WHEN THE BELL TOWER TOLLED the seven-o’clock hour the next evening, Kate stepped through the Relay house main gate and onto the street. She’d been waiting just inside for more than ten minutes now, worried Corwin would turn up early. The riders and workers in the house kept giving her strange glances, but they were easier to ignore than the people on the street would’ve been. Out there, she would’ve felt like a beggar, despite wearing her nicest clothes and with her hair in a tidy braid. In here, she just felt like an outsider, same as always.
And a traitor. She couldn’t forget that. Only it wasn’t a title she inherited from her father this time. She had betrayed Bonner, even if he insisted otherwise—as he’d said over and over again when she went to confess her guilt not long after her meeting with Corwin yesterday.
“It’s not your fault, Kate. You couldn’t just let him die. If you hadn’t used the revolver, you’d be dead too, and believe me, that would be worse. Besides, I made the gun hoping there’d be interest in them.”
“You are a fool, Tom Bonner,” Kate said before she could stop herself. “You used wild magic to make that gun, and now the high prince of Rime wants one for himself.”
“You worry too much, Kate,” Signe said, from where she sat reclining in a chair with her legs propped up on one of the worktables in the Bonner shop. “As I’m always telling you.”
“Worry too much?” Kate folded her arms over her chest. “Wilder magic is outlawed. If they find out he’s a wilder, the gold robes will imprison him, purge him of magic, kill him, then bury his body where no one can find it.”
“Why do they hide the body?” Signe cocked her head in a charmingly fragile gesture that belied her fierceness.
Kate huffed, annoyed at Signe’s disconcerting habit of always focusing on the wrong point. “So that it can never be burned with holy fire.”
“I don’t understand this need to burn flesh.” Signe pinched her nose. “It smells awful.”
Yes, it did, Kate had to agree, even with all the scented oils the priests applied to the corpse, but the stench didn’t outweigh the purpose. “The holy fire is needed to free the spirit, allowing the deceased to cross the barrier from this world to the next. The buried remain dead forever.” Some believed they became Shades, their spirits bound in slavery to serve the whimsy of the gods.
Signe scoffed. “That’s not what my people believe. We bury our dead. The spirits of our ancestors don’t depart. They are Aslar. They remain with us, watching over us, guiding us. Anything else is barbaric.”
No, Kate thought, what was barbaric was how the nightdrakes dug up the dead and consumed them.
She waved her hand impatiently. “The burial or burning is beside the point. Death is the point, Sig.”
“I’m not going to die,” Bonner said, his tone annoyingly carefree. “I’m not going to work magic right in front of him. Prince Corwin just wants to see the revolver I’ve already made.”
“No, he wants you to make more,” Kate said, hand on hips.
“But I want to make more.” Excitement lit Bonner’s boyish features, and he stood up from the workbench. “And here’s my chance. The high king might commission hundreds of them. Thousands.”
Kate glowered, her eyes narrowed so much it blurred her vision. “Are you listening to yourself? How are you going to manage that alone? You can’t work magic at night, and it’ll take you forever trying to sneak it in during the day. Not to mention the risk of getting caught by the magists.” That risk would be greater than ever here in Farhold if the rumor that the Rising was behind the attack on the Gregors was true. Even if it wasn’t, there were bound to be more golds on principle alone. She wondered how bad it would have to get before the Rising realized their folly.
“I’ll figure it out.” Bonner shrugged. “Now that I know copper is the key, I might be able to find a way to create the bullets without using magic, and I’ll make molds of the revolver parts that any blacksmith could use.”
Kate pressed her lips together to hold back a curse. She’d been around Bonner enough to know that his optimism about such accomplishments rarely played out.
“Don’t forget me.” Signe slid her legs off the table and stood up. “Only I can make the special black-powder mixture that will work with your revolver, and nothing will change that.”
Bonner smirked. “How could I forget when you remind me every day?” He waved his hand in front of her ear, transforming the gold hoop she wore so that it dangled in a straight line, blending in with her golden hair. She laughed, flicking it back and forth with her finger like a cat at a ball of yarn.
“And you wonder why I worry.” Kate cupped her forehead.
“Aw, poor Kate,” Signe purred. “We must have something for her to do, too, when all these kings and princes come seeking our genius.”
“Don’t worry, Sig,” Bonner said, fixing her gold hoop with a flick of his hand. “We’ll put Kate in charge of demonstrations. She’s already done such a good job of it.”
Bonner reached out and tickled her side. Kate slapped his hand away, but that only encouraged him. In seconds he had her pinned and tickled her until she laughed and begged him to stop.
But when the laughter died down, Kate begged him once again. “Please don’t agree to make these revolvers for him. It’s not worth the risk it’ll place you in.”
A battle played out in Bonner’s expression. Then he finally gave a reluctant nod. “If it’s that important to you, Kate, I’ll find some way to say no.” He paused and smiled. “All I really want is you happy and safe.”
Now, as she waited for Dal and Corwin, Kate clung to his promise, but she couldn’t keep her doubt at bay. Letting anyone examine the revolver risked discovery of his magic. Corwin was no fool about weaponry, and given Dal’s battle scars, she doubted he was either.
Despite Dal’s promise that they would be here promptly at seven, he and Corwin didn’t appear until some twenty minutes later. They dismounted when they reached her, and Kate was dismayed to see the crowd following them. Rumors were already swirling in the Relay house about his visit yesterday. If she wasn’t careful, the newspapers would start printing about it. That was the last thing she wanted.
Bowing, Kate listened with only half an ear to Dal’s explanation for their late arrival.
“We need to hurry,” she said, cutting him off. “Bonner’s father has been ill for some time now. He will want to close the shop before dark.”
The walk to the blacksmith’s shop took less than ten minutes. Corwin ordered the guards to stay outside while Kate led him and Dal inside. As always, the place felt like an oven, warm air smothering them when they stepped through the door. Bonner looked up from where he stood in the back of the room near the forge, a low railing separating the work area from the small reception up front. Bonner wore his outer tunic for once, and his face was clean, if not his hands. The place looked tidier than she’d ever seen it.
To her dismay, Signe was present as well, still dressed in her Relay tunic. Kate had asked her not to come for fear she might say something untoward, given her habit of always speaking her mind, regardless of her audience. There might be kings in Esh, but nobility didn’t seem to matter to Signe. But failing to listen was one of her regular shortcomings. I am powerless to resist the call of curiosity, she would often say as an explanation. Kate didn’t doubt that was a factor now.
She motioned to her friends. “Your highness, this is Master Tom Bonner and Signe Leth of Esh.”
“It’s just Bonner please, my lords. My father is the master here still.” Bonner bowed, and Signe reluctantly followed suit, though she didn’t stoop quite as low.