Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(10)

I walk to the middle of the room and spin in place, taking in the gorgeous portraits on the walls. There are five in total, spaced at even intervals. Each is shaped in a long oval, each taller than my person. The first one is of a woman. She looks older than I am but not by too much. Her skin is a deep brown, with rosy cheeks, and hair separated into tiny braids that rain down over her shoulders. She smiles, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. She looks mischievous, as though hiding a secret from whoever looks upon her.

The second is of a man, perhaps the same age or slightly older than the woman. Also dark-skinned, hands in his pockets, eyes looking at something over my head. He wears his hair to several inches in length, and it stands up on end in a glorious halo around his face. He wears an earring in one ear, rings on his fingers.

After the man, there are two girls, and then a final man on the end. All with brown skin, different expressions, though similar features.

“Are these…?” I ask.

“The rest of my half siblings,” Petrik says. He turns to the portrait on the left of the door we just entered through. “Meet Ravis, because we definitely don’t want to run into him in the flesh.”

The oldest of King Arund’s children appears to also be the shortest. He wears his hair shorn close to his scalp—the same way Petrik likes to wear his. But unlike Petrik, Ravis’s eyes are more hooded, his nose smaller, his lips fuller. He looks dead-on at whoever’s watching, as though daring them to challenge him. He must be near thirty years of age.

“The detail is extraordinary. You’d almost think they were in the room with us,” I say.

“That’s because these were done by a magically gifted painter.”

Kellyn and I both shift in Petrik’s direction.

“I won’t disclose his name or identity because I’ve also been sworn to secrecy on his behalf. It’s no matter. We only need his paintings, which are magicked into portals.”

“Portals,” I repeat stupidly.

“Yes, if he paints the exact same image—detail for detail—in two different areas, they work as a bridge between the two places.”

I take in the paintings again, stopping at Ravis’s. “You mean—”

“With these, you can get to any capital in the span of a heartbeat just by stepping through them.”

I reach a hand out toward Ravis’s face, but Kellyn snatches it back.

“This is awfully convenient,” he says. “Why didn’t we use them to get here in the first place, then?”

“Like I said, the portals connect the capitals. You must be in one to get here. We were in Amanor.”

“What about when we were in Lisady’s Capital fleeing from the warlord? We could have traveled here and been safe!”

Petrik grunts. “I don’t know where the portals are within each capital. I haven’t gone through them before! I just know they exist. I’d have to be able to take us to the portal directly. But once we walk through this one, we’ll keep track of where we go so we can bring Serutha back through it.”

The breath expels from my lungs. “You’re saying we can still save Temra.”

“We can save her.”

“Tell me what to do,” I say at once.

“First, we need to get dressed.” Petrik passes out the clothing, shakes out the wrinkles from his own garment, and begins to disrobe.

There’s nowhere for me to turn for privacy, so I do the same, trying my best not to think about the male bodies behind me.

I get the garment on and then reach under the skirt because I’m sure the material must be caught on something.

Nope.

What must be a knee-length dress on a shorter girl, is mid-thigh on me. It must be warm in Ravis’s Territory, because the dress also hangs off only one shoulder. I shrug my boots back on, but there’s still too much skin between the top of the boots and the bottom of my dress for me to be comfortable.

This is for Temra, I remind myself.

When I turn back around, Kellyn and Petrik are both staring at my legs.

My cheeks heat to burning.

“Stop it!” I whisper-shout to both of them.

Petrik shakes himself upright. “Sorry. It’s just, I don’t think that disguise is going to work in your favor.”

Kellyn raises his eyes slowly until they burn into my own. “You— I— You have really long legs.” He swallows audibly before turning away.

“Yours are longer!” I say defensively. How dare he make fun of me right now. Of all the times.

Petrik coughs. “I promise he meant that as a compliment. You have very nice legs, Ziva.”

“Stop talking about my legs!”

“Right.” Petrik coughs unnecessarily again.

Kellyn wears knee-length shorts with a loose shirt above, while Petrik has some sort of skirt on beneath a similar shirt. The scholar has also wrapped a headscarf about him to hide the features of his face.

Without any further prompting, I thrust my hand against the portrait of Ravis. Instead of meeting the resistance of the wall, my fingers disappear down to the knuckles.

I take a breath and step through, slamming my eyes closed.





CHAPTER FOUR


I walk through the portrait just like I would an open doorway, but my head bashes against something on the other side.