“What is going on with you?” Temra asks the next day. I told her all about the sword when she returned home from school. She, of course, demanded I let her have a go with it. I stepped far back as I explained the sword had two abilities that I knew of. It could cut through anything, and it cut things before even coming into contact with them.
Now I sit with the sword in my lap, carefully polishing the metal, holding the blade steady so there’s no hint of a swing in the motion. Otherwise it might demolish the counter in front of me. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re humming.”
“I sometimes hum when I work.”
“No, you don’t. You never hum. And you’ve had a ridiculous grin on your face all day. Care to share the good news?”
I can feel the blush on my cheeks. “Obviously I’m excited about the sword.” Though that wasn’t what I’d been thinking about at all.
Temra stops sweeping and leans the broom against a display case. “Spill, Ziva.”
I’m obviously not a very good liar. “I saw someone, if you really must know.”
“Why should seeing someone put you in a good mood?”
“Temra, let it go. It was no big deal. This guy just walked by the forge, and—”
“A guy! Your cheeks are brighter than tomatoes.”
“He was … attractive.”
“You don’t think anyone is attractive.”
“I’m aware of that, Temra! Can we stop talking about it now?”
She slides into the chair next to me and tries to wrest the cloth from my grip, but I snatch it out of reach.
“No, you’re going to give me details,” she demands.
“There’s nothing to tell. He was tall. Golden-red hair. Carries a sword.”
“Did he wear a uniform?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Men in uniforms are extra handsome. I wonder if he’s a local or if he’s just passing through? We should check all the inns on this side of the city. Just in case.”
“Absolutely not!”
“But this is a huge thing for you!”
“Don’t make a big deal out of this. I feel weird enough as it is.”
“But you should talk to him. Maybe do other things with him.” Her wicked grin is out in full force.
Is it possible to singe my own brows off? Because I think my face might be reaching extreme temperatures.
“I don’t want to do any of that.”
“But—”
“I’m not you. That’s not how I work.” I don’t bother to try to explain how it’s not worth the discomfort and anxiety. My panic is so overwhelming at times, I simply couldn’t bear to be near him. And if he ever looked at me—
I can’t even imagine how I would react.
“You pushing the matter is just going to make me run in the other direction,” I finish.
Temra lets out a frustrated growl, but after what appears to be a mental argument with herself, she sighs. “Fine. Do what you will. But your handsome stranger might not be in town long. Just think about that. Now, I’m going to be late for class.”
She leaves me alone with my thoughts, and I pick back up the tune I’d started. It’s a love song, I think. Something Mother would sing to me when I was little. I don’t remember any of the words. Just the tune.
The doors open, and I look up, expecting Temra. “Did you forget something or are you back to make fun o—”
I drop the sword, but it isn’t followed by a clatter so much as a shink!
Instinctively, I look down—the broadsword landed point first, and it went right through the floor, stopping with the hilt protruding out of the ground.
My gaze flits madly between where the sword lies imbedded in the ground behind the front desk and the man who entered the shop.
My man.
No, not my man.
But the man.
The golden-red-haired stranger with a longsword on his back.
“Sorry, should I have knocked? This is a shop, right? Not a private residence?”
His voice is like the deep cadence of water running over rock.
How is even the sound of his voice attractive? One shouldn’t be attracted to a voice, right? Maybe there is more wrong with me than I realized.
Or maybe there’s just something wrong with him. He shouldn’t exist. It isn’t right to look that perfect. To sound that perfect.
I make the mistake of meeting his gaze. Never before have I looked away so quickly. I think my whole body has gone red, and I know he can see that. Which only makes me more embarrassed and awkward and I want to be anywhere else.
After a silence that progresses too long, he says, “I’m here to see the blacksmith. Is Ziva in? I was hoping to commission a longsword.”
Why didn’t I put the sign out that says the shop is closed? I do that when Temra leaves for school, but I was too busy …
Thinking about him. Humming ridiculous love songs!
“Maybe I could leave a message for her? Or come back later?”
“No!” I say at last.
And then I want to impale myself on the sword. Except that it’s stuck in the ground.
“No to the message or to coming back later?”
“Both.”
“Am I in the wrong place?” He does a sweep of the shop, taking in all the weapons on the walls.
“No.”
“Is Ziva closed to commissions right now? Because I’m certain I can make it worth her while. I came a very long way just to see her.”
My heart skips a beat at those words. He came a long way to see me?
Of course he did. You make magical weapons. He wants a weapon. A million customers have said this to me before, but this one … makes my heart do strange things.
I’m torn between trying to come up with something—anything—to say to this man and deciding whether or not to attempt to retrieve the sword. This likely results in me looking awkwardly hunched from what the stranger can see of me on the other side of the counter.
“Are you … all right?” he asks.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
He grins, showing the tips of his teeth, and to my utter horror, he comes closer, leans himself against the counter, and asks, “What’s your name?”
And I swear by the sacred names of the Sister Goddesses that I don’t know the answer to that question. I cannot remember it or anything else when he looks at me like that.
So I look back down at the sword wedged into the ground. Kymora will be here in less than two weeks’ time …
“Come back in three weeks and the smithy will see you,” I say. By then, Temra and I will be long gone, and I won’t have to endure this again.
“What about you? Will you be in?”
For the love, will he just leave?
“I really should get back to work.”
“Of course.” He steps back from the counter, and I can finally breathe again. “Do tell Ziva I look forward to doing business with her.”
That’s the third time he’s said my name. I don’t know why I kept track—only that I loved hearing the word on his lips.
What is wrong with me?
The stranger says something else on his way out the door, but I don’t catch it.
I’m too busy finally getting the sword out of the ground.
* * *
After my mortifying encounter with the handsome man, I throw myself into my work, making all the little details on the sword pristine. I’ve shaped the hilt after Kymora’s sigil. While the guard forms the wings of a great falcon, the grip serves as the body and tail. The fuller is pristine and even, the edges sharp, the point deadly.
I’m proud of it.
But is it good enough for a warlord?
It will serve her well in battle. Enemies will have a tricky time getting close enough to kill her, but I don’t know that it’s powerful enough to bring nations to their knees.
Still, it will have to do.
Temra comes rushing in to the forge. She closes the doors behind her carefully.
“The warlord is on her way.”
“What?”
“I just saw her and her men coming up the road. They’ll be here in seconds!”
“She’s early!”
“I know!”
We both scramble for the storefront. I lay the weapon on the desk and shut the doors leading back to the forge. Meanwhile, Temra shoves her schoolwork behind the counter, hiding the mess.