Absolutely not.

My eyes trail everywhere. The tables, the floor, even the ceiling. Come on, Petrik. What am I looking for?

“So many things make sense now,” Temra says without any emotion. “The way he barely hesitated when he joined us on the road and we warned him dangerous people were following us. He knew exactly who was following us and that she was no danger to him.

“And the time that guard hesitated before trying to kill him. Right before Kellyn saved us? Petrik must have been telling that soldier who he was. Telling him Kymora wouldn’t want him dead.

“He’s been with us because he never really cared if we succeeded or not. He knew he would be safe, and he wanted to pick Ziva’s brain for information for as long as he had her.”

She growls then, sends her fist slamming into the door behind her. “How dare he?”

“Temra, focus,” I say. “We have to—”

And then I see it.

The kiln. The handles hanging out. I didn’t put anything in there aside from the iron I was melting, and neither did the smithy. He wasn’t working on anything. He was too curious to see what I was up to.

And now he’s dead.

I swallow that thought and reach for the first metal handle.

It’s attached to a cart axle, one end bright red, ready to be magicked.

The next one is a pitchfork, the tines simmering with heat.

And the final piece is a pair of tongs holding a forging hammer.

Petrik did this. He put them in the kiln, heating them for me.

He believes in me.

Enough to go against his mother.

He’s chosen us as his family. Not her.

And though he may never get Temra to understand, I do.

I grab the axle and set to doing what I do best.

But first, “Kellyn, give me your sword.”

He hands it over, and I shove the tip into the flames.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

I’ve always forged my own weapons. I enjoy the process of creating something out of nothing. The magic is wonderful, too, but I love shaping steel into what I need.

Maybe that’s why it never occurred to me to magic something that was already made.

Or I guess it was never a necessity to magic something that was already made. But after what happened in the prison cell, I know that I can do this.

“The fact that you’re my son is the only reason I haven’t skinned you alive yet.” Kymora’s voice floats through the open windows.

“I love you, too,” Petrik says sarcastically.

“Enough. You do as you wish, but if you come between me and the smithy again, I will not be so lenient.”

“Leave her be.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never asked you for anything. Not once. But I’m asking now. Leave my friends alone. Let them go. Give up this mission you have. The economy is finally settling after the rift that splitting the kingdom wrought on Ghadra. Don’t stir it up again by trying to control everything. There’s peace. Leave it that way.”