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“Not at all. I can’t wait for us to grow closer.” She leans over to hand me a smelly sack full of dead fish. I reach in with my fingers, pull one out, and toss it into the water. I watch in fascination as two penguins race for it.

Before the day’s end, I set out to find the nearest smithy in the hopes that she’ll let me borrow her tools and forge. Temra waits outside with Volanna while I enter the shop. Temra obviously knows I need to make arrangements for Kellyn’s longsword, but Volanna thinks I’m commissioning something.

Stepping into the forge is like stepping into a hot bath. I breathe in the smells, take in the familiar tools. I feel relaxed at once.

Wornessa is nearly two feet shorter than I am, but her arms are so much broader than mine. She and I quickly decide on a price for the use of supplies and her shop. I let her know everything I’ll need, and she promises to procure it for me by the beginning of next week so I can get started. I’m careful not to mention my abilities.

Talking to Wornessa isn’t like talking to anyone else. I know smithying better than anything, and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to discuss it. I wish conversations were always like this. So effortless and enjoyable.

My anxiety recedes over the next few days as I get to know my grandmother better. She’s fond of basket weaving and cooking. She bakes Temra and me delicious cakes each day, and she shows us how to make a few meals, since we’re both hopeless cooks.

Petrik is polite, giving us space and hovering at the outskirts.He spends a lot of time in his room working on his book, questioning me in the evenings before bed about my abilities.

“Have you read any occurrences of magicked items being destroyed?” I ask casually one night, having tread so carefully to work the conversation so the question would seem natural.

“Sure,” he says without missing a beat. “If the item is simply broken, the magic often breaks with it. I’m sure you’ve come across that on your own with some of your weapons.”

“I have.” But that’s not what I meant. I try again. “What if an item was magically incapable of breaking, though? Do you know any stories about those being destroyed?”

“An item magicked not to break.” He chews on his lip while he thinks. “Why would someone want to break it?”

“What if it was cursed with bad magic?”

“Oh, I see. I know some magics die with their caster, but not all. For example, there was a man who could move water. He would sing to it, and whole rivers would change their course at his command. But when he died, the water reverted back to its natural state. Flowing with the land. Your items, however, are physical and likely wouldn’t lose their magic after you die.”

Well, that’s terribly unhelpful. Not that I want the answer to my problem to be for me to die.

“Why do you ask?” Petrik wants to know.

I dreaded this question, but I also prepared for it. “There are bad people in the world. Someday one of them might possess magic. I was just curious.”

“As magic becomes more common, I’m sure it will undoubtedly find itself in the hands of those who would misuse it. Letus hope that the bad will always be outnumbered by the good. By people like you, Ziva.”

“Thank you, Petrik.” A sharp pain pricks my heart, for I’m the reason magic almost found its way into the hands of a bad person. And I can’t fix it. All I can do is try to keep it away from her.

With a newfound family that seems to accept me, and everything in order to prepare Kellyn’s weapon, I start to relax. For the first time in a while, I feel safe.

And then Sunday arrives.

Volanna makes us sit in the front row, and in that moment, my regard for her dims. She does, however, shoot me a sympathetic look. Did my father also struggle sitting in the front row? Did he hate public places as much as I do? I’ll have to ask Volanna about it the next chance I get.

With her sons and their families positioned on Volanna’s left and Temra and me and Petrik on her right, we take up the entire center pew.

I can feel the stares of all the people sitting behind me, which iseveryonein the church. My skin itches, and I think I pull a muscle in one of my fingers as I fiddle with them, but that doesn’t stop the nervous tick.

By the Twins, I’d rather be anywhere else right now. Facing the warlord. Back on the road. In the tavern with Kellyn.

That last thought surprises me. Even more so when I realize it’s actually true.

But I can do this. My newfound family likes to sit in the front row, so I will sit with them.

We arrived early, so it is several more minutes before a priestess takes the stand at the front of the chapel.

Two lifelike paintings, one of each Sister Goddess, hang on the walls to either side of her. Ebanarra has golden-white robes. Her lips are curved up in a smile, looking at something we can’t see. Tasminya is in ebony. Her face is unreadable, but she stares straight ahead, catching the eyes of all who would look upon her.

The priestess herself wears a simple skirt and blouse combination, white on top, black on bottom to represent the Goddesses. She smiles as she looks down at the congregation. “I see we have some new members in the audience with us today. Why don’t we start with a refresher for their benefit?”

I sink a little lower in my seat. That’s what this day was missing: being singled out.