“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Corwin said. “And yes, let’s dispense with all formalities. This is Dal, and you may call me Corwin.”
Kate sighed. It seemed some things hadn’t changed after all. Corwin always did dislike titles. She used to agree with him on the lack of need for them, but not anymore. Titles served their purpose in creating necessary boundaries, reminding people of their place in life. Once she hadn’t realized how vast the chasm was between the highborn and lowborn, but she’d spent the last few years learning better. It was a vast chasm indeed, uncrossable.
“I’m sure the lovely Kate has already told you why we’re here,” Dal said, giving her a wink. The gesture disarmed her, and she felt a smile tug at the edges of her lips.
“She has.” Bonner folded his impressive arms over his equally impressive chest. “You’re interested in my revolver.”
“And my black powder,” Signe added.
Dal cocked a brow. “Your black powder?”
She nodded, her chin raised to a haughty angle. “Bonner’s gun fails without my special mixture of black powder for his special bullets.”
“Interesting.” Dal eyed her with an appreciative gaze. “But I must say you’re far too young to be a Sister of the Furen Mag. How did you learn the secret of it?”
A mischievous smile spread across Signe’s lips. “I stole it from the grave of the king of Skaar, and when his kinsmen found out, they sent twelve warriors to bring me back, but I killed them one by one, the first with a hunting knife and the last with a kiss.”
Shock registered on Dal’s face, and Kate laughed. “She’s kidding, my lord. It’s a secret she refuses to tell anyone and instead makes up absurd stories.” Kate had heard over a dozen versions so far.
“What a delightful mystery,” Dal said with a glint in his eyes.
Corwin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the more pressing mystery is the revolver. May I see it?”
“Of course, your highness.” Bonner clasped his hands together with suppressed excitement. “I just finished a new one yesterday. It’s the same as Kate’s in every way.” He retrieved a box from a nearby shelf, removing the lid with theatrical exaggeration. Then he lifted the new revolver out of the box, handling it with showy, delicate care, like something made of glass instead of metal. He passed it to Corwin. “Careful now. It’s already loaded.”
Corwin examined the weapon with naked wonderment on his face, his attention focused on the cylinder, which he pushed open to reveal the bullets tucked inside. “It doesn’t misfire?”
“Never once,” Bonner said. “Not this version at least.” Then he launched into a detailed explanation of how it worked and why. Kate listened, stiff with worry that he would reveal too much, raise too many questions about the intricacies of its creation. But by the end of it, neither Corwin nor Dal seemed suspicious in the slightest. Instead they appeared even more wonderstruck than before. Bonner’s delight in their reaction saddened Kate. He deserved to be so proud, and yet he had to hide the nature of his genius at every turn. She wondered what the world would be like if wilders like him were able to practice their gifts openly, same as the magists.
“This is beyond impressive,” Corwin said. “So much so that I have no choice but to ask if you’d be willing to make more.” He motioned to include Signe. “Both of you, and for a nice commission, of course.”
“How many do you mean?” Bonner said.
“As many as you can make,” Corwin replied, a handsome, irresistible smile appearing on his handsome, perfect face.
Bonner shook his head, his expression apologetic. “I can make you two or three, but I can’t commit to more than that. It takes so much time, you see, and with my father sick, I’m too busy just keeping up with the shop.”
“Yes, I understand.” Corwin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Governor Prewitt tells me Bonner-forged steel is the stuff of legends. It’s a wonder you can keep up with even half of the demand.”
“Yes, they say it’s fit for royalty,” Dal added, charm oozing out from him. It was all Kate could do not to roll her eyes.
Bonner beamed, standing up even straighter so that he seemed to tower above everyone else. “Thank you. I do the best I can.”
Using your illegal wilder magic! Kate thought. If they knew, the praise would turn to condemnation.
Corwin ran a thumb over his chin in an old habit Kate recognized, a sign that his stubbornness was preparing to make an appearance. Only the gesture was different now, thanks to the scar. He traced the line of it. “What if you had help? Could you teach others how to make these revolvers?”
Bonner sagged a little beneath the question. “It’s the same problem as before. I don’t have time for it.”
“What if you no longer had to worry about this shop?” Corwin gestured to the room.
His words set Kate’s nerves on edge as she guessed what was coming next. Only, this couldn’t be happening. Bonner was her friend. She couldn’t lose him. Don’t you dare! she wanted to scream at Corwin. You’ve already taken enough from me. Desperately she searched for a distraction, finding it in the slight disarray on a nearby worktable. She set to straightening the tools at once, the simple act keeping her calm.
“What I mean to say,” Corwin continued, “is will you come and work for House Tormane in Norgard? As royal blacksmith—and gunsmith.”
Bonner’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and Kate’s heart sank, her knuckles bone white around the hammer she’d just picked up. It was a generous offer, and far more tempting than any they’d speculated about earlier. A position in the royal house meant a lifetime of wealth and security. Most of the royal smiths were born into the trade.
But Bonner would still be a wilder, in the capital city of Norgard.
“What about your father?” Kate said, gently setting down the hammer and forcing herself to move away from the table.
Bonner flinched, the hopeful look in his eyes dimming. “Kate’s right. I can’t leave Farhold. Not with my father so ill.”
Guilt washed over Kate, smothering her relief at having volleyed the danger of his leaving.
But Corwin wasn’t just any opponent. He nodded, his expression grim. “I understand the burden of a sick father all too well.”
Kate stared at him, realizing he was referring to his own father. Rumors circulated in some of the less-reputable newspapers that High King Orwin suffered a lingering illness. She’d never believed it could be true until now.
Corwin ran his thumb over his chin again. “Would you change your mind if I were to have your father tended to by the magist healers? I don’t know what ailment affects him, but their magic is powerful. With their care, he might soon recover enough to join you in Norgard.”
All the air evacuated from Kate’s lungs, the weight of defeat pressing down on her. Next to her, Bonner’s eyes filled with sudden, bright hope.
“Do . . . do you really mean it?”
“Yes, he means it.” Dal slapped Bonner on the back. “He’s the high prince, and wealthy enough to afford the League’s prices.”
Don’t do it, Kate prayed. Pick me. But she bit her tongue to hold back the protest. Bonner loved his father more than anything. Same as she had loved hers. She would’ve done anything to save him—include risking her own life. She couldn’t get in the way of letting Bonner do the same.
“Yes,” Corwin pressed. “Your revolver is important enough that I must do everything in my power to see that you make more.” He turned and motioned to Signe. “And you with your black powder. You can become royal alchemist, or whatever title you wish, if you’ll come to Norgard.”