Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(90)

“By eleven months.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“You’re embarrassing yourselves,” Petrik hisses to the both of them.

The prince and princess look about the room as though just remembering there are others in it.

“Well, you’re our advisers! Advise us!” Marossa snaps.

No one says a word. The silence goes on and on and on.

And then Temra speaks. “The tournament in Lirasu is approaching. Many people will gather there to watch. They will be in Kymora’s path. We can’t let her harm them. We need to take our soldiers there. It’s where we should have the final stand.”

My stomach sinks to think of my home ravaged by Kymora’s men. Temra is right. The city is vast, but she’ll make quick work of it.

There’s a niggling in the back of my head. Something that started when Temra brought up the tournament again, but I can’t quite grasp what my subconscious is telling me.

“The city has a similar set up to Skiro’s Capital,” Petrik adds, putting his chin in one hand while he thinks. “It’s against the mountains. More easily defended than the capital here.”

“The governor of Lirasu has a small guard,” Temra continues. “It’s not much, but every little bit helps. He is also in possession of a weapon Ziva made him that might help in the battle.”

A weapon.

The tournament.

I look at Kellyn.

Mercenaries.

Skiro and Marossa are already discussing the merits of what Temra is suggesting, but I cut them off.

“The tournament!”

My outburst brings all the heads in the room in my direction.

“Around fifty mercenaries are gathering for that tournament,” I say. “And they all carry weapons that I made.”

Temra’s eyes widen as she catches on my meaning.

“We need to hire them,” I finish.

“Hire mercenaries?” Marossa says reproachfully. “No fools would fight against such devastating odds, no matter how much they’re being paid. Which they wouldn’t be, because there’s no money.” Marossa looks to her brother for confirmation.

“Don’t look at me,” Skiro says. “I left everything behind in my territory. All I have are the clothes on my back.”

Now the advisers pitch in, discussing money and funds and what could possibly be done.

And an image comes into my mind. That of the Lirasu Bank housing all the coin I’ve made over the last seven years. All the money said mercenaries paid me for their weapons.

My retirement.

But does it mean anything if I’m dead?

“I have money,” I whisper. When no hears me, I repeat myself, fairly shouting. “I have money!”

“Ziva, no,” Temra says. “You can’t.”

“Money is nothing when faced with death.”

Besides, this is the answer. I won’t make too powerful of weapons for people who might misuse them. But mercenaries? Those who are loyal to coin and themselves? Those who have no ambition except their next payday? Those who already possess weapons I’ve made?

They’re exactly what we need.

“Then it’s settled,” Skiro says. “We leave for Lirasu as soon as the preparations can be made. How much time before Kymora is likely to arrive?”

“Could be as soon as three weeks,” Petrik offers.

“Then we’d better hurry.”



* * *



Kellyn’s hand burns in mine as we walk to our rooms for the night. Though touching him always brings a pleasant warmth, I’m feeling more than just that. Speaking in front of others, throwing away the earnings of my life’s work—it has me burning inside.

I’m overheated, stressed, but at the same time, I know what I did was right.

Instead of giving me a kiss at my door, like Kellyn usually does, he steps inside with me. He takes his hand out of mine to rest both hands on my shoulders.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure of nothing as far as this war is concerned.”

“But, Ziva, your life’s earnings! Everything you’ve worked so hard for. Those royals don’t deserve it.”

“I’m not giving it to them. I’m giving it to a bunch of sellswords.”

“On their behalf.”

“On behalf of Ghadra. And it’s not just my money. Marossa and Skiro are pitching in, too. Everything that they can spare in taxes. Everything the nobility can give.”

He stands straight. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t, either, but I don’t see another way.”

“Maybe we can rally the mercenaries to fight without the incentive of money. This is their home, too. They will also suffer if Kymora takes over.”

I cross my arms. “Put yourself in their shoes. Would you take on such a job without money?”

“If I knew the extent of the situation. If I was fighting for my family—”

“How many of those mercenaries are likely to have families like you do?”

Quietly, he says, “Not many.”

I wrap my arms around him, pull his head down to my shoulder.

“You’re comforting me,” he says with a tinge of humor.