That’s when the enemy finally advances.

Twenty-nine guards left. They all but ignore Petrik and come running for me and Temra. My sister is prepared, her sword ready for the onslaught, but she can’t take on that many trained soldiers.

And I’m useless in a fight. Temra is far too close for me to pull out Secret Eater. I’d risk hurting her or Petrik.

“Get behind me,” Temra says, stepping forward to block my body with hers.

I’m both touched and infuriated by the gesture. “They won’t hurt me. Kymora wants me alive to build weapons for her army. You get behind me!”

They’re almost upon us. Petrik sidles closer, preparing to throw again.

And then we’re surrounded. The three of us put our backs to each other, eyeing the soldiers. Kellyn is among them, forming ranks as if he’s trained with these men and women.

We must make a truly pathetic spectacle. Two guards grab me by the arms, easily separating me from the rest of the group. A third takes Secret Eater from my side.

No, not the sword!

I kick and yank with my arms, but it does no good. They’re firm with me, yet they don’t retaliate with any strikes of their own.

I watch as another soldier tries to wrest the staff from Petrik. He tosses it straight up into the air and then sinks to his knees on the ground, waiting for the stick to come back and strike the guard right on the head. But it isn’t long before another red-breasted soldier takes the weapon from him and cracks the stick in two across one knee.

“No, you fool!” the woman barking out orders says. “Kymora ordered them and their weapons brought back to us. One of these girls is the smithy gifted with magic.”

Realizing his mistake, the guard takes off running.

Is Kymora’s wrath so terrible as to send a grown soldier fleeing from a misunderstanding?

My captors drag me toward the soldier in charge. One of these girls, she’d said. They don’t know who is who.

“I’m the blacksmith,” I say hurriedly. “You don’t need my sister. Let her go. I’ll come quietly.”

Temra has already been disarmed, though she certainly didn’t go quietly. The men around her are covered in cuts and scrapes.

“Let her go,” I say again. “Please.”

“We don’t need the spare,” the soldier responds, “and we’re not about to leave witnesses.”

That fact sinks low in my chest.

“I’m the spare,” Temra and I say at the same time.

What is she doing? “That’s Ziva,” I say, pointing to her.

Temra shakes her head. “I’m the little sister. That’s Ziva right there.”

As we start talking over each other, the commanding soldier’s voice silences us. “I’m not amused,” she says. “And I have no problem taking you both so that Kymora can deal with you herself. Let’s go.” The surly soldier looks out over the last of her force. “One of you, kill the boy. We don’t need him.”