Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(67)

“You’re not my type,” I say, perhaps too harshly.

The table erupts into laughter, and one of the men ruffles the hair of the one who spoke.

Kellyn gives me a gentle squeeze with the arm still around me.

“And what is your type?” another asks.

“Big oafs,” I say before I can overthink it.

More laughter.

“Don’t let that one go,” someone says.

Kellyn looks to me. “I don’t intend to.”

My cheeks turn red for all to see.



* * *



After the meal, I tell Kellyn about my day in the smithy, and I ask if I can take his longsword to work with me the next day.

“Yes,” he says, “but what for?”

“I have ideas.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

I grin but only briefly. “War is coming. I need to keep everyone safe. I’m already making adjustments to Midnight for Temra, making the blade lighter to help with dexterity and endurance.”

“And what are you going to do to Lady Killer?”

“Because of her sheer size, you have to remove your scabbard before you can unsheathe her. You lose time, and if you were ever in a hurry, I thought it might be nice to have a quicker way to get her into your hand.”

“So you’re magicking again?” he asks carefully.

“Not really. I’m only doing this for people I know and trust.” For those I can’t bear to lose to this war.

Once done with Kellyn, I seek out Petrik.

He’s in another meeting with the prince and his advisers. Patiently, I wait outside the door. I blush when one of the guards outside asks if I’d like to enter.

I shake my head vigorously. “Just waiting for Petrik.” Then I turn my gaze to the floor and keep it there.

I can’t hear much, but every so often, I think I hear Petrik shout something about “contingency plans,” but his voice always peters off.

After only a few minutes, the doors burst open, and Prince Skiro comes striding out.

“Oh,” he says, his face losing the look of frustration and replacing it with one of delight. “Hello, Ziva. What can I do for you?”

I know he doesn’t mean to make me uncomfortable, but it’s impossible for me not to be weird around him when I can still picture him leaning suggestively toward the imposter with my face.

“I’m here for Petrik.”

“Oh,” he says again, and his tone lowers. “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

His blue robe sweeps behind him as he takes off, his advisers trailing behind him. Petrik exits last.

“Everything all right?” I ask.

Petrik doesn’t hide his frustration from me, which I like. “No. All anyone wants to discuss is strategies for negotiating with Ravis. What we’re willing to give him to go away. No matter how many times I try to bring up a discussion for what we should do should Ravis attack, my worries are discarded as though meaningless.”

“Why would they do something so stupid?”

“It’s like they can’t even entertain the notion of a battle, because…”

“We’ll all be slaughtered if it comes to that.”

“Tactful, as ever, Ziva.”

“At least I agree with you.”

We start walking toward our bedroom together, and I bring up the reason for my visit.

“Why do you want my staff?” Petrik asks.

“I wanted to try magicking it so no one but the caster can catch it. See if I can get rid of the weaknesses in its magic.”

“Wow.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat.

Petrik shakes his head. “Sure. I’ll grab it for you.” He doesn’t exactly carry the large weapon with him wherever he goes.

But before he enters the room, he asks, “Did she eat it? Did she like it?”

“I am sworn to secrecy,” I say.

“Fine.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Another week passes. The palace now looks gutted, most of the supplies having been taken to the people living outdoors. Bedding, storage chests, washroom supplies. Anything to help Skiro’s subjects have an easier time of it.

I finish magicking the weapons belonging to Temra, Kellyn, and Petrik before returning them to their owners. Skiro’s men are all properly outfitted with repaired weapons. Most walk the palace halls fully armored, just waiting for the warning bells that will signal Ravis’s approach.

Yet the prince doesn’t come when he ought to come, and everyone grows more edgy than ever.

Time crawls by, as it always does, and I start to worry that everyone will think Kellyn and I made the whole thing up.

Especially when he’s late by a whole fortnight.

But we stay busy. Kellyn and Temra continue to train with the guards. Petrik remains an adviser to the prince. I keep working with Abelyn.

With all the official work done in the smithy, only the occasional cookware request or horseshoe replacement comes to us.

Abelyn grows grouchier than usual with nothing to do. “Ugh. Another dull day. Let’s not bore ourselves with small talk. Go. Find something useful to occupy yourself.”

Trying not to take that personally, I return to the castle.