“Get over here,” he said, motioning me around his forge, into the sweltering open space between a workbench piled with tools and half-completed weapons, and that huge, steaming barrel of water. “I made something just for you.” He held up two silky loops of material in his chubby fingers. “Behold!”

“And that is—”

“Your garters, my dear.” He leaned forward. “May I help you put them on?”

I snatched them from his hand. “How about you watch? That enough for you?” I’d learned the first time we met that Michael could be handled with one part charm and one part sass. Ana had been a master of it, and that made me miss her more than ever. She would have handled this situation beautifully. It made my chest ache to think of her.

Michael leaned back against the barrel. “Don’t let me stop you.”

I lifted my foot to set it on the workbench, and then pulled my skirt high on my thigh, leaning forward to try to keep Michael from seeing too much. Judging from his sharp intake of breath, I wasn’t doing a good enough job. As quickly as I could, I strapped the circle of silky material to my upper thigh and set my foot on the ground. It remained secure, even though it seemed like it should come sliding down. “This will stay in place?”

“Eh?” he grunted, still staring at my legs. “Oh. Yes. Specially designed. Here you go.” He handed me three small knives. “The blades have a forward drop like all the rest. Your Lieutenant said they fit your style—slash and slice. Hang ’em high, or everyone will know you’re armed when you shake your nqe on the dance floor.” His eyes glazed over.

I took the knives from him, cringing at the creepy half grin on his face. “You’re picturing me doing that right now, aren’t you?”

He nodded, his eyes still dreamy.

“Thanks for your … thoughtfulness.” I tucked the blades into the sheaths along the outer curve of my thigh and then repeated the process on the other side. Malachi was right: thanks to his endless drills, I’d gotten pretty good with these knives over the past few weeks and could fight efficiently with one in each hand. I would just have to practice drawing from the thigh instead of the waist. “Anything else you can do for me?”

He whipped out a long, slinky pair of silver gloves. “I made these just for you. Lightweight sap gloves.”

I took them from him and raised my eyebrows, surprised by the weight of the silky material. I turned them over to see the delicate stitching along the backs, extending halfway along the fingers. “Is there something sewn into these?”

“Steel shot. You’ll be able to punch through concrete boards.”

“For real?”

“Trust me.”