Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(86)

“Ziva,” Petrik says. “I’m not trying to pressure you, I promise! I’m only looking to find a way around your reservations. I’ve been thinking about this a lot and then talking with Ashper and Serutha. Ashper can paint anything to make a portal. Serutha can heal anything broken in the body. You can magic anything made out of iron. Why should that be limited to weapons?”

“Because—” I blink. Weapons are what I’ve always made. Except that’s not strictly true. Before weapons, I was making farming equipment, when I apprenticed under Mister Deseroy, the man who adopted me and Temra from the Lirasu Orphanage.

But weapons have been my life’s work. They’re what I’ve always been drawn to.

I’ve never magicked anything else except out of necessity.

But I could.

I lock eyes with Petrik as I realize what he’s suggesting.

A tingling sensation takes root under my skin. Something full of anticipation and excitement. Not fear. Something hopeful and real and beautiful.

A way to help. A way to magic metal again and feel like myself.

“Excuse me,” I say, taking off down the spiral staircase at a near run.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


It takes some time to find Abelyn, Prince Skiro’s ill-tempered smithy. She’s with the other refugees, spread out in the forest behind the palace. I weave around countless tents and lean-tos, asking if anyone’s seen her.

When I spot her, it takes very little explanation for her to agree to set off with me to locate Princess Marossa’s castle forge.

It’s not any grander than Skiro’s had been, but it’s well stocked at least, the palace being only a short distance from the Southern Mountains. We find an aged man sprawled on the floor of the forge. He has a bottle of rum in one hand and clutches the corner of a small blanket in the other. I think he might be snoring with his eyes open.

“Huh,” Abelyn says, taking note of the finished arrowheads lining the nearest worktable. Her eyes return to the man on the floor, giving him a swift kick with her boot. He doesn’t budge. “How does anything get done around here? Marossa’s smithy is a drunk!”

Footsteps round the corner. A young boy maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age startles at the sight of us. His hair is so long and tangled, I can’t imagine it’s ever seen a brush.

“You make these?” Abelyn asks, picking up one of the arrowheads.

The boy panics, looking over at the sleeping smithy. “No, Clivor does all the work. I just help with the chores.”

Abelyn snorts. “I don’t have time for your lies. We need able bodies! If you’re useless, then get out of here!”

I place a hand on her shoulder, putting myself between her and the boy. “What’s your name?” I ask.

He swallows. “He calls me Insect … when he’s lucid.”

“And you’re real name?” I ask.

“Zovid.”

“Zovid, I’m sure you’ve heard war is coming. We need to prepare. Can you handle the tools in here?”

After a brief hesitation, he nods once.

“And you made all these arrowheads?” I ask.

Another slow nod. “The princess requests arrows mostly. I can do those well. Anything else and I have to wake him.” Quieter, he adds, “He’s not happy when he wakes.”

Abelyn grunts. “He’s going to be less happy when he meets me.”

I ignore her remark. “We’re going to do some work in here. Will you help?”

Zovid nods.

“Good. Now, I need you to run some errands for me. Do you think you could do that?”

Another nod.

“I need all the soldiers in the capital to bring me their armor. Collect it for me. Or plead with them to bring it themselves. I don’t care. Just get it here.”



* * *



I’m fairly bursting with joy come evening. Temra notices the glow in my cheeks at once.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I was in the forge today.”

“And? Don’t stop there. What did you do?”

I settle next to her on the bed, making myself comfortable in her room. “Well, you know how I’ve been feeling conflicted about making weapons?”

She nods.

“And I’ve also been miserable because I want to help with my magic, but I didn’t see how I could. Not with how dangerous the things I make have been of late.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t say anything more, for which I’m grateful, but I’m all too aware of what she thinks about my conflict. Though they haven’t said so, I suspect she and Kellyn and Petrik think I’m being silly. What use is a magical bladesmith who won’t magic blades?

“I started magicking armor today,” I say proudly. “There’s no time to make it from scratch, but I’ve heated the armor belonging to the guards and then imbued it with protective qualities. Arrows and other projectiles will bounce off. No sword can pierce it. I can keep our soldiers safe in battle.”

Temra’s grin now matches my own. “That’s wonderful.”

“I got through over fifty sets of armor today. I’ll do it again tomorrow and the next day—until everyone is protected.”