Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(19)

He doesn’t wait for my answer. Ravis turns to go once more.





CHAPTER SIX


I stare at Kellyn, who still bleeds on the floor.

He doesn’t make a sound, and I wonder if he’s in shock. I know I am, but the knowledge doesn’t seem to help. I can’t make my limbs work. I can’t feel … anything. The heat of this place is now lost on me.

But I do register the hands that eventually grip me.

“This way, smithy,” Strax says. “You’ll need a full night’s rest before starting work tomorrow.”

“Kellyn,” I say, trying to get his attention, even as I’m dragged backward.

The mercenary doesn’t move. If I could just get him to look at me so I can see his face. I need to know he’s okay. In pain, of course, but okay.

But he doesn’t turn before they take me from the throne room entirely.

“Someone needs to see to him,” I say, finally daring to speak to the men holding me.

Their grip only tightens, and I try to pull from it.

“Won’t you send someone to help him?” I beg.

“That will depend entirely on how well you cooperate,” Strax answers.

At that, I stop fighting. I place my feet on the ground and walk willingly toward whatever our destination may be.

I recognize it after too long.

They put me in Serutha’s old rooms. Her prison is now my prison.

And Kellyn put me here. He’s bleeding somewhere. I don’t want him to die and I want to kill him myself and could he stop being so damn confusing!

The door to the rooms closes, and Strax locks me inside.

It’s been so long since I’ve been alone.

But this is not the kind of aloneness that heals and refreshes the mind. I’m in danger, in a strange place. My sister might be dead. Kellyn might be bleeding out.

And I’m alone.

Terrified.

Hungry.

Exhausted.

I collapse to the floor and weep. It’s not long before my breaths come too quickly and the panic takes over entirely.

Helplessness pervades everything. I bang against the walls of my own mind, trying to find an escape. The air is sucked from my lungs, my whole body is on fire, and I’m certain I’m going to die. Eons pass as the walls close in, and everything grows blacker and bleaker.

And then exhaustion takes over.



* * *



I don’t sleep long. Of that, I’m certain.

A bag of bricks weighs my shoulders down, and my brain has been replaced with cotton. My eyes are crusty, and every muscle I have is sore and bruised. None of this is consequential, however.

Ravis has Kellyn, and he’s going to use him to force me to work.

Unless he let him die in the throne room overnight.

My thoughts try to spiral out of control again when someone enters my room. A maidservant, dressed plainly in a lightweight dress that shows off her calves and arms. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say a word to me. She holds a rather large pot in two hands and takes it right to the washing room, dumping the steaming contents into the tub. It takes her several minutes to bring in each bucketful of water.

I try to catch her eye, even try speaking to her. But she won’t say a word.

By the sixth time she enters the room, she brings up a set of clothes. And food. She sets the tray on the divan by my feet. The clothing she lays carefully on the bed so as not to wrinkle the outfit.

“I will return for you in one hour.” She leaves before I can respond.

I’m apparently not too proud to refuse the food or the bath or the fresh clothes.

If I’m to escape, I need a full stomach, I reason. A bath will clear my head, rinse the blood from my fingers. I need to be as ready as I can for what’s ahead.

I don’t recognize my breakfast, though I eat it to quell my hunger. There’s some sort of pink fruit that I have to peel first, a citrus with a bitter aftertaste. I like it, by the fourth or fifth bite. The bread is soft and fresh, peppered with spices I’m unused to, but covered with a deliciously salty butter. I wash it all down with a cup of water.

I have to wait another ten minutes before the water is cool enough not to scald. Even then, my skin is blushing pink when I emerge and don the clothes left for me: lightweight trousers, a sleeveless shirt, and thick sandals.

When the servant collects me, no less than twenty guards follow us down through the castle, outdoors, and then to the forges.

Yes, multiple.

A quarter mile from the palace, Ravis has a massive outdoor area with more kilns than I can count. Men and women hammer away at various weapons, others man the bellows, while even more take steel to the grinding stones.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize Ravis has been preparing for war for quite some time.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” a voice to my left says.

The prince has joined us, his own guard trailing behind him.

I lack any tact at the moment. The truth comes out. “Your forges are impressive.”

“I meant the weapons. As someone who makes them for a living, surely you must appreciate the sheer volume we’ve managed to produce in just half a year.”

I swallow. “What are you planning?”

“Don’t be naive.”

“This isn’t right.”

“I didn’t take you for a hypocrite.”