Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(50)

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you hit him?” Temra asks.

“Your face!” I say to Petrik. “You looked about to give me bad news.”

Petrik looks me up and down, taking in my disheveled state. He appears utterly confused.

“Shit,” he says suddenly, and he steps forward, grabs Temra by her arm, and yanks her away from me.

“What the hell?” I ask.

Petrik uses his body as a shield between me and my sister, and I want to punch him again.

“Let go of me!” Temra says to him, trying to shake him off.

“Stop it!” Petrik says. “Ziva, what was the first magicked weapon you ever made on your own?”

“What is going on?” I ask.

Temra tries to sidestep Petrik, but he moves with her. She looks on him with such malice, as though disgusted just by being in his proximity.

“Answer the question, Ziva,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I saw you yesterday evening when you arrived at the palace, so clearly there are two of you walking around, and I need to know which is the fake.”

At that, Temra rounds on him. “Ziva came back yesterday and you didn’t tell me?”

“How was I supposed to know she didn’t come to see you?” Petrik asks.

Their bickering is taking off to speeds I can’t keep up with, but my stomach drops to my toes. Someone with my face is walking around.

“Midnight!” I shout, breaking up the pair. “My first weapon was Temra’s shortsword. Honestly, the other me didn’t want to see Temra immediately and that didn’t clue you in that it wasn’t me?”

“You were different, but I thought it was because of whatever Ravis put you through. How was I supposed to guess magic was involved straightaway?”

“Ravis?” Temra asks. “What does Ravis have to do with anything?”

“The cotton spinner is clearly working for him,” Petrik says. “First the linen hiding Serutha’s door, and now this. He must have gotten ahold of her after Kymora was captured.”

“Did you see Kellyn yesterday, too?” I ask.

Petrik nods.

“Why are we talking about Ravis and Serutha and hidden doors?” Temra asks. “What am I missing?”

At that, the guiltiest look I’ve ever seen crosses Petrik’s features. He looks embarrassed before he turns to me. “We need to talk in private after we root out the imposter.”

“When was the last time you saw … me?” I ask him.

“Last night. We talked about”—his eyes flit to Temra—“things, and then you went to bed. But not before Skiro asked you to have lunch with him … the next day. I thought it odd that you accepted so readily.”

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Midday,” Temra replies.

“And where is the prince now?”

“Oh no,” Petrik says.



* * *



Temra and I race side by side, just behind Petrik.

“Just so you know,” she says, “you really smell.”

“I’ve been traveling!”

Petrik’s sapphire scholar’s robes disappear around the next corner, and Temra and I slide after him.

“Yes, but from Ravis’s Territory?” she asks. “Why would you be there?”

“Stop talking and focus on running!” Petrik yells over his shoulder. “Guards!” he calls to men as we pass them by, and they fall into step with us.

We reach some doorway, burst through, and then find Skiro seated at a private table tucked away in a cozy room. He’d been laughing when we entered, but it cuts off when he sees us.

“Petrik, what is going on?” he asks.

I feel my eyebrows raise at what we find in the room. Skiro has his hand on the arm of the girl sitting next to him, and he’s leaning forward.

Toward a girl with my face.

She jumps to her feet, comes behind Skiro’s chair, and raises a butterknife to his neck. Not the deadliest of weapons, but effective if she jabs it into just the right spot.

“That’s not Ziva Tellion,” Petrik says. “We’ve imposters in the palace.”

“Yes, I think I’ve gathered that now.” Skiro groans. “And we were having such a lovely time, too.”

I feel my face heat at the close proximity we found them in, but that’s hardly my fault. I wasn’t the one seducing the prince. I couldn’t seduce anyone if my life depended on it.

“Put down your weapons,” the girl with my face says.

“She doesn’t even sound like me!” I say.

“I thought you were coming down with something,” Petrik says defensively.

“Weapons,” the imposter says again. “Down. Now.”

Skiro grunts. “Do as she says.”

I hear a clattering as the guards behind us drop their spears. Temra lowers her sword, Midnight, which I now note is black as night, warning us that someone who means us harm is nearby.

The girl backs away with the prince until she’s cornered at the wall; then she slides along it until she’s at the door. “Follow us and he dies.”

“Could you loosen up just a bit?” Skiro asks. “Ow!”