Why is he looking at me like that?
When Kellyn meets my eyes again, I don’t know what he sees there, likely the panic. He looks over his shoulder, notes that Temra and Petrik have fallen way behind.
“Pick up the pace, scholar!” he shouts. “And try not to trip on your dress.”
Petrik looks up with a familiar glare that seems to be reserved only for Kellyn. “I told you, these are robes! And you try not to fall over from the weight of your head.”
Kellyn laughs, and I join him.
* * *
When we break for camp, Petrik separates himself from Temra. He grabs what appears to be a notebook and quill from his pack before seating himself on the log I’ve occupied.
Dinner is cooking, some sort of stew that makes my mouth water. The mercenary is off doing who knows what, and Temra pouts in Petrik’s direction.
“I’ve noticed that your horse carries a bundle of weapons. Are they your making?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say cautiously.
“May I ask what they do?”
“You took your time before approaching me with your questions.”
“I didn’t want to bombard you. You’re clearly hesitant to talk about your abilities.”
“I’m just hesitant about talking in general.”
“You spoke to the mercenary earlier.”
Because my sister was blackmailing me.
“Do you want me to answer your questions or don’t you?” I ask, a hint of irritation creeping into my tone.
“Yes, please.”
“In the weapons bundle, there’s a shortsword named Midnight. It turns black when those who mean you harm are nearby.” I’ve looked at it no less than two hundred times since Petrik and Kellyn joined our party. It has remained the natural gray of steel, so that gives me some comfort.
“Can I ask about its origin? How did you make it?” He scribbles something into his notebook. “I’m looking to understand how your magic works.”
I do not like this line of questioning, but I realize this may be just the conversation I need to carefully enlist Petrik’s help in destroying the blade. “It was the first thing I made after Temra and I bought back our parents’ home. Mother and Father were killed in that house, the culprit never found. We were alone, just the two of us, and I wanted to feel safe. It was a shortsword, because I wanted something that Temra could lift, should she need to. She was only ten. Anyway, the sword picked up on what I was feeling, and it gave me a way to know I was safe so long as the blade remained gray.”
“The magic is tied strongly to your feelings,” he notes.
“Yes.”
“What other weapons did you bring?”
“The Sanguine Spear. It seeks blood when thrown. It will always hit the nearest fleshy mark, even if it’s thrown way off course.”
“How fascinatingly morbid. And how did this one originate?”
“That one was actually an accident. I cut myself, and a few drops fell on the spearpoint.”
“Wow, the weapon actually contains a part of you. Your own blood. That is very likely why it’s so much more powerful than the aforementioned shortsword. This is wonderful.” He licks the tip of the quill before scribbling madly some more. “What else? I think I saw another sword in there.”
“Yes, a broadsword.” I drop my gaze down to my interlocked fingers. I release the pressure, my fingers having gone red from the death grip.
“Secret Eater,” Temra says, coming up beside the two of us, taking the attention off me. “It reveals the secrets of those it cuts.”
She’s so clever, as always. Putting the focus on one of the sword’s abilities while completely ignoring its invulnerability and incredible range.
“And how did you make that one?” The question comes from behind us, and I flinch at the unexpected sound.
The mercenary joins us by the fire. He’s worked up a light sweat, likely having just finished an exercise with his sword.
He waits expectantly for my answer.
He doesn’t know. How could he know? And yet he’s the one who asked the question.
“I whispered my secrets to it while making the blade.”
“What kind of secrets?” Petrik and Kellyn ask at the same time.
Petrik wants to know for his book. Kellyn wants to know because he’s nosy, and I just ignore the both of them.
“Like stealing taffies from the larder,” Temra says, crossing her arms.
“Ah,” Kellyn says. “Such secrets you keep.” He grins in my direction.
My face heats impossibly at the real truth. How I wanted to touch Kellyn, who stood so far away, and the sword gained long-range abilities.
“Can I try it?” Kellyn wants to know.
“What?” I ask.
“The sword. Secret Eater. Can I try it out?”
“And just who do you plan to cut with it?”
Kellyn immediately looks at the scholar.
“No,” Petrik says. “I’m no good with blood, and I refuse to be party to your ill-conceived ideas.”
“Fine,” Kellyn says, put out. He turns to me instead. “You use it. On me.”
“You want me to cut you? Why?”
“Curiosity. I want to know what it would tell you. I want to know if it really works.”
“No,” I say at the same time Temra says, “Okay.”
“Of course it works,” I say, ignoring Temra, “but I’m not about to slice you open.”
“I’ll slice him open,” Petrik says.
“You said you didn’t like blood,” Kellyn says.
“I’ll close my eyes.”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
Temra leans into me. “This could be good,” she whispers. “You wanted to know whether or not he could be trusted.”
“He’ll notice the sword doesn’t actually touch him when it cuts him,” I whisper in response.
“So we’ll make him look away.”
“And Petrik?”
“You heard him. He hates blood.”
“Fine!” I snap, probably louder than necessary. I stomp over to Reya, who swishes her tail at me.
I return to the fire with Secret Eater. Temra sits next to Petrik. Kellyn has rolled up his sleeve. He looks at me expectantly.
“Look away,” I order him.
“I’m not scared of being cut.”
“I don’t care. I can’t do it with you watching. So if you want me to cut you, you better look away.”
He rolls his eyes but turns away.
I throw a quick glance Petrik’s way; he has his eyes squeezed shut and two fingers pinching his nose, as though he’s afraid he’ll smell the blood from there.
Temra gives me an encouraging nod.
Kellyn doesn’t so much as blink at the pain when a thin well of blood appears on the littlest finger of his nondominant hand. He must be used to all the injuries that come from his line of work.
“How does this work?” Kellyn asks. “Do you ask me a question and I answer? Does it compel me to be honest?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I say, but I lose my train of thought as the mercenary’s voice floods my mind.
I’ve always wanted to go back to Thersa. It’s beautiful, full of waterfalls and warm weather. Really, it’s like these girls are paying me to take another vacation. They’ll be safe with me.
The bladesmith is so gentle and quiet at times. You really can’t help but feel like you want to protect her. The sister is feisty and pretty, to be sure, but this one has a more calm beauty, something I feel drawn to inexplicably.
I drop the sword and step away from it, as though it might say something else offensive.
Offensive? That’s not quite the right word.
Kellyn eyes me, and I feel my cheeks heat like the sun.
Uncomfortable. Awkward.
Yes, those fit better.
“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that?” he asks.
I can’t answer right away. “It reveals some of your thoughts. Usually the more relevant ones to whoever is holding the blade.”
Kellyn smirks. “And just what did it tell you, bladesmith?”
I start coughing for no reason. Probably to prolong my words for as long as possible. Temra sees right through this tactic, but I hope the mercenary doesn’t.
Finally I catch my breath and say, “You’re excited to go back to Thersa. You said we’re practically paying you to take a vacation.”
“True,” Kellyn says. “Was that all?”
“You said we’d be safe with you.”
“Also true. Anything else?”
“N-no.”