“You were counting?” I mean, I was counting, but that’s because no one but Temra ever makes me laugh. And why should those two comments of his go together unless—
Oh.
I see now what all of Asel’s words were meant to do. Not make me feel better at all about the mace but to lead to something that he thought would make his night more enjoyable.
He’s a despicable lady hunter.
The panic recedes, replaced with fury.
“You think saying a few nice words to me earns you a kiss? That’s not how it works.”
He blinks once before standing straighter, trying to match my height, but he still falls inches short. “Most women would kill to get me alone.”
“I very much doubt that. Most women are far too sensible to have such poor taste.”
He scoffs in outrage, dares to step forward. I cross my arms over my chest, hopefully hiding my shaking hands, and letting my biceps bulge with the muscles there.
Thinking better of trying anything, Asel steps around me and all but rushes out of the room.
I’m left alone, the faraway chatter of a hundred people lightly filling my ears. I take a seat in one of the elaborate sofas facing the weapon.
Now that the threat is gone, my thoughts turn back to the conversation. Everything I said. Everything I did. Did I really flex in front of him?
My thoughts tumble out of control, fixating on each mortifying sequence of events, down to the horror of having to stand up for myself.
I’m distracted as another presence fills the room.
A woman enters in an almost lazy manner, a glass of wine held in front of her. She looks once at me and then to the weapon on the wall.
“Are you her? Ziva, the blacksmith?”
I don’t know if I can take being social for one second longer. I manage a nod, before sinking further into the chair.
“I saw the governor’s distasteful little brat running from the room. Good for you,” she says. “Whatever you did, I can promise he deserved it.”
I manage to breathe out a sound similar to a laugh. “Who are you?”
“Warlord Kymora Avedin,” she says, approaching the mantel to get a better look at the mace. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
A warlord? I’ve never met one of those before. But I’ve heard of her. She served under the late king before he split the kingdom into territories. Kymora is smaller than I would have thought someone with such a title would be, but at my height, most girls seems short to me. She wears her tan hair pulled back into a bun, with one lock twisted into a braid and pinned to the side of her head. A scar runs from the center of her right cheek to her ear, but it was well tended to, the line smooth and white, rather than puckered and pink. A broadsword hangs at her side, but by the slight bulges in her clothing, I gather it is not the only weapon on her person. I place her at about forty years of age, though it’s hard to tell, as she’s certainly taken great care with her physical health.
“Exquisite work,” she says, reaching out to touch one of the flanges. “Such a shame it’s being wasted on a wall. Utterly ridiculous for such a fine piece.” She takes a sip of her drink.
I like her. She’s so upfront, dismissing with any formalities. It puts me at ease immediately.
“Thank you. That’s exactly what I was just saying.”
“I’m in town to commission a piece from you,” she says without any more preamble. “Something to wear at my side, not dangle in front of guests, I assure you. I’ll be stopping by the forge later this week.”
“I’d very much like to make something for you,” I say, and I mean it.
“Excellent. I’ll see you later, then. Think nothing more on this,” she says, indicating the mace. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and someone will rob the place.”
I’ve a wide grin on my face as she leaves the room just as casually as she entered it.
I wonder how much longer I can hide up here.
I give it a few more minutes before forcing myself back down the stairs to the main room. I assure myself that I’m only imagining everyone’s stares. No one is looking at me. No one knows about the embarrassing situation with Asel. No one cares that my dress is brown. Someone laughs nearby, and I have to tell myself it’s not at my expense.
I can survive the rest of the night. I’ll be cool and collected like Warlord Kymora. Exuding power and unaffected by anyone else’s opinions. I can’t wait for her to visit the shop. I start thinking of all the intricate metalwork I could do on the hilt of a broadsword.
Temra finds me, and I link my arm through hers before realizing the look of panic on her face.
“We need to go,” she says. “Now.”
That’s usually what I say. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“Ziva, just trust me.”
“Okay,” I say, letting her lead me toward the exit—secretly delighted that I’m getting out of the party early.
Then bodies block our path.
Asel is at the front of them with his fathers, his arms crossed in front of his body in an imitation of the threatening posture I just displayed to him upstairs.
“Ziva,” the governor says. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve insulted my son after we’ve welcomed you into our home.”
“Erinar,” Reniver says, gently tapping his husband on the arm. “Perhaps this isn’t the best place.”
“I want this settled now. What do you have to say for yourself, blacksmith?”
“Um…” The whole receiving hall is watching. A hundred bodies stop their conversations to stare at the scene before them, and I seem to have forgotten every word I’ve ever learned.
“Did you or did you not strike my son?”
That brings me up short. “Why should I have reason to do that?”
“Asel says you were furious at the mace’s placement on the mantel. You then became enraged and attacked him.”
“I did what?”
“Governor,” Temra says, “my sister doesn’t have a violent bone in her body. I’m sure Asel is mistaken.”
“I am not,” Asel says.
“You appear perfectly fine,” Temra points out. “I see no marks. No tears in your clothing. Where exactly is my sister supposed to have struck you?”
He huffs proudly. “I don’t need to explain myself.”
“I think you do, son,” Reniver says.
“How can you doubt him?” Erinar says.
“You know how he can be. I’m worried we don’t have the full story.”
“What kind of parents would we be if we don’t believe our child? And if the blacksmith were innocent, perhaps she’d have more words to disclose.”
My face heats, and I feel wetness at the corners of my eyes as fury and fear take hold within me. Words. Find my words.
“Asel—he—” Breathe. “He made unwanted advances toward me. I may not have said the kindest things in response, but I didn’t lay a finger on him.”
Reniver nods, as though he feared that’s what happened.
“Is that true, Asel?” the governor asks.
“No, Father. I swear it happened as I said.”
Both the governor and his husband look between Asel and me. I watch as they check my knuckles. Reniver nods to himself, as though unsurprised to find unbroken skin there. The governor seems to notice for the first time the large scene he’s caused and the people all looking on.