Even if I know most of that is unlikely to happen, I can’t shake the fear. Agreeing to talk with him doesn’t feel safe at all.
“No, thank you,” I say, and turn my attention to my hands in my lap.
The waitress comes then, delivering our food. She looks to Petrik. “Have you decided on anything?”
“Not yet,” he returns.
She leaves, silence and steam the only things filling the air in her wake.
“So, Petrik,” Temra says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The rich mahogany locks catch the light with the motion. “Tell me about Skiro. I’ve never been there before.”
I can tell he’s staring at me. I can feel it. Temra makes her best attempt to direct the scholar’s attention back to her, but Petrik all but ignores her.
“I must have spoken too hastily, Ziva. I apologize. It’s been a long journey, and I didn’t mean to ambush you at dinner. I hadn’t expected you to walk into the very restaurant where I was eating. I meant to seek you out. Set a proper appointment and explain the whole arrangement. I would of course compensate you for your time. Perhaps I could come by your forge sometime so we could discuss the matter further?”
“No, thank you,” I repeat.
“May I ask why?”
“The forge is Ziva’s safe space,” Temra explains. “She doesn’t like anyone intruding. She’s a very private person. I’m sure you understand. Maybe I could talk to you to help with your book. I assist Ziva in the forge frequently. I’m familiar with her process and have extensive knowledge of all the weapons she’s made. Maybe the two of us could get together sometime. We could meet up for dinner again.”
Yes, I like that idea much better. Just leave me out of the entire thing, and Temra can flirt with the supposedly handsome boy.
“Are you certain I can’t do anything to convince you otherwise?” Petrik asks, his attention never wavering from me.
I need to be direct. Confident. If there’s any hint of uncertainty from me, he’ll likely keep hounding me. So I raise my gaze, look the scholar firmly in the eye. “I’m certain. I have no desire to be questioned or to have my life scrutinized.”
Then I pick up my fork and knife and start cutting pieces out of the roast lamb. I try not to repeat what I said in my head. I don’t want to fixate. I don’t want to worry. I just want to enjoy my dinner.
Petrik rises without another word. Instead of retreating back to his table, he exits the restaurant altogether.
Good riddance.
“Can you believe him?” Temra says.
“I know,” I say. “How many times do I have to say no for him to understand?”
“What? Oh, right. But also, he completely ignored me! Rude. He just used me in the beginning of the conversation to get to you.”
That’s a first. People usually mistakenly try to talk to me to get closer to my pretty sister.
“He’s gone now,” I say, and I finally take a bite of the mouthwatering food. It’s delicious, as always.
Temra only dips her spoon in her soup, never actually bringing it to her lips, her mind clearly still on the strange encounter.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “Soon I’ll have enough money for us to leave Ghadra and retire in the northern continent. He won’t be able to track us down there.” We’ve been talking about it for years, ever since I opened my own business. The northern continent is beautiful, and few people can afford to live there. No one will know who I am. No one will seek me out for weapons. I love what I do, but I’d prefer forging for no one but myself. When I finally have a comfortable amount for Temra and me to be set for life, we’ll leave behind this place and settle somewhere out in the country. Just the two of us. It’s all I want. To feel safe all the time and never worry if someone is going to surprise me with a social visit when I haven’t mentally prepared myself.
I do very well for myself as the only magical smithy in existence—at least I’ve never heard of another one.
People seek me out from all over the world for weapons. Some have been for nobles who want to boast their wealth and superiority. Others have been high-ranking officers of private armies. City and castle guards receive small salaries, so I’ve never had one of them grace my doors.
But the bulk of my customers?
They’re mercenaries.
Sellswords.
Fighters for hire.
There’s been a high demand for them in recent years.
Our former sovereign, King Arund, had a bit of difficulty with his younger brother, who constantly tried to usurp him and steal his throne. The story goes that the king eventually had to sentence his brother to death after a failed assassination attempt on his life. He loved his brother dearly and hated that the crown had come between them.
In an attempt to do away with future familial animosity, Arund decided he would divide the kingdom of Ghadra between his six beloved children.
New boundaries were drawn. Six territories arose, each named after the prince or princess who rules it. Ghadra became divided.
And opportunities arose for unsavory sorts.
It was only a decade ago that the split happened, and there were many who took advantage of it. Bandits have become more common than flies on the roads. They move from territory to territory, making it impossible for any one ruler to stop them. No one wants to allocate men or funds toward criminals when they’re no longer in their territory. Then there’s the problem of six new rulers trying to create their own courts, build their own economies, finance their individual rules.
The people have suffered greatly for the change.
And I’ve heard tales that not all six royal children are content with one little piece of the pie. Rumors abound about revolts and plans for takeover, but that’s all they are at this point. Whispers on the wind.
Regardless, my business has become a necessity, and I make very good money doing it. Countless individuals have tried to hire me as their personal smithy. Given my abhorrence for people, I’ve always refused. Lately, these requests have become more frequent. Knowledge of my abilities has started to spread to the far reaches of Ghadra. Probably because I’ve been taking on more commissions lately, trying to reach our goal faster.
Temra and I are so very close to being able to leave. Just two more years, I think. If I want to be able to retire and afford the higher cost of living for myself and my sister for the rest of our days, we need a bit more.
“That’s great, Ziva,” Temra says, pulling my mind from images of her and me alone in paradise.
She still doesn’t touch her food.
“Have you given any more thought as to what trade you’d like to commit yourself to?” I ask, hoping to distract her.
“Not really. I love to act in the local city performances, so maybe I could join a traveling troupe someday.”
I don’t see how she would stay with me in the north if she intends to go traversing about for her trade. She clearly hasn’t thought that one through very much.
“Or…,” she hedges, “maybe I’ll do something with weapons. I’ve basically been apprenticing under you my entire life.”
Yes, I like that idea much better. “Of course! There’s always a place for you in my forge.”
“That’s not what I meant. I can’t be in your shadow my entire life, Ziva.”