Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(110)

The next few days are exhausting. Serutha heals the wounded. The rest of us bury the dead. Messengers are sent to take the news to all that the warlord is gone.

Princess Marossa is up and helping in no time. (“Where is my bow?” she asked upon first waking.) The governor and his husband go door to door, seeking out the families who barricaded themselves within, letting them know all is now well.

The dead warlord’s men are interviewed individually, given tasks and assignments based on their skills.

And the mercenaries who survived the fight come to collect.

It is a long time before the bank is up and running again, but the sellswords are more than happy to wait.

I feel nothing more than a wistful sadness to hand over every ockle I’ve ever earned, because I still have everything I need.

My sister. My Kellyn. My friends.

Money is nothing when compared to all that.



* * *



It takes a month for the city to get back to what is mostly normal. Mostly because crime has vanished. The governor doesn’t need a personal guard anymore—no one can attack him in the city. Theft and murder cannot be committed. Violence is not a possibility in Lirasu.

It’s safer than any place in the whole world.

And yet, it can’t protect me from my sister leaving.

She and Petrik stand with loaded packs on their backs, ready for the trek back to Skiro’s Capital. The prince has long since left, but Temra wanted to stay a little while—for me, I suspect. And I was too selfish to insist she go any sooner. But she informed me yesterday that now was the time.

Silent tears fall down my cheeks as I eye the two of them. “Do you really have to go?” I try one more time.

“It’s time,” my sister says. “Skiro needs me, and I know the library is missing Petrik something fierce.”

“It’s true,” Petrik says. “I’ve been neglecting my duties there. And I have another book that needs writing.”

“The one on magic users?” I ask. The entire reason we met in the first place.

“Well, that one, too, but I meant the one about our battles against Kymora. The sequel to our first journey. The world should know what we did. Half of it had no idea that Ravis and Kymora made a play for all of Ghadra. They don’t know that they were ever in any danger.”

“I bet most will assume it’s fiction,” Kellyn says.

“Ha, even I’m not that creative.”

The two men shake hands.

“You’re all right, scholar,” Kellyn says. “Safe travels. Try not to trip on your dress.”

“Try not to be so obnoxious that someone kills you the moment you step outside the city.”

“No promises.”

They share a smile, and Petrik steps up to me next.

We stare each other down. “Should we—do we hug?” he asks me.

I shrug before wrapping my arms around the silly man. It’s not entirely unpleasant.

“I meant what I said before,” I whisper to him. “The bluntest tool in my forge.”

“Got it,” he says as he steps back.

“You keep my sister safe.”

Temra laughs. “More likely I’ll be the one keeping him safe.”

“Very true,” Petrik says.

Temra and Kellyn embrace. Kellyn says something to her about stretching out her arm, and she flexes her left bicep for him. He laughs at what must be an inside joke for them.

Then my sister stands before me, and I feel myself starting to cry again.

“Hey, none of that,” she says, pulling me to her.

“I’m going to miss you so much.”

“But not for long. We’ll see each other all the time! I’m not stuck in Skiro. You’re not stuck here. Besides, you’ll be in Amanor all the time, won’t you?”

I slide an uncomfortable look Kellyn’s way, but he and Petrik are busy saying something to each other.

“We haven’t talked yet. I don’t know…”

“Ziva.” Temra flattens me with her stare. “You defeated the most powerful person in the world. You used magic beyond the parameters that have ever been achieved. Now go talk to the man you love and make a plan. Write me so I’m not left in suspense. I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, and when you do decide where to settle, I happen to know a painter who might want to help us find ways to see each other more conveniently.” She winks.

With that, Temra and Petrik walk hand in hand away from our childhood home. I watch them until they disappear around the bend in the road.

Oh, but Twins it hurts. Kellyn ushers me inside, holds me as I cry. I let myself have one minute of this, and then I abruptly stop. I wipe my eyes, school my features, and refuse to think about what I’m losing.

“It’s okay to be sad,” Kellyn says. “I bawled my eyes out the first time I left home.”

“You did not.”

“Okay, maybe not quite so hard. But I shed a tear.”

We seat ourselves on the small sofa in the living room. I try not to think about how empty the house feels without my sister’s beautiful personality.

It’s the way of life, I tell myself. Children grow, and they leave their homes. I know Temra isn’t my child, but she might as well have been, since I raised her.