Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(81)

We get ourselves into the smithy’s forge and shut the door. Temra leans against the back of it. I’d been working in here. The kiln is still raging, which means the windows are open. We can hear every word of their exchange.

“What have you been doing?” Kymora demands.

“Working on my book,” Petrik says. “You know why I followed you to Lirasu. I had my own agenda with the bladesmith.”

“You came because you knew I would get her to Orena’s Territory. You were permitted to question her once she was in my employ.”

“Well, Ziva didn’t want to go with you, so I had to change my plans.”

I can practically hear the warlord grit her teeth from here. “So instead of telling me of her intention to flee, you decided you would just jaunt around Ghadra with her?”

“You always manage to sound in such a way as to suggest that I owe you something. I was raised in a library. I saw you maybe once a year while I was growing up. I thought this journey would be a nice time for us to finally spend some quality time together. But the whole trip you were consulting with your men. Making plans for world domination, I later learn. So, yes, I didn’t tell you where the smithy was going. It would have upset my plans.”

“Your little book is of no consequence compared to what I’ve been working on for decades.”

“Can you believe him?” Kellyn asks to no one in particular, interrupting my eavesdropping.

“He lied to us,” Temra says, so quietly it hurts my heart.

He may have lied, but he’s doing something to help us now. I’m sure of it. Why else would he drag out the conversation with his mother?

“He’s stalling,” I say as the realization hits me. He saved Temra before. He’s trying to save us now.

“What?” they echo.

“He’s giving us time. He means for us to do something. We need to figure out what it is.”

“He’s arguing with his mother,” Temra says, “or did you not catch that part?” She rubs her upper chest, right above her heart, as though it aches. I don’t think she’s conscious of the action.

Kellyn’s gaze shifts to me. “What should we do?”

“Look around. Maybe there’s … another exit? Something underground or—I don’t know.”

Kellyn humors me, starts scouting the area, moving around workbenches and tables, stepping on slats on the ground. Temra is stricken, unable to do anything but stand there, her thoughts turning inward.

I do a sweep of the forge.

I have to be right. Petrik has to be stalling her. He can’t have betrayed us like this only to send us into a nice little cage for his mother to collect after they’re done speaking.

And why in the twin hells didn’t he tell us who he is?

Would you have let him join you on the journey if you had known who his mother is?

Absolutely not.

My eyes trail everywhere. The tables, the floor, even the ceiling. Come on, Petrik. What am I looking for?

“So many things make sense now,” Temra says without any emotion. “The way he barely hesitated when he joined us on the road and we warned him dangerous people were following us. He knew exactly who was following us and that she was no danger to him.

“And the time that guard hesitated before trying to kill him. Right before Kellyn saved us? Petrik must have been telling that soldier who he was. Telling him Kymora wouldn’t want him dead.

“He’s been with us because he never really cared if we succeeded or not. He knew he would be safe, and he wanted to pick Ziva’s brain for information for as long as he had her.”

She growls then, sends her fist slamming into the door behind her. “How dare he?”

“Temra, focus,” I say. “We have to—”

And then I see it.

The kiln. The handles hanging out. I didn’t put anything in there aside from the iron I was melting, and neither did the smithy. He wasn’t working on anything. He was too curious to see what I was up to.

And now he’s dead.

I swallow that thought and reach for the first metal handle.

It’s attached to a cart axle, one end bright red, ready to be magicked.

The next one is a pitchfork, the tines simmering with heat.

And the final piece is a pair of tongs holding a forging hammer.

Petrik did this. He put them in the kiln, heating them for me.

He believes in me.

Enough to go against his mother.

He’s chosen us as his family. Not her.

And though he may never get Temra to understand, I do.

I grab the axle and set to doing what I do best.

But first, “Kellyn, give me your sword.”

He hands it over, and I shove the tip into the flames.





CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE



I’ve always forged my own weapons. I enjoy the process of creating something out of nothing. The magic is wonderful, too, but I love shaping steel into what I need.

Maybe that’s why it never occurred to me to magic something that was already made.

Or I guess it was never a necessity to magic something that was already made. But after what happened in the prison cell, I know that I can do this.

“The fact that you’re my son is the only reason I haven’t skinned you alive yet.” Kymora’s voice floats through the open windows.