Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(109)

“You will not,” Skiro says. “My siblings and I will discuss what is to be done with Ravis’s land. You have no claim to it. The people do.”

“I have all the claim I need! I am a magician. A fighter. Now, we march!”

Not a single red-breasted soldier moves.

“The war is over,” I say. “Stop now before you forfeit your life, too.”

Elany looks about her for a single fellow devotee. Finding none, she climbs atop the warlord’s horse, gives the entire scenery a nasty glare, and gallops away from the city.

Finally, it’s over.

And everything comes rushing back in at once.

I stagger to the ground as my grief, anxiety, pain, exhaustion—everything slams into me, the effects of the magic finally receding.

Tears stream from my eyes at the pressure of all of it finally allowed to come to the surface.

We may have won, but I still lost far too much.



* * *



Temra’s arms cradle my shoulders, pull me against her side. Though there’s movement all around me, I can’t bother to focus on any of it. They’re probably gathering the dead, tending to the wounded, doing whatever else needs to be done after a battle. We weren’t exactly able to stick around after the last one.

And I know I should help. I should get up and move, but I’m not ready.

“He’s gone,” I say through my sobs.

“I know,” Temra says.

“I never told him, Temra. I never told him I love him back. Why didn’t I tell him? It was so stupid and petty, and now he’ll never hear it.”

Footsteps approach, and I feel a twinge of embarrassment, but it’s nothing when compared to my grief.

“What’s wrong?” Petrik wants to know. “Is she hurt? Are either of you hurt?”

I feel Temra’s head shake, and then she stiffens. Her arms fall from my sides. “Ziva,” she says.

“Can you hold me just a little longer?” I ask. “I’m not ready.”

“Ziva, open your eyes right now.”

On my next sniffle, I obey.

And I think I must be hallucinating, because Kellyn is standing there. Impossibly tall from where I’m slumped to the ground, his hair a burning beacon with the sun lighting it from behind.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

I’m too scared to blink, afraid what I’m seeing will all go away. I’ve done impossible magic; who knows what toll that’s taken on my body?

“Kymora told her you were dead,” Temra explains. “She’s weeping for you.”

“Dead? With Ziva’s sword to protect me? Not a chance. Oh, honey, come here.”

He bends down and holds his arms out to me. I’m afraid to touch them. What if my hands pass right through?

Kellyn’s face turns to uncertainty. His hands drop. “What is it?”

“You’re not real.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Prove it.”

He reaches for me so quickly that I don’t have a chance to react. Very solid hands grasp me, yank me off the ground, and crush me to an even more solid chest.

“Kymora was a manipulative bitch,” Kellyn says. “Are you going to believe her or the very real person standing right before you?”

I start crying again.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Petrik waits until I’ve calmed down before gloating.

“Everyone thinks it’s the big tough fighters who win wars, but it’s the little guys, the smart guys, that change everything.”

The royals try to organize everyone into cleaning up the city now that the fighting is over, but our little group of four huddles together outside of it all.

“I think you mean it’s the talented women who get things done,” Temra tells him.

“Ziva did the work, but it was my idea. Give me some credit.”

Temra raises one brow at him. “Your idea?”

“Okay, so she made the idea better! That doesn’t mean—”

“Wait,” I say. “You didn’t intend for me to magic the whole city?”

“Not exactly,” Petrik says sheepishly, “I thought you might magic part of the mountain, so we would be safe up here. Or render weapons useless or something trivial. Whatever you could manage. I didn’t realize the whole city was built upon the iron deposits.”

Kellyn flexes the arm he has wrapped around me. “Of course she went above and beyond.”

“But it was a good idea,” Temra tells Petrik, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for making all the preparations.”

He blushes at her praise.

“However, I’m more impressed by all the speeches Ziva’s been giving of late,” Temra says. “You convinced the mercenaries to fight for us. You talked down the cotton spinner, turned Kymora’s men to our side. I’ve never seen you speak with such confidence.”

“I cheated on that last speech.” I explain how the magic took my fear away temporarily.

Temra shakes her head. “You could have done it regardless.”

Maybe so, but I’m glad I didn’t have to.

I’d already given so much.



* * *