Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(64)

“Who are you?” she asks.

“My name is Ziva. What’s yours?”

“Abelyn.”

The ensuing silence only lasts for a few seconds. Abelyn steps forward, but I can tell I haven’t won her over yet. While I hold the breastplate firmly in place, she begins to hammer. Before she can ask me to turn the metal, I’m already flipping it over.

After a few minutes of this, she pauses. “You can stay.”

The staff may be shorthanded (it’s only Abelyn), but the forge is well stocked. The capital is practically on top of the Southern Mountains, so there’s no shortage of iron ore. I’m also delighted to find that Abelyn is proficient in making steel.

While she takes a break from hammering to sip from her waterskin, I peruse her worktables. Chisels, molds, drawplates, swages, fullers, punches, drifts, bits, and hammers. So many hammers in so many sizes. Every tool is finely made and well used.

“Don’t touch anything,” the old smithy says when she catches me staring.

“My last set of forging hammers was stolen by Prince Ravis,” I say.

“And why should the prince care about your hammers?”

I only deliberate for a moment before answering. I can’t very well magic anything in here without her noticing. Either I commit to this, or I leave now.

“Because they were magicked,” I say. “I’m no fighter, but with those hammers, I felt unstoppable.”

Abelyn narrows her eyes again; I’m coming to find that the suspicious look she gives me isn’t a look at all but the natural set of her face.

“Magic? In weapons?” she asks. “Rubbish. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “Would you like me to show you?”

Her eyes narrow (again). “You’re telling me you can do this?”

I tilt my head to the side. “You really haven’t heard of me? Ziva, the magically gifted bladesmith.”

Abelyn spits on the ground. “I don’t care for gossip, and I hate small talk.”

I really like her, despite everything about her that’s off-putting. There’s nothing pretend about Abelyn. What you see is what you get.

“And how do you feel about magic?” I ask.

“Never seen it.”

“Would you permit me to use it?”

“If you didn’t clearly know your way around the forge, I’d kick you out now for being a looney.”

“Can I make my own hammers? I’ll show you how the magic works firsthand.”

I take her answering grunt as assent.



* * *



With the two of us working, we’re able to get through Abelyn’s to-do list much quicker. I help her with all the preparations to have our measly one hundred guards as properly outfitted as possible for the battle ahead.

And we also craft my hammers together.

It’s a speedier process than most other weapons would take. Not so much pounding is required to turn a clump of white-hot steel into the shape of a hammer head.

Because of this, I take the time to add my own embellishments.

The sides bear the design of winding ivy—a beautiful plant that flourishes in Lirasu with all the rain. It’s a weed in a lot of areas, thriving where it’s not meant to.

I can relate. I never do feel like I belong, but even when things get tough, I somehow survive.

We make the shafts short—about the length of my forearm, with rounded pommels and a thick wrapping of leather on the grips.

The hammer meant for my left hand, I magic just as I did before, giving it the properties of an invisible shield with rebound power.

But I don’t stop there.

Its right-hand twin will also receive the energy from each blow taken on the left hammer. Each swing will not only have my strength behind it, but the strength of my opponents in battle.

I name them Echo and Agony.

Echo for the shield. My enemies will get more than an echo when they try to smash their weapons upon it, but I like the gentleness of the word. Something needs to be gentle amid all the brutality of battle.

Agony for the right hammer. Not only will it cause pain to those who feel my strikes, but to me as well. I don’t like fighting. I hate how it changes me and gives me memories that are impossible to forget.

But I will be prepared for the fight ahead. Just having these new hammers at my side brings a small sense of safety I didn’t realize I’d been missing.



* * *



Working clears my head.

Maybe it’s being in a familiar setting or having my friends and family close by once again. But I feel stronger and braver each day, like things aren’t as hopeless as I once feared.

I forgot how hammering at steel helps me to relieve stress. Not having it has been awful. While captured, someone was always looking over my shoulder while I worked, but now everything is different. Serutha was right. I needed to take this back for myself.

And I realize during the passing weeks in Abelyn’s forge that I’ve spent so much time worrying over others, to the point where I forgot to think about me. I worried about what my recapture would mean for everyone else. My own safety was always secondary.

But here, in this safe place, with only the grizzled smithy for company, I realize just what Serutha meant. I realize what Ravis did.