She crossed the floor to Bonner and gave his shoulder a pat. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied, optimism brightening his voice already. “He’s going to be fine any day now.”
Kate managed a meager nod; then, searching for an easier topic, she motioned at the box. “Did you finish the latest model?”
An eager grin broke over his face. “Just last night, and this time, Kate, I’m certain I’ve made a breakthrough.”
“You’ve said that once or twice before.” She touched a finger to her chin. “Wait, make that six times.”
Bonner huffed, puffing out his chest in indignation. “All new inventions take time and refining. Anyone will tell you.”
He raised the lid to reveal the pistol inside. Except the gun was unlike any other in all of Rime, in all the world. It was breech-loading instead of muzzle, with a circular chamber to hold the bullets. A revolver, Bonner called it, based on the way the bullet chamber rotated with each press of the trigger. For months now, Bonner had been obsessed with creating a gun that could fire multiple rounds without reloading, enough shots to take the place of the mage-enchanted arrows the Relay relied on. Enchantments did not come cheaply, and Bonner wanted to give Kate a better way to protect herself from nightdrakes. In truth, he wanted to give all of Rime a better way, although he rarely spoke of the ambition out loud. Like most wilders, Bonner hated the Mage League. Only for him, it wasn’t about the injustice of their persecution, but rather the cost of their magic. The green robes might be able to heal his father, if only Bonner could afford their price.
Pulling the revolver from the box, he handed it to Kate. “Same one, better design.”
The weight of it tugged at her hand, but the hilt fitted easily in her palm. She aimed it at one of the swords on the wall, cocked the trigger, and pulled. Not loaded, it made only a faint pop, but the action on the gun worked smoothly. She cocked it again, marveling at the easy way the cylinder rotated.
“Okay,” she said, lowering the gun. “I accept that it’s a better design, but you’re sure it won’t jam this time?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. The trick was in the new bullets. See.” He pulled one of the bullets out of the pile in the box and held it before her. With a wave of his hand, he dismantled the bullet with his magic.
“Bonner,” Kate hissed, “don’t do that. What if a magist walks in?”
“I’ll use him for target practice.”
She shook her head, flustered by his bravado. The risk of using magic inside the city was greater than ever these days, with more and more golds turning up at every turn, on the hunt for wilders. Kate blamed the influx on these rumored Rising attacks. She wished they would stop. Such violence could only create more support for the Inquisition, making it harder for wilders like her and Bonner to go on living in secret. And here Bonner is, courting the danger, she thought. The Mage League wished to purge all of Rime of wilder kind. The Rising was just helping it along.
With the bullet’s innards spread across his hand, Bonner launched into a complicated explanation about how the cartridge case needed to be copper, the soft metal better suited to seal the barrel and prevent it from backfiring. Kate made a face, knowing all too well what that backfiring entailed. She’d nearly lost a hand “testing” his designs. She was no less leery about this one.
“Well, to be honest, changing the casing was Signe’s idea,” Bonner said, “since she’s the one who knows how the black powder works, but I’m the one who decided on copper, what with my understanding of metals.”
And your ability to manipulate them, Kate thought. That was the irony of Bonner’s quest to create these weapons—they still required magic to manufacture. Modern tools would never accomplish it, though few who enjoyed Bonner’s wares knew it.
“Well,” Kate said, “I hope you’re both right this time.” Bonner and Signe had been in on this together from the start of their friendship. Black powder, the substance crucial to the firing process in all pistols, was made only in Esh but could be bought in most stores in Rime. But for some reason the regular mixture wouldn’t work with Bonner’s design—something to do with the rate at which it burned. Signe had had to modify it somehow. The secret of mixing black powder was known only to the Furen Mag Sisterhood, a mysterious and secret order of Eshian craftswomen, and—for some reason she’d never divulged—Signe Leth. She was far too young to have learned the trade, even if she once had been an initiate in the order. Both Bonner and Kate had tried to get the truth out of her, but Signe refused to tell. Nevertheless, it was their secrets, both shared and not, that bonded the three of them together in such a tight friendship.
“So will you test it?” Bonner asked, brows raised in an eager expression.
“I suppose I must,” Kate said with a resigned air.
Beaming, Bonner slid his arms around her waist and spun her around. “Thank you. It’s going to work this time, and I’ll finally be able to stop worrying about you.”
“I hope not,” she said as he set her on her feet again. “A little worry feels nice.” Her voice broke over the words, memories of Corwin ambushing her again.
“What’s wrong?” Concern creased Bonner’s brow.
“It’s nothing. Just an unpleasant morning.”
“What happened?” he insisted, hands on hips.
Biting her lip, Kate debated whether or not to tell him. But then the story came spilling out of her. That was how it always was around Bonner—openness like an impulse. It helped that he already knew about her past with Corwin. For some reason, it was a story she’d shared only with him and not Signe. Kate managed to tell the story without crying, but only barely. Not that she could fool Bonner.
He pulled her into another bear hug. “Forget about him. He doesn’t matter.”
“I know. I’m just being silly.”
“No, you’re not. It has to be hard to be confronted with your old life like that.” He took the revolver from her hands and slid it into a holster. “But you’ve got a new life now. And I swear to take care of you forever.” He held out the holster to her like a promise.
An ache squeezed Kate’s chest at his words. He’d said such things before, but he didn’t mean it. Oh, he loved her, for certain, but not in the way that would last forever. Not in the way she wanted to be loved. Their love was like that between a brother and sister. But someday he would find someone who stirred the deeper parts of his heart, the way Corwin had once stirred hers. For a second, she wished it were different—that Bonner felt that way about her, and she him. But no amount of wishing could change their hearts, and desire could not be mined, only ignited.
Swallowing regret, Kate accepted the holster and stowed it in her saddlebag along with a case of bullets. “I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late.”
“Safe ride, quick return.” He planted a chaste kiss on the top of her head and pushed her toward the door.
She hurried outside, trying to force her mind anywhere except on Bonner and the future that she knew waited for him. A wife and children to claim his devotion. Any woman would be lucky to have him. There was no such future for her. Who would want a traitor’s daughter?
Trying to escape her own head and the image of Corwin’s face, Kate hurried faster, soon arriving at the Relay house. Deacon was waiting for her, holding the reins of a bay gelding called Darby. Kate quickly fastened her saddlebag to the back of the saddle, then mounted.
“The wardstones are in the pouch,” Deacon said, checking Darby’s girth. “And I added some extra valens for you to help sway the ferrymen to let you cross—if you need to.”