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“And? Don’t stop there. What did you do?”

I settle next to her on the bed, making myself comfortable in her room. “Well, you know how I’ve been feeling conflicted about making weapons?”

She nods.

“And I’ve also been miserable because I want to help with my magic, but I didn’t see how I could. Not with how dangerous the things I make have been of late.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t say anything more, for which I’m grateful, but I’m all too aware of what she thinks about my conflict. Though they haven’t said so, I suspect she and Kellyn and Petrik think I’m being silly. What use is a magical bladesmith who won’t magic blades?

“I started magicking armor today,” I say proudly. “There’s no time to make it from scratch, but I’ve heated the armor belonging to the guards and then imbued it with protective qualities. Arrows and other projectiles will bounce off. No sword can pierce it. I can keep our soldiers safe in battle.”

Temra’s grin now matches my own. “That’s wonderful.”

“I got through over fifty sets of armor today. I’ll do it again tomorrow and the next day—until everyone is protected.”

“There’s really nothing you can’t do.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “I can’t sing to save my life.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, if you set your mind to it, you can do anything. I’m so glad you’ve found a way to use your gift without losing yourself.”

“Thank you for your support. I know you don’t always agree with the way I see things.”

“The most important thing is that you’re here. You’re here to fight for your home.” Quieter, she adds, “To avenge our parents.”

Those words send a flare of heat down my spine. “I wanted to kill Kymora the moment she revealed her hand in Mother’s and Father’s deaths. But then you were injured, and I had to focus on you. And then I worried that Skiro wouldn’t let us use his healer unless we had her to trade.”

“Now she’s free and more dangerous than ever.”

“We won’t make the mistake of letting her live a second time.”

Temra’s hand finds mine. “No, we won’t.”

Our agreement hangs in the air, and the two of us sit in stillness, trapped in our own thoughts. I can’t imagine what Temra must be thinking, but I’m imagining what I might be forced to do if I’m the one with the opportunity to end Kymora.

Flashes from the earlier battle invade my mind. The sound of flesh tearing, the sight of blood spraying, the smell of all that gore.

I force myself to concentrate on the heat of Temra next to me. Bring myself to the here and now.

“I miss home,” I say.

“Me too,” Temra agrees.

“What do you suppose we would be doing right now if we were still at our normal lives in Lirasu?”

Temra thinks a moment. “It’s November. The tournament is coming up soon.”

The tournament.

A pang of longing fills my chest.

How long ago was it that I was fulfilling commissions for mercenaries wishing to enter? I try to think back to a few months ago, to the day when Garik came into the forge because he cut himself on his own weapon and demanded a refund.

I snort at the memory. I was going to start on more weapons for the tournament before Kymora came in to commission Secret Eater.

That feels like a lifetime ago.