Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(66)

I can’t seem to stop smiling.

The new safety that comes with these hammers is partially the reason, of course, but I also know it’s more than that. I’ve spent a couple weeks with Abelyn now, working on the guards’ armor and equipment. It was the first time in as long as I can remember that I did my job as a smithy without imbuing metal with magic.

And it was fine.

It wasn’t quite the same as what I used to do, but I still felt useful and at home in a way.

Maybe there is a place for me here in the long run. I could open up my own forge in the capital. There’s plenty of space on the palace grounds. Or maybe I’d get my own place in town, visit Temra on the weekends.

After we deal with Ravis.

It will be different, but I don’t have to hate my life. I don’t have to spend it without Temra.

There’s a new bounce in my step as I make for the great hall just in time for supper. It’s more packed than ever with all the new city folk occupying the palace and its courtyard, but Kellyn stands out like a beacon. He’s a full head taller than anyone else in the space, and his golden-red hair practically dances in the candlelight.

He’s surrounded by men wearing the guard uniform. They’re laughing loudly in between mouthfuls of rabbit stew.

He’s made some friends. Good for him.

I don’t think Abelyn counts as a new friend, since we don’t really talk, just work. But I’ll take it. Better than nothing.

Then I see it.

An open spot directly on Kellyn’s right.

Could he be saving it for me?

Stupid. It’s not like his every waking thought is about you.

But what if it is for me? It would be rude to pass it up.

And what if it’s not for you? How awkward will it be when he says he’s saving it for someone else? Then all those men will laugh as you walk away.

No one is going to laugh. It’s not funny.

Yes, but you’re thinking through worst-case scenarios. And being made fun of is always the worst.

So which am I afraid of more, then? Offending Kellyn or making an idiot of myself?

I turn away. I can’t possibly set myself up for such a spectacle.

But Kellyn wants an equal partner. And you want him.

I can be brave when I want to be.

To prove it to myself, I take my tray of food to the nearly full table. A few heads notice me approaching and look up, but I keep my gaze firmly fixed on the back of Kellyn’s head.

Otherwise I just might bolt.

When I come to a full stop behind him, I realize he hasn’t noticed me yet.

Obviously. His back is turned, idiot.

Do I clear my throat? Speak up? Tap Kellyn on the shoulder? Another person at the table is speaking, and it would be rude to cut him off. Yet, if I do nothing, I stand here like a dolt.

I’m panicking. I feel my legs shaking, and I want to run far, far away.

I take the seat without asking.

Every muscle in my body snaps taut. I’m stuck here, and I probably just stole someone’s seat. What if they were just in the lavatory or something?

Oh Twins. What have I done? Why did I ever think I could—

And then a big arm wraps around me, and Kellyn puts his lips to my temple.

And everything is just fine.

Well, not really. I’m still surrounded by strangers, and I hate most everything about this situation. But Kellyn is touching me, and I really like that.

I did the hard part; now I just need not to overreact.

I try listening to the conversation.

“… and then the mercenary lands me flat on my back!” one of the younger men at the table says. The rest break out into more laughter.

Kellyn leans into me. “I helped with some of the training today. Made some new friends.”

After one day?

I’ve never made this many friends in my entire life.

“They seem to like you,” I respond.

“What’s not to like?”

“I can think of some things.”

He grins and nuzzles my hair right in front of everyone. As though he wants to make it perfectly and publicly clear just who I’m with. As though he’s proud to be with me.

But such a public display of affection makes me a little uncomfortable, so I think I’ll let him know that when we’re alone. He won’t mind, I’m sure.

“Who’s this?” another one of the men asks, clearly meaning me. I try not to visibly shrink back.

Kellyn turns to me, giving me the option to answer.

“I’m Ziva.”

“You didn’t tell us you were married,” one of the men says to Kellyn.

“I’m not,” Kellyn answers. “Ziva and I have only been together for a few weeks.”

It would have been longer, had I not broken things off while we journeyed. But Kellyn makes no indication to show his thoughts have turned where mine have.

A man across from me says, “Well, if things don’t work out with this big oaf, you come talk to me.” He winks.

Kellyn and I both tense. Things are so fragile right now, and the man across from us has no idea. He probably means it as a joke. Even so, I should say something.

But what? Giving my name is one thing. Offering something to the conversation? That’s entirely different.

Unthinkable.

And how do I avoid being confrontational and rude?