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I expect to feel a sad longing, but all I can seem to think about is that sword and its magic. Magic that I can still feel…

I turn to Temra. “I need to check something.”

I plunge back into the house as quickly as possible, making a beeline for the forge and the kiln in the center. As I peer into the dying embers of the oven, my stomach sinks to my toes.

It can’t be.

Using a pair of tongs, I grasp at what I hope to be indistinguishable remains of the weapon.

But the sword is intact. Unmelted. Perfect as though I’d just finished it.

I’m not about to try breaking it apart with my tools; the sword would only resist my blows as it did after I imbued it with my secrets.

It can’t be destroyed.

My head swims with panic. How did this happen? How could I have done this?

It’s too late to dwell on your mistakes.

I quench the blade, dry it off, and carefully slide it into the black leather scabbard I completely lied about not having finished.

When Temra sees me approaching the horse once more, she asks, “Is that—”

I nod. “I did as the warlord asked. I outdid myself. It can’t be destroyed, Temra. We have to take it with us. We have to keep it safe.”

I wait for the outburst that is sure to come. Temra’s anger at me for ripping her from everything she’s ever known. For my foolishness in forging this weapon of destruction.

But it doesn’t come. Temra quietly takes the weapon from my hands and adds it to the others already strapped to Reya’s side. Somehow, Temra’s silence is even worse. I don’t know how she’s feeling or what she’s thinking. But I think we both need to process what’s happening right now.

Just as soon as we’re out of danger.

I start for the road, but Temra puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t go that way.”

“But that’s the road.”

“And if Kymora is watching us, that’s where she’ll have men stationed. Besides, I know how to get out of here unseen.”

Temra leads Reya to the backyard. A hidden trail I’ve never noticed before materializes in the tall grasses at the edge of the property, and Temra begins to follow it.

As I look over my shoulder, I note the trail is out of sight of my bedroom window.

“You’ve been sneaking out!” I accuse.

“Now really isn’t the time, Ziva.”

“How long have you been using this trail? Did you make it yourself?”

“Years and yes.”

“Yea—” I can’t even finish the word. “What have you been doing?”

“Do you want to raise your voice a little louder? I don’t think the warlord can hear you.”

I clamp my mouth shut, but I’m raging within. What if something happened to her? Where has she been going? And who has she been going with? I feel myself getting hysterical.

I focus on my feet and watch them as I walk. One step. Two steps. Three.