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A demonstration, then.

I find the biggest man in the forges. “Come over here. Bring a hammer.”

He listens at once, and I slap the sword onto the nearest anvil, holding it by the hilt and letting several inches of the tip hang off the end.

“Try to break it,” I instruct.

The man looks to Elany, as if for permission. She nods.

After a shrug, he hoists his hammer and slams it down on the end of the sword. There’s a noise like a clap of thunder, and the man’s arm flies backward when it meets the resistance of the blade.

Which is still intact and perfectly unmarred.

“Take it,” I say, holding it out to him.

He examines the sword carefully. “Not a scratch on it. I should have shattered it with that swing. Wait a moment.” He reaches out a hand, brushes it along the tip. He draws in a sharp gasp before putting his finger in his mouth. “It’s sharp. We haven’t taken these to the grindstone yet.”

“Nor will you need to,” I say. Ravis ought to be happy about the saved time.

Elany takes the sword from him and examines it herself. “It’s impressive, but I don’t think it’s what the prince had in mind…”

“If the prince wanted something different, then he should have asked for it.”

And with that, I continue.

By the end of the day, all five dozen swords are magicked, and the team has already started up a fresh iron-and-charcoal mixture, preparing to make more steel. I dread the work ahead and the end result of it. I think of how each swing of my hammer will weigh down my soul.

And then the prince shows up with his personal guards, Strax at the head still bearing Kellyn’s longsword.

Ravis doesn’t say a word as he grabs one of the finished weapons. He twirls it about as he’s fond to do with his dagger. Strax picks up another one of the weapons, puts himself through a series of drills, striking at an invisible foe.

When done, Strax holds the sword out in front of him, balances the blade on two of his fingers. “This is better work than anything your smithies have made yet. The balance is perfect. The blades are light yet powerful.”

The prince listens to Strax’s judgment before he turns to me. “What do they do?”

My gaze drops to the floor, unable to bear the scrutiny. “They’ll last forever, Prince.” I try to think of something else to say. Something to convince him of the worthiness of these blades, but my mind goes totally blank.

Elany clears her throat. “As soon as Ziva magics the blades, they’re instantly sharp. We don’t have to take them to the grindstone. These swords will never dull, never rust, never break. Your warriors’ blades will never fail.”

My fingers interlace in front of me, and distantly I hear my joints popping. I think I might hold my breath as I wait for the prince’s judgment.

“I know you can do better, lady smithy. Strax’s new weapon is proof of that. I expect the next batch to be more powerful, else your mercenary friend will suffer the consequences.”

My gaze snaps up. “Prince, I can’t control my more powerful magic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Bigger things are more unpredictable. And if you expect volume, as you’ve requested, simpler magic is the way to go.”

I’m mumbling. I’m not really even aware of what I’m saying. Truths or falsehoods? I just know I can’t make him dozens of unbeatable weapons or else the world is doomed.

“Do better,” Ravis says. “You have been warned.”

I can’t sleep that night. My brain turns over every possible thing that could go wrong. Visions of Petrik and Skiro falling before my magical weapons. Kellyn’s family fleeing for their lives. My home city burning. It haunts me into the early hours of the morning.

With drooping eyes, I begin hammering at the next round of weapons.

“Ziva,” Kellyn says from the corner of the forge. “Don’t do this for my sake.”

“Quiet,” a guard snaps at him.

“I’m not worth it,” he says. “I can’t bear to see you like this.”