Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(9)

At my hesitation, Petrik adds, “It could mean saving Temra’s life.”

I don’t understand, but I nod, because what else can I do? And Kellyn is not permitted to speak for me. Ever.

“This is Ziva Tellion. Magically gifted bladesmith. We all carry weapons she’s forged. We took on what must have been forty men back in Amanor. The three of us brought down the warlord together. We can get Serutha back. And isn’t retrieving your healer worth the potential cost of the doors?”

Skiro’s eyes land on me. I look to the ground, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but my thoughts are still on my sister.

“Really?” the prince asks. “How does your ability work? What weapons have you made? How do you—”

“Skiro!” Petrik interrupts.

“Sorry.” He thinks a moment. “I still don’t like it. Those doors are the only advantage I have, Petrik.”

“What would it take to convince you?” he asks desperately.

“How about a solid plan?”

At that, Kellyn perks up. The prince is speaking his language, but I’m still thoroughly confused by the whole conversation.

Petrik says, “How did you get your last spies into the palace?”

“They traveled on foot. Wore disguises to blend in with the people from Ravis.”

“Do you still have clothing from the territory?”

“… Yes.”

“Then we will dress the part. We’ll take the door, stash our weapons somewhere, do reconnaissance. We’ll infiltrate the palace staff. Do you know where Serutha is being held?”

“She wasn’t in the dungeons. My spies did a sweep of the castle, covering every floor save the one housing Ravis’s rooms. He’s keeping her close. That was the last I heard before they were found out. They must have gotten too close.”

“That leaves us only one floor of the castle to search. We’ll find her and bring her back straightaway.”

“She’ll be guarded,” Skiro says. “You won’t be able to just take her.”

“We have magical weapons,” Petrik reminds him. “We’ll cause a distraction if need be to lure them away. Lessen their numbers.”

Skiro still wants to say no. I can tell.

“Ziva will be indebted to you if you save her sister’s life,” Petrik finishes.

At that, Skiro looks to me before looking down at the hammers around my waist. He sighs. “Fine, the mercenary bloke can go. Ziva and you will stay here.”

“I’m going,” Petrik and I snap at the same time.

“You’re far too important to risk,” Skiro says to me.

“You just barely learned of my abilities! You don’t even know me. That’s my sister dying. I’ll be damned if I stay behind when I can do something to save her.”

Skiro cracks a small smile. “I like you,” he says.

For some reason, that statement makes Kellyn shift awkwardly next to me.

“I’m going, too,” Petrik says again.

“You’ll be recognized.”

“I’m the only one who knows the layout of the palace. It has to be me.”

“You haven’t been there in years.”

“I’ve a good memory.”

“I don’t want to lose you, brother.”

“If she dies, you’ll lose me anyway.”

Skiro reads that loud and clear. If he doesn’t concede, Petrik will never forgive him.

“You’d better cover your face, then,” Skiro says.

“I will.”

Skiro reaches for a cord necklace he had hidden underneath his tunic. With a sigh, he hands it over to Petrik. The prince calls for an attendant, mutters something to him, and then returns to the table. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything to eat first?” he asks me.

I don’t answer. I’m still not certain what is happening, and I’m such a mess that I don’t know what would come out of me if I did speak. I settle for a shake of my head.

When the attendant returns, it’s with three sets of clothing. Petrik gathers them, walks over to me, grabs my upper arm, and hauls me after him. He’s practically running through the fine halls, and I nearly trip in my haste to keep up with him. Kellyn plods along behind us.

“I knew he couldn’t say no to Ziva once he learned who she is,” Petrik says. “My brother is a lover of all art. Music. Books. Paintings. Tapestries. He’s especially interested in the art of magic. He collects magic users, you might say. Inviting them to his court, paying them generous wages. Offering them safety and his silence.”

We turn down another hallway, Petrik’s boots squeaking along the stone floor.

“Did you have to tell him Ziva would be indebted to him?” Kellyn asks. “What if he asks for something she doesn’t want to give? And what are these doors you kept mentioning?”

“We’re almost there. You’ll understand soon.”

A few more turns. A set of stairs.

Petrik turns the necklace over in his hands. I spy a bronze key between his fingers.

We reach a door that has at least a dozen guards surrounding it. The man at their head nods to Petrik as the scholar promptly unlocks it before ushering us inside. When we’re through, Petrik immediately locks us in.