Asel turns his head toward Temra first, and a delighted grin smears above his chin as he takes in my beautiful sister. Her dark hair bounces in the most perfect curls when she walks. The sun has brightened her skin to a glorious tan over the summer, and she’s a perfectly regular height at just under five and a half feet.

The governor, seeing his son’s eyes light on my sister, says, “No, this is Ziva, the magically gifted blacksmith.” He indicates me, and Asel’s face loses its delight.

I’m a behemoth at just over six feet tall. Taller than most of the boys, and Asel is no exception. My dull brown hair is flat as a board, and I wear it up and out of my face always. I never bother with makeup like most of the girls my age (what’s the point when I’d just sweat it off while I work?), and as a result, my freckles stand out in stark relief over my nose, forehead, chin, cheeks. Everywhere.

As I wait for Asel to finish his perusal, I’m not filled with shame. Only the fear that comes from being so closely examined. From being forced to interact with people. From worrying I’ll say or do something stupid. From worrying that he’ll be able to guess all my weaknesses just by looking at me.

Asel quickly composes his features. “A pleasure to meet you. Shall we?” He holds out his arm, and I think I’m supposed to take it. The color must drain from my face—touching strangers makes everything so much worse—because Temra takes my arm instead and says, “Lead on, Asel. We’ll follow.”

Bless my beautiful, wonderful sister.

But the governor says, “Actually, Miss Temra, would you accompany me to the kitchen? I simply must get your thoughts on the dinner menu for tonight.”

Temra looks to me for permission. Not permission, really, but acknowledgment that I’ll be all right on my own. I most certainly will not, but I can’t say so in front of the most powerful man in the city.

I nod as I realize just what this is.

A setup.

The governor and his husband want me to take a fancy to their son. Wouldn’t it look splendid to have one of the few people in the world possessing magic as a member of the family?

I want to gag.

Asel, having taken the hint the first time, merely steps beside me without offering an arm this time, and leads me out of the receiving hall. We traverse up a set of stairs in silence, the noises from the party growing fainter as we leave everything behind and enter into some sort of study. I note a desk made from a purple wood and books lining most of the walls. On one end of the room, a fireplace stands, empty of logs or heat at the moment. But above the mantel, atop polished metal hooks, my mace has been placed.

Displayed.

“What is this?” I shriek before I can stop myself.