Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(26)

“Show me,” a voice demands.

In my concentration, I hadn’t heard the prince approach, and he startles me so badly that I jump and gasp in a breath of air, my concentration completely shattered.

Ravis rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so jumpy, smithy. You’ll injure yourself.” He turns his attention back to Elany, who shows him how the new swords work. She gives him a blade, tells him to hold on to it lightly, then has Strax knock it from his fingers. Ravis grins as the weapon jumps back into his hand.

But the prince only has half of my attention as I look in horror at the war hammer I’m holding.

It’s magicked.

But the prince had interrupted me when I was trying to imbue it with power.

“And what of the hammer?” I hear Ravis ask, as though from a great distance away. “Does it move on its own as well?”

I blink once, raise my eyes to the prince’s.

“Well?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I mumble.

“You don’t know?” he asks, his tone taking on a hint of irritation.

“You startled me while I was working, and now it’s magicked.”

Ravis sighs. “Lady smithy, trying my patience is a game you don’t want to play. Izan, grab the hammer and see what it can do.”

One of the biggest men I have ever seen steps away from the prince’s personal guard and stomps over to me. A meaty hand reaches for the hammer, and I drop rather than place the weapon within. Izan turns it over, inspecting the work. He trods some twenty yards away from the forges before taking an experimental swing through the empty air.

When nothing happens, he shrugs at the prince before approaching one of those tall, prickly treelike plants. Izan rotates his arms, sending the hammer head flying forward. When it connects, the plant splinters into a million pieces before raining to the ground in a powdery dust.

My insides crawl, and my mind goes completely blank at the sight.

The forges go utterly silent, until Ravis commands, “Again.”

His man finds another plant, smashes the hammer into it, and the result is the same. The plant breaks into pieces so tiny they can only be described as powder before falling to the ground.

The prince’s face splits into a wide grin. “I think the cacti have had enough. We have some traitors in the dungeons. Let’s see if the results are the same.”

The prince and his retinue leave without giving me another glance. My gaze fixes onto the heaps of what look like green ashes from here. A breeze blows by, stirring up the remains, carrying the top layer away in a cloud.

My knees connect with the hard ground as I stare and stare and stare, willing the ashes to form back together into what they once were. Waiting for this new nightmare that has become my life to end.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I whisper to myself.

But this is very, very real.

I just made something that will turn people to powder with a single swing. The faces of the people I love rotate through my mind, bursting into pieces before falling like ash to the ground.

I’m a menace.

My eyes lower to my hands, freshly calloused.

These hands were forced to kill. Forced to make weapons meant to kill.

Was I always made for death? I only ever wanted to help people. To enjoy the process of creating. To feel closer to my mother by practicing the ability that we share.

But all I ever seem to do is cause trouble.

I ruined our lives in Lirasu, then put the world in danger by making Secret Eater. And now I’m mass-producing weapons intended for world domination.

I lose it, laughing hysterically one second and then sobbing the next. I wrap my arms around my torso, as though I can make myself smaller, compress myself until I’m nothing at all.

Why do I exist? What is the point of creating when it’s only going to be used to destroy?

Distantly, I hear someone shouting, “Let me go,” and the sounds of a scuffle.

“Release him,” someone else says. Elany. “Just this once.”

Warm arms enfold me, and I let them, thinking maybe they’ll do a better job of hiding me from the world than I’m doing now.

Lips at my ear. “Ziva, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault—do you hear me?” Kellyn’s voice is like a balm on my nerves, and I wish it wasn’t, because I’m not supposed to want to be comforted by him. I’m supposed to be letting go of him for a million reasons. Because he chose me over Temra. He thought to sacrifice himself. He betrayed my trust by giving my abilities away to Ravis. He made me care about him enough to put the rest of the world in danger with the weapons I’m making for this army.

Kellyn might be all I have right now, but that doesn’t mean I have to lean on him like this. We’re not together anymore. I need to be strong on my own.

I shove Kellyn away from me, dust off my clothes, and walk into the center of the forge. I grab the next heated weapon from the kiln and go back to imbuing swords with defensive magic.

I’m present. I’m focused. I control my magic.

The words don’t feel true, but I have to cling to them for now.



* * *



A few days later, our working hours are cut short. Elany ushers me from the forges, the guards following behind us.

“What’s going on?” I ask.