At the silence that follows, I say, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Kellyn looks at the bottom of his cup as he takes a drink. “Not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have a job for me to do, and you haven’t finished the one I gave you. So you’re here for social reasons.”

Oh my Goddesses. I am. I mean, I do have something to discuss with him, but I haven’t even brought it up yet. I’m currently being social.

Don’t think too hard about it. Just keep talking.

“Our new home doesn’t feel safe,” I say. “I had to get out. I don’t know anybody in this city.” And I don’t want to.

“But you know me. So I was your only option.”

I tilt the cup in my hands so I can stare down into the dark contents. “I could have shut myself in my room.”

“Or made small talk with the scholar. Or did he take your sister’s side?”

“My sister’s side?”

“You had an argument, did you not? Why would you be here if you had your sister’s skirts to hide behind?”

I’m so shocked by his words that I nearly lose my grip on my tilted drink. “Excuse me?”

Kellyn rubs the side of one finger against his forehead. “That came out wrong. I just meant that you are attached to her. You can’t really start a sentence without looking to her to finish it.”

I feel my brow shoot up to my hairline.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Just that you’re awfully dependent on her, and maybe it’s good for you to get out on your own every once in a while. Bladesmith, I’m trying to say I’m glad you came to see me.”

I can’t even begin to unpack those words. Should I pretend to take a drink from this cup I have no intention of actually consuming?

“I don’t like getting out,” I say.

“I know.”

“I hate most people.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even drink.”

He grins. “I guessed as much. You just like having something to hold in your hands, right?”

At that, I lock eyes with him. How has he guessed so much about me?

He thinks you’re a beauty.

My cheeks redden. This whole exchange is humiliating. If I ran out of here, would he chase me?

“What just happened?” he asks.

“What?”

“You were fine for a moment, and now you look ready to bolt. Did I do something?”

“No. It’s me.” It’s always me. “I’m not good at talking.”

“You’re doing perfectly.”

That’s kind of him to say, but I’m almost certain he’s lying for my benefit.

At my silence, he asks, “Are you ever going to tell me the rest of what that sword revealed to you about me?”

I look down at the wood grain of the table, twisting the cup in slow circles. “No.”

“Oh, come on. How can you not tell me my own secret?”

“It’s too humiliating,” I whisper.