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I lock eyes with Petrik as I realize what he’s suggesting.

A tingling sensation takes root under my skin. Something fullof anticipation and excitement. Not fear. Something hopeful and real and beautiful.

A way to help. A way to magic metal again and feel like myself.

“Excuse me,” I say, taking off down the spiral staircase at a near run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It takes some time to find Abelyn, Prince Skiro’s ill-tempered smithy. She’s with the other refugees, spread out in the forest behind the palace. I weave around countless tents and lean-tos, asking if anyone’s seen her.

When I spot her, it takes very little explanation for her to agree to set off with me to locate Princess Marossa’s castle forge.

It’s not any grander than Skiro’s had been, but it’s well stocked at least, the palace being only a short distance from the Southern Mountains. We find an aged man sprawled on the floor of the forge. He has a bottle of rum in one hand and clutches the corner of a small blanket in the other. I think he might be snoring with his eyes open.

“Huh,” Abelyn says, taking note of the finished arrowheads lining the nearest worktable. Her eyes return to the man on the floor, giving him a swift kick with her boot. He doesn’t budge. “How does anything get done around here? Marossa’s smithy is a drunk!”

Footsteps round the corner. A young boy maybe thirteen orfourteen years of age startles at the sight of us. His hair is so long and tangled, I can’t imagine it’s ever seen a brush.

“You make these?” Abelyn asks, picking up one of the arrowheads.

The boy panics, looking over at the sleeping smithy. “No, Clivor does all the work. I just help with the chores.”

Abelyn snorts. “I don’t have time for your lies. We need able bodies! If you’re useless, then get out of here!”

I place a hand on her shoulder, putting myself between her and the boy. “What’s your name?” I ask.

He swallows. “He calls me Insect… when he’s lucid.”

“And you’re real name?” I ask.

“Zovid.”

“Zovid, I’m sure you’ve heard war is coming. We need to prepare. Can you handle the tools in here?”

After a brief hesitation, he nods once.

“And you made all these arrowheads?” I ask.

Another slow nod. “The princess requests arrows mostly. I can do those well. Anything else and I have to wake him.” Quieter, he adds, “He’s not happy when he wakes.”

Abelyn grunts. “He’s going to be less happy when he meets me.”

I ignore her remark. “We’re going to do some work in here. Will you help?”

Zovid nods.

“Good. Now, I need you to run some errands for me. Do you think you could do that?”

Another nod.

“I need all the soldiers in the capital to bring me their armor. Collect it for me. Or plead with them to bring it themselves. I don’t care. Just get it here.”

I’m fairly bursting with joy come evening. Temra notices the glow in my cheeks at once.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I was in the forge today.”