Page 222 of Starside

“Pass me the iron, would you?”

I do. I’m only ten, and convincing Stellan to let me help him in his forge is the biggest accomplishment of my life.

He looks at me and shakes his head, frowning at my wide, curious eyes. “You’ll be bored in a week.”

I take not being bored as a personal challenge, especially when shadowing him becomes monotonous. I fill the silence between pounding metal with questions.

“Have you ever made a blade so big no one could hold it?”

“No.”

“Have you ever poured honey into the burning metal, just to see what would happen?”

“What? No.”

“Have you ever—”

“Here,” he says, handing me his tools. “Why don’t you keep yourself busy by trying all these ideas of yours?”

I blink down at them. My excitement turns to worry. “But what if I fail?” I ask. Would he let me back into the forge? Would he … would he put me out on the streets? I don’t have anywhere else to go … I try to return the tools. “Maybe I shouldn’t try.”

He doesn’t take them back. All he says is, “The only way you fail is if you don’t.”

I open an iron door, and a blacksmith turns his focus away from a blade to me. His brow furrows. Then his eyes light with that all-too-familiar terror. “Does he know you’re here?” he asks, looking around.

“Who?” I say, even though I’m almost sure I know.

“Lord Rodin.”

I think back to the man with the dark, oily hair. He didn’t seem that intimidating, though I only interacted with him for a few minutes.

“I’m a guest,” I say, but clearly that doesn’t cut it. He stands as if to close the door in my face, when a tiny voice sounds nearby.

“Who is it, Dad?” Before the man can speak, a small child with hair black as night darts forward. He looks at me and tilts his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says.

The man leans down and whispers words I can’t hear. The boy unhappily walks away. Then the blacksmith looks at me. His eyes are full of irritation … but also fear. He’s afraid for his son.

“You have to leave,” he says, looking around as if the walls have eyes and ears.

“But—”

“Come back at midnight.” His gaze lands on the sword over my shoulder, tucked in my new scabbard. His eyes sharpen, just at seeing the hilt.

I slowly ease it out of its sheath so he can see its metal. “Have you—have you seen my blade before?”

The immortal blacksmith’s jaw works. For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer me. Then, as if the words will cost him, he says, “I have.”

Hope rises through my chest. I open my mouth.

“Tonight,” he barks, before slamming the door shut.

38

Instead of a feast downstairs, trays of food are delivered to our chambers. It’s almost as if the attendants saw us snooping and are encouraging us to stay in our quarters. I eat my dinner quickly, anticipation building in my bones. I marvel at my blade, the metal glistening.

“What secrets do you hold, Stellaris?” I say, running my finger down her metal. Her glimmer is like a wink.

The drawers are full of useful clothing, like pants and long-sleeved shirts better suited for the rest of the journey, which is good because I can barely breathe in this dress, especially after dinner.