Page 92

When she says nothing, I look up. She’s squinting so hard at me, I can barely see her pupils. My heartbeat quickens, anticipating the rejection that must be coming.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“My name is Ziva. What’s yours?”

“Abelyn.”

The ensuing silence only lasts for a few seconds. Abelyn steps forward, but I can tell I haven’t won her over yet. While I hold the breastplate firmly in place, she begins to hammer. Before she can ask me to turn the metal, I’m already flipping it over.

After a few minutes of this, she pauses. “You can stay.”

The staff may be shorthanded (it’s only Abelyn), but the forge is well stocked. The capital is practically on top of the Southern Mountains, so there’s no shortage of iron ore. I’m also delighted to find that Abelyn is proficient in making steel.

While she takes a break from hammering to sip from her waterskin, I peruse her worktables. Chisels, molds, drawplates, swages, fullers, punches, drifts, bits, and hammers. So many hammers in so many sizes. Every tool is finely made and well used.

“Don’t touch anything,” the old smithy says when she catches me staring.

“My last set of forging hammers was stolen by Prince Ravis,” I say.

“And why should the prince care about your hammers?”

I only deliberate for a moment before answering. I can’t very well magic anything in here without her noticing. Either I commit to this, or I leave now.

“Because they were magicked,” I say. “I’m no fighter, but with those hammers, I felt unstoppable.”

Abelyn narrows her eyes again; I’m coming to find that the suspicious look she gives me isn’t a look at all but the natural set of her face.

“Magic? In weapons?” she asks. “Rubbish. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “Would you like me to show you?”

Her eyes narrow (again). “You’re telling me you can do this?”

I tilt my head to the side. “You really haven’t heard of me? Ziva, the magically gifted bladesmith.”

Abelyn spits on the ground. “I don’t care for gossip, and I hate small talk.”

I really like her, despite everything about her that’s off-putting. There’s nothing pretend about Abelyn. What you see is what you get.

“And how do you feel about magic?” I ask.

“Never seen it.”

“Would you permit me to use it?”

“If you didn’t clearly know your way around the forge, I’d kick you out now for being a looney.”

“Can I make my own hammers? I’ll show you how the magic works firsthand.”

I take her answering grunt as assent.

With the two of us working, we’re able to get through Abelyn’s to-do list much quicker. I help her with all the preparations to have our measly one hundred guards as properly outfitted as possible for the battle ahead.

And we also craft my hammers together.

It’s a speedier process than most other weapons would take. Not so much pounding is required to turn a clump of white-hot steel into the shape of a hammer head.

Because of this, I take the time to add my own embellishments.