Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(38)

“You’re confusing your horse,” Kellyn says one day, about a week into the journey.

I stop my fingers from tangling together, and the horse’s strides grow smoother beneath me. Poor thing wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to go or stop with the way I kept jiggling him about.

Over the next ten minutes, I realize I’m veering to the left.

“Your leg,” Kellyn points out.

It’s dancing in the stirrup, bouncing slightly up and down. My horse is moving away from the contact, thinking I mean for him to turn left.

“You shouldn’t be so worried. The prince’s army is barely noticeable in the distance. Our lead is growing.”

“Sometimes I don’t want to reach Skiro.” In fact, all I seem to be able to think about today is how badly I never want to reach Skiro.

“Why?”

“Because if Temra’s dead, then I’ll know. Not knowing is safer than knowing she’s dead. And not knowing is killing me. But if she is gone, I want to stay not knowing a little while longer.”

Kellyn’s voice grows quieter. “It’s better to know. Better for you to be allowed to grieve or celebrate. Not knowing will only tear you apart.”

“I don’t want to grieve again. I’ve already been through that. If Temra dies, I’ll have lost the rest of my family.”

“No,” Kellyn says firmly. “You’ll have me and Petrik. We’ll be your family. After what we’ve been through together, we’re already family.”

How can he say that after all that’s happened? I dragged him into the whole mess with Kymora. I called things off between us. He’s moved on. How can he say that he’ll be my family?

I feel heavy inside, like all the blood and bone has been replaced with brick. Just thinking about the possibility of Temra being dead has me silently crying again. Because I know her odds weren’t great. She was barely holding on as it was, and it took us hours to get Serutha out …

“I don’t think I will be able to survive if she didn’t make it,” I say.

“You will.”

“I can’t live without her.”

“You can.”

I close my eyes tightly. “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but it’s only infuriating when you talk like that. You don’t get it. Not only is Temra my whole world. My whole heart. She is my rock. She keeps me safe from all the things that terrify me. I mean it when I say I won’t survive without her.”

Kellyn is silent for all of five seconds before he says, “Forgive me, Ziva, but that’s a load of shit.”

My breath catches at the words. Kellyn doesn’t swear that often, and when he does, it always packs a punch.

“I don’t know how you got it into your head that you’re some helpless thing,” he says. “You provided for yourself and your sister when your parents died. You outran a warlord. You saved the world from an all-powerful sword.”

I open my mouth to speak.

“And before you can say Temra was with you through all of that, let me add that you destroyed a magical portal so your sister’s savior could escape. You outsmarted a prince and his entire court and army. You smuggled me out of the city. You did that all without your sister. You can be strong without her.”

“That was different.”

“That wasn’t different. That was you! Under pressure. Scared out of your mind. Alone. And you did it anyway.”

“I wasn’t alone. You were there.”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t come up with a plan for escape. I didn’t make a magic sword to get us out of there. I didn’t fight Ravis one-on-one and win.”

“You kept his men off me, with the horses and the cart.”

Kellyn throws his hands up in the air. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Look for ways to downplay yourself. Why can’t you accept that you’ve done amazing things on your own? That you’re strong and persevering and compassionate? You’re a protector, Ziva. You’ve done so many good things.”

“Because that’s not how I feel. Inside, I’m not any of those things. I’m weak. Scared. Self-conscious. All the time. It’s all I can think about. My failures and shortcomings. They scream louder than any accomplishment ever could.”

Kellyn sighs. “I wish you could you see yourself the way others do. The way Temra does. Or Petrik. The way I see you.”

I know he’s not trying to send my anxiety off to run a mile through my body, but he manages to anyway with that last line. I don’t want to talk about the way he sees me. How did the conversation even get here?

I get us back on track. “Even if I could be strong from time to time alone, I don’t want to live without my sister.”

“No one does. The world is a better place for her being in it. But, Ziva, you have lots to give the world, too. You’re an adult. Your sister is basically an adult. Have you ever thought that maybe it’s time to start living for you?”

He rides ahead of me, signaling he doesn’t actually want to hear an answer. I don’t know that I could have given him one if I tried.

His words ring through my mind as we make camp.

Living for you.

My black gelding makes pleased noises as I brush him down.