“You cut yourself!” Temra shouts back. “You will not come in here and try to blame the weapon for your carelessness.”

“Carelessness! I am a master swordsman. The fault certainly doesn’t lie with me.”

“Really? How else does a man cut his sword arm with his weapon? What were you doing? Practicing twirls? Throwing the weapon up in the air and trying to catch it? Was there a large audience to see you stumble?”

Garik sputters for a good minute as he tries to find his words, hinting that Temra’s guess is exactly what happened.

“Perhaps you should try acrobatics if you’re going to use your sword in such a manner instead of how it was intended,” Temra bites out.

“You stay out of this, you little heathen! I’m taking this up with the smithy. Or is she incapable of speaking for herself?”

That has me dropping my tools and giving the foul man my full attention. It’s one thing for him to come in here and attack me, but to call my sister names?

“Garik,” I say with confidence I don’t feel. “You will leave now before we bring the city guards into the matter. You are no longer welcome in the forge or the shop or anywhere near our land.”

“My arm—” he tries.

“Is not nearly as hurt as your pride, else you would be at a healer’s and not here.”

His face grows red as blood drips onto the ground.

I can’t look at him any longer. It’s too much. My eyes find the laces at his shirt instead and focus there. Maybe that was stupid. Did what I say even make sense? If I say something more, would I only be rambling?

I decide to add, “I would be happy to take a look at the weapon to ensure its effectiveness. Perhaps in front of all your friends? Though, by the excellent gash in your arm, it appears to be working just fine.”

That does it. He storms out the way he came, but not before taking a swipe at the worktable along the way and sending my tools cascading toward the ground.

Then he’s gone.

“Horrible man,” Temra says, and she goes to put the worktable to rights.

But I can’t really hear her. I’m looking at my tools, then back at the spot where Garik once stood. The entire ordeal is replaying in my mind over and over again, completely out of my control. He was here. In my forge. I had to speak. Had to question myself. Had to feel like I was going to boil from the inside. Logically, I know neither my sister nor I were in any real danger, that such confrontations don’t mean the end of the world is nigh, but that doesn’t mean my body is convinced.

I can’t breathe. Or maybe I’m breathing too fast.

“Ziva? Oh dear. Everything is okay.”

Everything is not okay. Temra tries to approach me, but I step backward, nearly falling over as I do so. My hands are shaking, and my body temperature goes from uncomfortably hot to unbearably so.