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“You are not the one who needs to seek my forgiveness. I’ve had time to practice healing from those wounds, by using my ability when I choose to. By associating good with it, instead of bad. I suggest you find a way to do the same.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. There is a castle forge.”

“No, I mean. I can’t make weapons for Skiro.” Not with the risks involved. Not after all the damage I’ve already done.

“Then do not make weapons for Skiro. Make weapons for yourself.”

I want that so desperately. To forge for myself again. But any weapons I make would be wielded by someone in the upcoming war. I can’t exactly hide them.

Unless—

I literally make a weapon for myself.

Didn’t Kellyn suggest on the road that I make new hammers? Wouldn’t I feel safer to have something to protect myself with?

An image forms in my head. Two beautiful hammers with smooth handles and heavy block-shaped heads. A combination in design between forging hammers and war hammers. I’m running through possibilities in designs for the detail work, something Ravis never permitted me to do.

“Serutha,” I say. “Thank you. Please excuse me.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I find Petrik, he’s in conversation with Isulay, from the meeting room.

“The earl wants more space for his pregnant wife. He’s taken to having his men bully the servants out of their rooms. I’ve already told him that if he persists, he and his family will no longer be welcome within the protection of the palace.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Petrik asks.

“If we lose him, we lose his men. That’s twenty fighters who can aid during the siege.”

“How far along is his wife?”

“Eight and a half months.”

“You remind the earl that we have all the midwives within a fifteen-mile radius within the walls of this palace. If he wants the best care possible, he would do well to behave. Perhaps we could arrange for a bigger room if we have a midwife stay with them.”

“I could arrange that.”

“See if that helps.”

Isulay walks on, and I approach as Petrik rubs at his temples.

“And I thought manual labor was tiring,” I say.

“Every day there are dozens of these petty squabbles to solve. They’re exhausting.” His fingers move to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You seem to be good at fixing them.”

“I know. It’s strange.”

“Not at all strange. You’re the most brilliant person, I know.”

“If I were truly brilliant, I’d find a way to convince Temra to forgive me.”

I feel bad for him, truly, but there’s nothing more I can do for him. Except maybe—

“Have you tried cake?”