than mine. She and I quickly decide on a price for the use of supplies and her shop. I let her know everything I’ll need, and she promises to procure it for me by the beginning of next week so I can get started. I’m careful not to mention my abilities.

Talking to Wornessa isn’t like talking to anyone else. I know smithying better than anything, and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to discuss it. I wish conversations were always like this. So effortless and enjoyable.



* * *



My anxiety recedes over the next few days as I get to know my grandmother better. She’s fond of basket weaving and cooking. She bakes Temra and me delicious cakes each day, and she shows us how to make a few meals, since we’re both hopeless cooks.

Petrik is polite, giving us space and hovering at the outskirts. He spends a lot of time in his room working on his book, questioning me in the evenings before bed about my abilities.

“Have you read any occurrences of magicked items being destroyed?” I ask casually one night, having tread so carefully to work the conversation so the question would seem natural.

“Sure,” he says without missing a beat. “If the item is simply broken, the magic often breaks with it. I’m sure you’ve come across that on your own with some of your weapons.”

“I have.” But that’s not what I meant. I try again. “What if an item was magically incapable of breaking, though? Do you know any stories about those being destroyed?”

“An item magicked not to break.” He chews on his lip while he thinks. “Why would someone want to break it?”

“What if it was cursed with bad magic?”

“Oh, I see. I know some magics die with their caster, but not all. For example, there was a man who could move water. He would sing to it, and whole rivers would change their course at his command. But when he died, the water reverted back to its natural state. Flowing with the land. Your items, however, are physical and likely wouldn’t lose their magic after you die.”

Well, that’s terribly unhelpful. Not that I want the answer to my problem to be for me to die.

“Why do you ask?” Petrik wants to know.

I dreaded this question, but I also prepared for it. “There are bad people in the world. Someday one of them might possess magic. I was just curious.”

“As magic becomes more common, I’m sure it will undoubtedly find itself in the hands of those who would misuse it. Let us hope that the bad will always be outnumbered by the good. By people like you, Ziva.”

“Thank you, Petrik.” A sharp pain pricks my heart, for I’m the reason magic almost found its way into the hands of a bad person. And I can’t fix it. All I can do is try to keep it away from her.



* * *



With a newfound family that seems to accept me, and everything in order to prepare Kellyn’s weapon, I start to relax. For the first time in a while, I feel safe.

And then Sunday arrives.

Volanna makes us sit in the front row, and in that moment, my regard for her dims. She does, however, shoot me a sympathetic look. Did my father also struggle sitting in the front row? Did he hate public places as much as I do? I’ll have to ask Volanna about it the next chance I get.