“Can I ask about its origin? How did you make it?” He scribbles something into his notebook. “I’m looking to understand how your magic works.”

I do not like this line of questioning, but I realize this may be just the conversation I need to carefully enlist Petrik’s help in destroying the blade. “It was the first thing I made after Temra and I bought back our parents’ home. Mother and Father were killed in that house, the culprit never found. We were alone, just the two of us, and I wanted to feel safe. It was a shortsword, because I wanted something that Temra could lift, should she need to. She was only ten. Anyway, the sword picked up on what I was feeling, and it gave me a way to know I was safe so long as the blade remained gray.”

“The magic is tied strongly to your feelings,” he notes.

“Yes.”

“What other weapons did you bring?”

“The Sanguine Spear. It seeks blood when thrown. It will always hit the nearest fleshy mark, even if it’s thrown way off course.”

“How fascinatingly morbid. And how did this one originate?”

“That one was actually an accident. I cut myself, and a few drops fell on the spearpoint.”

“Wow, the weapon actually contains a part of you. Your own blood. That is very likely why it’s so much more powerful than the aforementioned shortsword. This is wonderful.” He licks the tip of the quill before scribbling madly some more. “What else? I think I saw another sword in there.”

“Yes, a broadsword.” I drop my gaze down to my interlocked fingers. I release the pressure, my fingers having gone red from the death grip.

“Secret Eater,” Temra says, coming up beside the two of us, taking the attention off me. “It reveals the secrets of those it cuts.”

She’s so clever, as always. Putting the focus on one of the sword’s abilities while completely ignoring its invulnerability and incredible range.

“And how did you make that one?” The question comes from behind us, and I flinch at the unexpected sound.

The mercenary joins us by the fire. He’s worked up a light sweat, likely having just finished an exercise with his sword.

He waits expectantly for my answer.

He doesn’t know. How could he know? And yet he’s the one who asked the question.

“I whispered my secrets to it while making the blade.”

“What kind of secrets?” Petrik and Kellyn ask at the same time.

Petrik wants to know for his book. Kellyn wants to know because he’s nosy, and I just ignore the both of them.

“Like stealing taffies from the larder,” Temra says, crossing her arms.

“Ah,” Kellyn says. “Such secrets you keep.” He grins in my direction.

My face heats impossibly at the real truth. How I wanted to touch Kellyn, who stood so far away, and the sword gained long-range abilities.

“Can I try it?” Kellyn wants to know.

“What?” I ask.

“The sword. Secret Eater. Can I try it out?”