“Are you … all right?” he asks.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
He grins, showing the tips of his teeth, and to my utter horror, he comes closer, leans himself against the counter, and asks, “What’s your name?”
And I swear by the sacred names of the Sister Goddesses that I don’t know the answer to that question. I cannot remember it or anything else when he looks at me like that.
So I look back down at the sword wedged into the ground. Kymora will be here in less than two weeks’ time …
“Come back in three weeks and the smithy will see you,” I say. By then, Temra and I will be long gone, and I won’t have to endure this again.
“What about you? Will you be in?”
For the love, will he just leave?
“I really should get back to work.”
“Of course.” He steps back from the counter, and I can finally breathe again. “Do tell Ziva I look forward to doing business with her.”
That’s the third time he’s said my name. I don’t know why I kept track—only that I loved hearing the word on his lips.
What is wrong with me?
The stranger says something else on his way out the door, but I don’t catch it.
I’m too busy finally getting the sword out of the ground.
* * *
After my mortifying encounter with the handsome man, I throw myself into my work, making all the little details on the sword pristine. I’ve shaped the hilt after Kymora’s sigil. While the guard forms the wings of a great falcon, the grip serves as the body and tail. The fuller is pristine and even, the edges sharp, the point deadly.
I’m proud of it.
But is it good enough for a warlord?
It will serve her well in battle. Enemies will have a tricky time getting close enough to kill her, but I don’t know that it’s powerful enough to bring nations to their knees.
Still, it will have to do.
Temra comes rushing in to the forge. She closes the doors behind her carefully.
“The warlord is on her way.”
“What?”
“I just saw her and her men coming up the road. They’ll be here in seconds!”
“She’s early!”
“I know!”
We both scramble for the storefront. I lay the weapon on the desk and shut the doors leading back to the forge. Meanwhile, Temra shoves her schoolwork behind the counter, hiding the mess.
I fidget uncomfortably during the ten seconds it takes Kymora to arrive at our doors.
As before, her guards enter first, surveying the area for threats. I try not to flinch when one of them enters the forge. I’ve left a mess in there. At least it can’t possibly be worse than the state they saw it in last time.
When Kymora enters, her face is unreadable, and I wonder for a moment if she’s come here assuming I didn’t do what she wanted. She eyes the sword on the counter.
“Warlord, it is so good to see you! We weren’t expecting you for another week,” Temra says.
“I finished my business early, and I thought I would check in to see Ziva’s progress.”
Temra turns to me, letting me decide how to proceed.
“This is the weapon here. If you’ll just follow me,” I say, not bothering to look to Kymora to see if she’ll agree. It’s much easier not meeting her eyes at all.
I bypass her guards and step out into the yard. Everyone follows silently. Thankfully, Temra and I have restocked the place for a demonstration.
“Stand back, please,” I say. The warlord crosses her arms over her chest, her face still an unreadable mask.
I raise the broadsword into the air, letting my arms adjust to the weight of it.
“Ziva has created for you a weapon with long-range abilities, Warlord,” Temra says. “The weight might be more than you’re accustomed to, but—”
“Is the smithy unable to talk for herself? Why isn’t she showing me what it can do?”
I flinch at the words. Of course I can talk; I just prefer not to. But if I’m to work for Kymora, I need to be better at talking to her. I remind myself that I like this woman, and she has offered me and Temra a fresh start. I can do this.
I don’t turn around as I say, “This blade can cut through anything, and it has long-range abilities. It’s also quite heavy.” Weighted with my secrets.
Holding the sword in both hands, I swipe across the dummy’s middle. The weapon isn’t even within four feet of its target, but straw flies everywhere, and the top half of the mannequin goes sailing off to the side. Without pausing, I move over to one of the wooden planks and swipe down. The board cracks, and the two ends soar up into the air, while the sword plunges into the earth. I have to keep a sure grip on it to avoid losing it to the soil.
When done, I glance over to Kymora, whose straight face has risen into one of wonder.
“My turn,” she says, holding out a hand.
I grab the sword by the blade and extend it out to her. She takes it and proceeds to demolish what remains in the yard.
She takes out all three still-standing dummies with one swipe. She shatters every plank in the vicinity. Then, she strides over to the run-down, empty coop and takes it apart slash by slash. When there’s nothing left to destroy, she puts herself through some stances, swinging the sword in arcs and lunges.
I instantly take back my earlier thought. I worried this weapon wouldn’t be fit for a warlord, but that was before I saw the weapon in the hands of a seasoned warrior.
Legions of men would fall to this sword. Kymora took out three dummies with one swipe. How many foes could she fell before they were even upon her? The broadsword’s reach could outdistance even a spear’s considerable length.
When the warlord has worked up a fine sweat, she brings the sword close to her face to examine it. Carefully, she holds the sword away from her and brings one finger closer and closer to the blade until a fine line of blood magically appears on her finger. She doesn’t so much as blink from the cut.
“Extraordinary,” Kymora says. She thrusts the blade toward me, which is now marred with a line of her blood, despite not having come into direct contact with it. “Clean it,” she orders.
I nod and take the weapon from her.
My fingers touch the grip and—
This is more than I could have hoped for.
My gaze snaps up to the warlord’s.
This weapon will make me unbeatable in combat.
Though I hear Kymora’s voice, her lips aren’t moving.
I will crush Ghadra’s pathetic rulers and reunite the regions under one rule once more: my own. The people will be enslaved to my will. The royal family will all bow before me. Right before I remove their heads.
I can’t move. I’m barely breathing.
“Well?” Kymora says aloud. “Get that blood off my weapon!”
I rush into the shop, my mind whirring as I try to find a cloth.
The smithy is coming home with me. Once she makes weapons for every soldier in my army, we will be unstoppable.
The horrifying voice in my head doesn’t abate until I wipe the streak of red from the steel.
What just happened? I heard Kymora, but she wasn’t talking. Were those her real thoughts?
Her secrets.
The realization hits me in an instant.
“I’m very impressed with your work, bladesmith,” the warlord says from behind me. She must have followed me inside.