Page 106 of The War of Wings
Chapter 41
Petra
Ludovicus tossed a pouch of coins onto the counter. The very wooden, very dry counter that looked like it would ignite if I simply looked at it too long. So I averted my gaze to peer at the blacksmith who was, just like Ludovicus had said, very young. No older than me, if I had to guess. He eyed the pouch of coins, his thick, corded arms crossed over his chest.
“I need the forge for the day,” Ludovicus said in a no-nonsense tone.
The blacksmith reached forward, snatching the pouch from the counter and working the drawstrings open. A single brow rose on his greasy, soot-stained face. “This ain’t gonna cover what I’d make today.”
Ludovicus’ eyes caught on the piece of parchment that sat beside a mess of tools. He craned his neck, his gaze traveling over the dozen lines of script. “Shit.”
“Alot of people want weapons made after what happened yesterday,” the blacksmith said. His eyes narrowed on me for a moment, his gaze traveling down the well-made tunic I wore that certainly didn’t blend in with the slums of Araqina. Little did he know I was forged in the slums, just like the weapons he forged here.
Ludovicus reached into the interior pocket of his cloak and tossed another pouch onto the counter, this one even larger. The blacksmith sucked his teeth before he nodded once and reached for the second pouch, tucking both into his pocket before he rounded the counter.
“When I return, I better find it exactly as I left it,” he barked as he walked toward the door.
Ludovicus reached into his pocket once again, flicking a single silver piece in the blacksmith’s direction. He fumbled for it but managed to catch it before he shot Ludovicus a nasty glare. “Get yourself a pint of ale, too.” The door swung shut behind the blacksmith, and Ludovicus moved to turn the latch in place, locking us inside. “Ready?”
“Are you sure this is a good idea? This place looks a little…” I started with a grimace, my eyes flitting around the space, “flammable.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
And with nothing to do but trust him, I stood by and watched as Ludovicus shrugged out of his cloak and tossed it on the counter. Suddenly, he was no longer the apologetic man he’d been moments ago. Gone were the pleading eyes, replaced by a glint of resolution.
He moved around the forge like he was born to do so, his eyes roving over the bars of steel leaning against a section of the back wall. Beside the bars stood a few dozen unfinished blades. At least, I assumed they were unfinished. Some had surfaces or edges that were wavy. Some had hilts, some didn’t. Some weren’t even shaped into swords yet, just long pieces of unpolished steel.
Ludovicus picked through them, brows furrowed over dark eyes as he concentrated. He’d pick one up, stare at its edge, hold it close to his face as if he were looking for something I couldn’t see, then place it back down again.
“You don’t want to make one from scratch?” I asked, confused.
“It can take weeks to perfect a sword’s shape and edge,” he said, still concentrating on the half-finished blades. “I want to find one that’s just about finished.” He carried it toward the forge, reaching for a tool on the wall. Some sort of tongs? He secured the blade between the hands of the tongs and thrust it into the hearth.
The sweat trickling down my brow seemed to be a constant companion here in Araqina. Here in the forge, though? The heat was brutal. I was all the way across the room from the hearth’s blazing fire and I could hardly stand the suffocating temperature. “How the hell are you able to be so close to the fire?”
“I was born and raised here in Araqina,” he answered, an easy laugh bubbling up. “The heat outside is comparable to the forge, is it not? Besides, a forge feels more like home than anywhere else.” He pulled the steel from the fire, glowing yellow at the end of the tongs, and laid it atop a hunk of black stone in the middle of the room. “This is an anvil,” he explained. “It’s where you hammer out the steel into the shape you want.”
Grabbing a hammer from the wall, he wasted no time slamming it down against the softened metal. Each strike made me flinch involuntarily, but I watched in rapt amusement. There was such concentration in his eyes, such an easy comfort, I was struck by the fact that he did, truly, look to be at home. He was in his element here, doing something he clearly loved.
My heart suddenly cracked, an unexpected ache at the fact that Ludovicus was really, truly, just a man. Not a monster. Not a Bloodsinger. Not the leader of the Board of Blood. Just a man who’d had everything taken from him.
“Okay,” he started, pulling me from my thoughts. “I have a rough plan, but I have no idea if this is going to work.”
“I’ll try anything.”
“Can you direct some of your power toward the blade? A burst of fire, maybe?”
I nervously eyed the wooden counter again. “In here?”
His smile was knowing. “It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so. But you’re going to want to stand back here.”
With a nod, Ludovicus backed away, taking his place behind me as I burrowed into myself.Focus, Petra.I stared at the slowly cooling metal, isolating the fire within me and willing it to grow hotter, brighter. With a single hand, I cast my power forward, a shot of flames sailing for the blade. It collided with a metallicclang,sparks flying outward. I threw my arm over my face, wincing as the sparks fizzled and died on the dirt floor.
“Okay,” Ludovicus murmured, grasping the steel with the tongs again and plunging it into a vat I hadn’t noticed. Steam billowed upward as he moved the blade through the sloshing water. “It’s not quite finished yet,” he said, slowly pulling it from the tub, “but we should be able to tell now if it worked.”
???
