Page 6 of Skyshade
She remembered how that towering man had hunted her through his forest like prey, sensing her blood. He had craved its ability, to hammer into his weapons. Back then, she had thought herself powerless. She hadn’t understood why he had been so desperate for her blood, but she did now.
It was risky traveling here without telling Grim. The blacksmith had more than a few reasons to want to hurt her.
“If you’re wondering if I’m going to drain you of your enchanting blood, do allow me to put that fear to rest,” he said, without turning. “You happen to be the last person in this world that I would kill.”
She frowned, partially insulted. “Why?”
“You’re better use to me alive.”
That made her pause. “And just what do you plan to use me for?”
He didn’t answer. He just continued his polishing.
She ran her tongue across her teeth. Best to jump right into it.
“I need a way to restrain my power. Keep it under control. Can you make something like that?”
Once, she had dreamed of having ability. Now that she had access to more power than anyone in all the realms, she would do anything to have it taken away. It had made her into a weapon that no one—including herself—could control.
Her mind flashed the images. Ash. Shadows of bodies. Death—
His chair creaked wildly beneath his weight. “I could with the proper metal. It is rare, however. Coveted. I’ll have to melt other creations down to make it.” He studied her for a moment. Two. His gaze slipped to her necklace, and his eyes gleamed with interest. She wondered if it was his own making. “My help comes at a cost.”
She was happy to pay. Anything to smother the power like fire in her veins, anything to ease the fear that any turn of emotion would lead to more death. “Fine. How much?”
“Not coin. I want something only you can give me.”
Isla remembered what he had said, about how she was only valuable to him alive. Was it because he needed fresh blood? Her hand inched toward the dagger sheathed against her leg. He was the tallest man she had ever seen. She had the thought that he could crush her skull in his hands without much effort. She wondered if now was a good time to run. “What do you want?”
The blacksmith stared her down, single eye filled with fire. “I want you to kill me.”
Isla blinked at him. “I—I’m not sure I understand.”
“You understand perfectly.”
His request didn’t make sense. “Why me?” He could have found death numerous ways over the centuries, if that was what he wanted.
That was when she remembered what the blacksmith had told her right after she had put her dagger through his eye. “You weren’t supposed to be able to do that.”
“A ruler far before Grimshaw cursed me to never be able to die, so that they would never be rid of my abilities.” He motioned at his forge. “No one else in this world can create what I can. They knew that.”
“My flair circumvents that.”
“Your father’s flair,” he corrected. It was rare for non-rulers to be born with flairs, but her father had been powerful, and immune to curses.
He would have known her father. She had a sharp need to drain him for details, to ask for any crumbs of her father he might give her, but the blacksmith didn’t seem intent on indulging her for long, and she had more pressing matters. Like the blacksmith asking her to end his life.
Isla didn’t want anyone else to die by her hand. That was the entire point of using the metal in the first place.
He seemed to sense her indecision. “Allow me the mercy of rest,” he said. Isla wondered at the idea of living forever. Never having the peace of death.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“Fine. I’ll give you until the end of winter to change your mind. If you still want this...I’ll do it.”
The blacksmith’s mountainous form seemed to shrink a bit in relief. Then, he turned toward his forge.
