Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(8)

Good, then I can demand answers from him myself.

I let Petrik lead me down a hall covered in the richest of tapestries. Music drifts to us from some faraway room, and I cannot guess the instrument. Something with strings. Petrik doesn’t stop moving until we arrive in a room also decorated in woven tapestries and fine rugs on the floor. Between the tapestries are bookcases lined with shelves of tomes. The music is louder in this room, though the players are not within. Perhaps they are in the next room over.

A modest table is heaped with food. Rich sauces over juicy meats and no less than five different casks of wine. The prince’s personal guard line the walls, Skiro himself seated at the head of the small table, Kellyn beside him, taking large bites of buttered bread.

I shouldn’t be angry at them both for eating while Temra is dying, but I am furious.

“Ah.” Skiro looks up. “Please be seated. Fill your bellies. You must have quite the stories to tell after such a journey.”

Neither Petrik nor I move, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have him at my side, united in my cause.

Skiro sighs and drops the leg of chicken he’d been bringing to his lips. “I am beyond grateful to you all for bringing me the traitor Kymora, though I am surprised, brother, that you would turn on her.”

“I learned of her plans to kill you and the others and take the entire kingdom for herself. I couldn’t allow that to happen. It was Ziva who learned of it and stopped her.” He gestures to me. “Her sister is the one dying, and we beg the use of Serutha.”

Skiro’s eyes land on me. They light up, and a far-too-bright smile stretches over his lips. He shakes himself, as though just remembering something before turning back to his brother. “You should not have told them about her—I don’t care how good of friends you are.”

“I consider them family now,” Petrik answers.

“Is it a life debt that binds you to them? Is that what caused you to betray the trust of our friend Serutha?”

“It’s Temra.”

“The dying girl.”

“I love her, Skiro. And I need you to save her.”

I shift uncomfortably at the words. I had guessed, of course, but hearing Petrik admit something so personal aloud has my secondhand embarrassment kicking in. But if it gets Skiro to finally act, then—

“Oh, I see.” Skiro’s expression deflates. “I’m so sorry, Petrik, but she’s not here.”

“Who?” Petrik asks.

“Serutha.”

“Well then, send for her! Where is she?”

“A few weeks ago, our dear brother Ravis sent spies into the palace. They learned of Serutha’s abilities and snuck away with her in the dead of night. She’s in Ravis’s Territory by now.”

A desperate cry looses from my lips as I sink to my knees on the floor. No no no no no nononononono …

We made it. We brought Kymora. Temra survived the journey.

But the healer isn’t here.

My sister is going to die.

I feel my breathing pick up, but I force words through my lips. “Pack the wagon, then. We’re going to Ravis.”

“You can’t move the girl,” Skiro says. “Another journey would surely kill her, and she doesn’t have the time left that it would take to get there.”

Kellyn has all but forgotten the food in front of him. “You must have sent men after your healer? Surely they’re returning with her now?”

Yes, that would make sense. I cling to Kellyn’s reasoning.

“I did send men,” Skiro says. “They were supposed to report back days ago. They’ve likely been found out and killed.”

My last shred of hope slips through my fingers, and my cries fill the new silence as I crumple all the way to the floor. Petrik leaves my side, steps over to his brother. Meanwhile, Kellyn crouches next to me, even dares to wrap his arms around me.

My despair is too great to even care.

I don’t lean into him, don’t return the embrace. I just feel and hurt and—this must be what dying feels like.

All at once I stand. If Temra only has moments left to live, I’m going to spend them with her. She can’t be alone.

“Wait, Ziva.”

I turn, can barely see Petrik through my tears. I clear the moisture from my face, attempt to focus.

“Skiro,” Petrik says, a harsh plea at the end of whatever conversation they’d just been having.

“It’s far too dangerous,” Skiro says. “If my trained men didn’t make it back through, your friends can hardly be expected to return with Serutha. Besides, I’m not going to risk the doors like that.”

“For me, brother.”

“They’re going to die.”

“No, Temra is going to die!”

“You know I love you, but the answer is still no.”

Petrik growls, rounds on me. “Ziva, I ask permission to tell my brother who you are and why we’re perfectly equipped to undertake this rescue mission.”

“No,” Kellyn answers for me.

Rescue mission? We’ve already established that we couldn’t get the healer back to the capital in time and Temra wouldn’t survive another journey.

Anyone powerful knowing my identity has not gone over well in the past; why would Petrik ask me to reveal myself now?