Antoninus picked up the blade reverently, and in spite of himself, Feir was warmed. Antoninus wasn’t a Maker himself, but he appreciated the mastery required for what Feir had done. He turned the blade over, examining it. “I thought you put your crossed war hammers on it.”

In a moment of vanity—well, two hours of vanity—Feir had etched his smithmark near the hilt. As a boy, he’d loved the stories about Oren Razin, one of Jorsin’s champions. Feir had been the only person he knew who could even think of wielding two war hammers as Oren had. Later, he’d mostly given it up. It was a lot easier to find someone to train you with swords. “It’s not much of a forgery if you put your name on it. It’s still there, but you have to know how to uncover it.”

“You should be proud, Feir. You’ve made a thing of beauty.”

“Without the dragon’s heart, I’ve made nothing.”

81

What troubles you, my king? You’ve been fondling that rock for two days,” Kaede said.

Solon pulled her into his lap and cupped her breast. “Only when you don’t let me fondle better things.”

“You beast!” she said, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m serious.”

The first days of their marriage had been bliss, except for the rock. Kaede’s repentance at ordering him to subdue the Takedas by himself had led her to make all the wedding preparations. The very night Solon had arrived they had been married. Kaede refused to wait until later in the spring when the outlying nobles could attend. She said if they were offended, she would threaten to send her Stormrider to “visit” their isles.

But there were only so many hours a day that could be absorbed with lovemaking—though Solon and Kaede were doing their best—and that left Solon with time to consider the rock.

“I told you a little about my friend Dorian,” Solon said. “And his prophecy over me.”

“Something about killing your brother and a kingdom falling, right?”

Solon pulled back his white and black hair. “There’s nothing quite as infuriating as having a man in a trance lay out your future in a sing-song: ‘Storm-riving, storm-riding, by your word—or silence—a brother king lies dead. Two fears deriding, hope and death colliding, of the sword’s man, regal third, true lies in your dragon’s heart—or head. The north broken and remade on your single word.’”

Kaede looked puzzled. “Well, you got the storm-riding part.”