Page 46

Kellyn laughs, and I join him.

When we break for camp, Petrik separates himself from Temra. He grabs what appears to be a notebook and quill from his pack before seating himself on the log I’ve occupied.

Dinner is cooking, some sort of stew that makes my mouth water. The mercenary is off doing who knows what, and Temra pouts in Petrik’s direction.

“I’ve noticed that your horse carries a bundle of weapons. Are they your making?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I say cautiously.

“May I ask what they do?”

“You took your time before approaching me with your questions.”

“I didn’t want to bombard you. You’re clearly hesitant to talk about your abilities.”

“I’m just hesitant about talking in general.”

“You spoke to the mercenary earlier.”

Because my sister was blackmailing me.

“Do you want me to answer your questions or don’t you?” I ask, a hint of irritation creeping into my tone.

“Yes, please.”

“In the weapons bundle, there’s a shortsword named Midnight. It turns black when those who mean you harm are nearby.” I’ve looked at it no less than two hundred times since Petrik andKellyn joined our party. It has remained the natural gray of steel, so that gives me some comfort.

“Can I ask about its origin? How did you make it?” He scribbles something into his notebook. “I’m looking to understand how your magic works.”

I do not like this line of questioning, but I realize this may be just the conversation I need to carefully enlist Petrik’s help in destroying the blade. “It was the first thing I made after Temra and I bought back our parents’ home. Mother and Father were killed in that house, the culprit never found. We were alone, just the two of us, and I wanted to feel safe. It was a shortsword, because I wanted something that Temra could lift, should she need to. She was only ten. Anyway, the sword picked up on what I was feeling, and it gave me a way to know I was safe so long as the blade remained gray.”

“The magic is tied strongly to your feelings,” he notes.

“Yes.”

“What other weapons did you bring?”

“The Sanguine Spear. It seeks blood when thrown. It will always hit the nearest fleshy mark, even if it’s thrown way off course.”

“How fascinatingly morbid. And how did this one originate?”

“That one was actually an accident. I cut myself, and a few drops fell on the spearpoint.”

“Wow, the weapon actually contains a part of you. Your own blood. That is very likely why it’s so much more powerful than the aforementioned shortsword. This is wonderful.” He licks the tip of the quill before scribbling madly some more. “What else? I think I saw another sword in there.”

“Yes, a broadsword.” I drop my gaze down to my interlocked fingers. I release the pressure, my fingers having gone red from the death grip.

“Secret Eater,” Temra says, coming up beside the two of us, taking the attention off me. “It reveals the secrets of those it cuts.”

She’s so clever, as always. Putting the focus on one of the sword’s abilities while completely ignoring its invulnerability and incredible range.

“And how did you make that one?” The question comes from behind us, and I flinch at the unexpected sound.

The mercenary joins us by the fire. He’s worked up a light sweat, likely having just finished an exercise with his sword.

He waits expectantly for my answer.

He doesn’t know. How could he know? And yet he’s the one who asked the question.