“Give them their time,” Thorda said, and he hung the pair upon the wall rack, their brilliant, shining steel captivating Cyrus’s eyes and filling him with excitement. “Tomorrow, I promise. You wield them tomorrow.”

Tomorrow took an eternity to arrive, but a quick dinner and a fitful sleep later, he ran his laps around the mansion grounds with renewed enthusiasm. No more practice swords. No wooden replicas or exaggerated weights. At last he would wield real blades. His master, though, was in no hurry, and it was only after finishing his breakfast that he finally agreed to join him at the forge.

After the ceremony involved in crafting them, Cyrus was surprised how nonchalantly his teacher gifted the finished weapons. No speeches or promises, merely a single word as he handed both over.

“Careful.”

Cyrus held the sister swords up to the light. The hilts had been meticulously designed with his exact grip in mind. The blades themselves were both unlike any he’d seen on Thanet. The right-hand sword bore the lion hilt of Endarius, and was the longer of the two. Its upper half was thick and straight, but it thinned as it progressed. At its midpoint it didn’t curve so much as bend downward at an angle. From that bend onward, both sides of the blade were impossibly sharp, and it ended at a curving tip that looked powerful enough to thrust through chainmail.

The butterfly hilt of Lycaena belonged to the off-hand blade, and it was exactly as heavy as the other despite being a full foot shorter. It was also straight, and sharp only one on side, the other thick and reinforced so it could endure Thorda’s fighting style. That off-hand blade was mostly used for blocking and parrying, and Cyrus would wield it in a reverse grip as much as he did in a traditional hold. Even the hilt guard was wider and reinforced to protect the hand.

Cyrus swung them through the air, a thrill shooting through his body. The weapons sang as they sliced and danced. Nothing in Thanet’s armory had ever compared to the expertise on display. Simply holding them made Cyrus want to practice from dawn to dusk so he might be worthy of their craftsmanship. Last but not least, Thorda presented him with a sword belt, a traditional sheath for the Lycaena blade, and a unique leather half sheath for the upper half of the Endarius blade on the opposite hip. Cyrus handed the swords to a watchful Stasia while he buckled the belt about his waist and adjusted the tightness.

“Some damn fine work,” Stasia said as she admired the weapons. “They’re almost as nice as my axes. Maybe we should find ourselves a proper swordsman to put them to use.”

“A proper swordsman already has them,” Cyrus said, grinning at her. Gods and goddesses help him, simply holding the fine weapons inspired confidence.