“And this isn’t iron.” Roan let her hand run over a sheet of metal lying on the table behind her. “It has iron in it, but I changed the process. This is a different metal: harder, lighter, and it won’t tarnish or rust. But you’re right. I did steal the idea, most of it. I improved on the concept, but the majority I got from the rubbings.” Still touching the shiny metal, she added, “I shouldn’t hide that. Everyone should know the truth.” She nodded. “Yes—I did steal this, so that’s what I will call it—steel.” Her lower lip quivered as she nodded. “Yes, that’s a good name. There’s no rrr sound in steel.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Malcolm’s voice lowered to a sympathetic tone. “What matters is that the fane believes the Belgriclungreians broke the agreement they had with Erivan. Lothian will seek to do what Fenelyus refused to. He’ll march on Belgreig, slaughter his way south, and destroy Drumindor with as little problem as you’ve seen here.” Malcolm stared at the three dwarfs. “Your people will be destroyed along with the humans. Two massive branches from the tree of life severed, and that’s too much of a shock for the old gal to sustain. With no outside enemies, the Fhrey will devolve. Some have already broken their covenant with Ferrol, ignored the law of the horn, and killed each other. In time, more will seek to rid themselves of the Miralyith, or the Miralyith will seek to purify themselves and eliminate the other tribes. A population like theirs that reproduces so slowly can’t survive a civil war. The goblins will see their opportunity and attack. Then it will be the Grenmorians against the goblins, and civilization will vanish, snuffed out before it ever had a chance to truly bloom.”
Suri glared at him. “So, I have to do this or the world ends? Is that what you’re saying? Is there anything else you want to add? How about the sun, will it go out? Will the moon fall? Will all the lakes, rivers, and streams dry up?”
“Actually, there is one more thing,” Malcolm said, then looked down at Arion. “This is part of what she needed you to do—why you had to live and become a butterfly.”
At the sound of that last word, Suri gasped. She clutched her body tighter and her breath grew shallower as she glared at him.
“Her Art,” Malcolm explained. “Her ties with the world whispered the message in her ears. That was her gift, the one Fenelyus saw, but neither of them fully understood. Everything Arion did since coming to Dahl Rhen has led you to this point. She worked hard to provide you with the power to save your people and hers. The treasure you brought back from Neith wasn’t iron or steel. It was the knowledge you gained from Minna’s sacrifice. Suri, your sister didn’t die to save the nine of you, she sacrificed herself to save the world.” Malcolm offered a knowing smile. “She truly was the wisest of wolves.”
The tattoos came together again as Suri bounced back from the blow Malcolm had delivered. She looked angry.
Minna was a subject Suri avoided. The wolf’s death was something Raithe knew to step carefully around. Malcolm was dancing on the narrow ledge of a very high cliff.
“How do you know?” Suri demanded. “How do you know about the butterfly?” She pointed at Arion. “Did she tell you?”
“No,” Malcolm said. “But that’s not important.”
“It is!” Suri rose up to her knees to face him.
“No—it isn’t. What’s important is that what I’m telling you is true. If it isn’t, just say so.”
Suri stared at Malcolm with a wild look that terrified Raithe.
The mystic was breathing hard, her teeth clenched as if she was deciding whether to make Malcolm explode or not. Her breathing slowed, and the muscles in her face relaxed. “Doesn’t matter,” she replied while looking over at Arion. “I’m all out of friends to kill.”
The smithy fell silent then. From outside, the sounds of people digging and heaving stones entered the open doorway. Suri threw her head back and wiped her eyes. Roan stared at her worktable, and the dwarfs inspected their boots.
“Is she?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m clearly not in the running,” Tressa said. “For once, being universally hated is a good thing.”
“Is she, Raithe?” Malcolm looked at him.
“Is she what?” he asked.
Malcolm waited.
“Don’t look at him,” Suri said. “Why are you looking at him?”
Malcolm continued to stare. The man who didn’t know how to use a spear and had never seen a dahl was gone—no longer the clueless ex-slave whom Raithe had saved from death in the wilderness. There were no questions in those eyes, no fear. All Raithe saw was sadness, sympathy, and patience as he waited for a response.
“Are you saying…” Raithe began, then faltered.
Is he saying what I think he is?
Malcolm nodded. “You wanted to make a difference.”
The words punched him in the gut, and it was Raithe’s turn to look devastated.
“You can make your life matter.”
“You mean I can make my death matter.”
“Wait, what?” Roan asked.
“He’s suggesting that Suri kill Raithe to make a Gilarabrywn,” Rain said.