As soon as it’s done, as soon as all our enemies are gone, Kellyn flings Secret Eater away from himself. He collapses to his knees and vomits in the grass.

And as if that were the last thing my stomach needed to see, my gut rolls again, and I follow suit.

When Kellyn finally composes himself, he resumes standing and looks toward me. “What in the twin hells is that thing?”

“That’s Secret Eater.”

“Horse shit.”

“It—it has long-range abilities.”

The line of Kellyn’s throat is so tight, you could run a bow across it and make music. He stares after where he discarded the weapon. “That’s what Kymora is after. You lied to me.”

I shake my head fiercely. “I never lied. I didn’t tell you everything, but I didn’t lie. She does want me to make magical weapons for her army, but I also ran off with the one she commissioned. Don’t you realize what she could do with it? What anyone could do with it? I had to keep it safe. You were a stranger. We couldn’t trust you. What if you ran off with the weapon and left us?”

“Dammit, bladesmith! I told you I needed to know what I was getting into. And now Kymora’s men have seen me.”

Temra scoffs from nearby. She toes the dead imposter, who still wears Kellyn’s face. “Clearly they’d already seen you. Otherwise, the cotton spinner couldn’t have done that.”

I’m not about to argue that that’s not necessarily true. We don’t know how her magic works. She could have made the cloth to match the face of whoever the wearer was looking at when putting it on, for all we know. But what we do know is that some of Kymora’s soldiers escaped. She’ll know soon just exactly where we are. And who is in our company.

“I don’t care! I shouldn’t be mixed up in all of this,” Kellyn says. “I have a life, a good life, and I wasn’t planning on losing it all while you three tried to play at being heroes.”

Kellyn bends over the dead body wearing his face. He moves his hands about the man’s neck and pulls upward. Off comes the mask. Once it’s no longer on the body, it morphs back into regular cloth. A monochrome of blues from navy to sky form the spectrum of colors on the fabric. Kellyn uses the nearest fallen sword to shred the thing to pieces.

Petrik winces at the destruction of the magical object. Then he looks up to Kellyn in astonishment. “We thought you’d sold us out to the warlord.”

“And run off with our money,” Temra adds.

Kellyn looks between Temra and Petrik before his eyes settle on me. “And you? Did you assume I had betrayed you?”

My mouth falls open. “I—” No other words will come out. I knew there was something off, but Kellyn’s angry stare prevents me from speaking.

“I see,” he bites out, fury still written in every aspect of his posture. He unties a purse from his belt and tosses it at my feet. “The money from the spear.”