WHEN THE BELL TOWER TOLLED the seven-o’clock hour the next evening, Kate stepped through the Relay house main gate and onto the street. She’d been waiting just inside for more than ten minutes now, worried Corwin would turn up early. The riders and workers in the house kept giving her strange glances, but they were easier to ignore than the people on the street would’ve been. Out there, she would’ve felt like a beggar, despite wearing her nicest clothes and with her hair in a tidy braid. In here, she just felt like an outsider, same as always.
And a traitor. She couldn’t forget that. Only it wasn’t a title she inherited from her father this time. She had betrayed Bonner, even if he insisted otherwise—as he’d said over and over again when she went to confess her guilt not long after her meeting with Corwin yesterday.
“It’s not your fault, Kate. You couldn’t just let him die. If you hadn’t used the revolver, you’d be dead too, and believe me, that would be worse. Besides, I made the gun hoping there’d be interest in them.”
“You are a fool, Tom Bonner,” Kate said before she could stop herself. “You used wild magic to make that gun, and now the high prince of Rime wants one for himself.”
“You worry too much, Kate,” Signe said, from where she sat reclining in a chair with her legs propped up on one of the worktables in the Bonner shop. “As I’m always telling you.”
“Worry too much?” Kate folded her arms over her chest. “Wilder magic is outlawed. If they find out he’s a wilder, the gold robes will imprison him, purge him of magic, kill him, then bury his body where no one can find it.”
“Why do they hide the body?” Signe cocked her head in a charmingly fragile gesture that belied her fierceness.
Kate huffed, annoyed at Signe’s disconcerting habit of always focusing on the wrong point. “So that it can never be burned with holy fire.”
“I don’t understand this need to burn flesh.” Signe pinched her nose. “It smells awful.”
Yes, it did, Kate had to agree, even with all the scented oils the priests applied to the corpse, but the stench didn’t outweigh the purpose. “The holy fire is needed to free the spirit, allowing the deceased to cross the barrier from this world to the next. The buried remain dead forever.” Some believed they became Shades, their spirits bound in slavery to serve the whimsy of the gods.
Signe scoffed. “That’s not what my people believe. We bury our dead. The spirits of our ancestors don’t depart. They are Aslar. They remain with us, watching over us, guiding us. Anything else is barbaric.”
No, Kate thought, what was barbaric was how the nightdrakes dug up the dead and consumed them.
She waved her hand impatiently. “The burial or burning is beside the point. Death is the point, Sig.”
“I’m not going to die,” Bonner said, his tone annoyingly carefree. “I’m not going to work magic right in front of him. Prince Corwin just wants to see the revolver I’ve already made.”
“No, he wants you to make more,” Kate said, hand on hips.
“But I want to make more.” Excitement lit Bonner’s boyish features, and he stood up from the workbench. “And here’s my chance. The high king might commission hundreds of them. Thousands.”
Kate glowered, her eyes narrowed so much it blurred her vision. “Are you listening to yourself? How are you going to manage that alone? You can’t work magic at night, and it’ll take you forever trying to sneak it in during the day. Not to mention the risk of getting caught by the magists.” That risk would be greater than ever here in Farhold if the rumor that the Rising was behind the attack on the Gregors was true. Even if it wasn’t, there were bound to be more golds on principle alone. She wondered how bad it would have to get before the Rising realized their folly.
“I’ll figure it out.” Bonner shrugged. “Now that I know copper is the key, I might be able to find a way to create the bullets without using magic, and I’ll make molds of the revolver parts that any blacksmith could use.”
Kate pressed her lips together to hold back a curse. She’d been around Bonner enough to know that his optimism about such accomplishments rarely played out.
“Don’t forget me.” Signe slid her legs off the table and stood up. “Only I can make the special black-powder mixture that will work with your revolver, and nothing will change that.”
Bonner smirked. “How could I forget when you remind me every day?” He waved his hand in front of her ear, transforming the gold hoop she wore so that it dangled in a straight line, blending in with her golden hair. She laughed, flicking it back and forth with her finger like a cat at a ball of yarn.
“And you wonder why I worry.” Kate cupped her forehead.
“Aw, poor Kate,” Signe purred. “We must have something for her to do, too, when all these kings and princes come seeking our genius.”
“Don’t worry, Sig,” Bonner said, fixing her gold hoop with a flick of his hand. “We’ll put Kate in charge of demonstrations. She’s already done such a good job of it.”
Bonner reached out and tickled her side. Kate slapped his hand away, but that only encouraged him. In seconds he had her pinned and tickled her until she laughed and begged him to stop.
But when the laughter died down, Kate begged him once again. “Please don’t agree to make these revolvers for him. It’s not worth the risk it’ll place you in.”
A battle played out in Bonner’s expression. Then he finally gave a reluctant nod. “If it’s that important to you, Kate, I’ll find some way to say no.” He paused and smiled. “All I really want is you happy and safe.”
Now, as she waited for Dal and Corwin, Kate clung to his promise, but she couldn’t keep her doubt at bay. Letting anyone examine the revolver risked discovery of his magic. Corwin was no fool about weaponry, and given Dal’s battle scars, she doubted he was either.
Despite Dal’s promise that they would be here promptly at seven, he and Corwin didn’t appear until some twenty minutes later. They dismounted when they reached her, and Kate was dismayed to see the crowd following them. Rumors were already swirling in the Relay house about his visit yesterday. If she wasn’t careful, the newspapers would start printing about it. That was the last thing she wanted.
Bowing, Kate listened with only half an ear to Dal’s explanation for their late arrival.
“We need to hurry,” she said, cutting him off. “Bonner’s father has been ill for some time now. He will want to close the shop before dark.”
The walk to the blacksmith’s shop took less than ten minutes. Corwin ordered the guards to stay outside while Kate led him and Dal inside. As always, the place felt like an oven, warm air smothering them when they stepped through the door. Bonner looked up from where he stood in the back of the room near the forge, a low railing separating the work area from the small reception up front. Bonner wore his outer tunic for once, and his face was clean, if not his hands. The place looked tidier than she’d ever seen it.
To her dismay, Signe was present as well, still dressed in her Relay tunic. Kate had asked her not to come for fear she might say something untoward, given her habit of always speaking her mind, regardless of her audience. There might be kings in Esh, but nobility didn’t seem to matter to Signe. But failing to listen was one of her regular shortcomings. I am powerless to resist the call of curiosity, she would often say as an explanation. Kate didn’t doubt that was a factor now.
She motioned to her friends. “Your highness, this is Master Tom Bonner and Signe Leth of Esh.”
“It’s just Bonner please, my lords. My father is the master here still.” Bonner bowed, and Signe reluctantly followed suit, though she didn’t stoop quite as low.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Corwin said. “And yes, let’s dispense with all formalities. This is Dal, and you may call me Corwin.”
Kate sighed. It seemed some things hadn’t changed after all. Corwin always did dislike titles. She used to agree with him on the lack of need for them, but not anymore. Titles served their purpose in creating necessary boundaries, reminding people of their place in life. Once she hadn’t realized how vast the chasm was between the highborn and lowborn, but she’d spent the last few years learning better. It was a vast chasm indeed, uncrossable.
“I’m sure the lovely Kate has already told you why we’re here,” Dal said, giving her a wink. The gesture disarmed her, and she felt a smile tug at the edges of her lips.
“She has.” Bonner folded his impressive arms over his equally impressive chest. “You’re interested in my revolver.”
“And my black powder,” Signe added.
Dal cocked a brow. “Your black powder?”
She nodded, her chin raised to a haughty angle. “Bonner’s gun fails without my special mixture of black powder for his special bullets.”
“Interesting.” Dal eyed her with an appreciative gaze. “But I must say you’re far too young to be a Sister of the Furen Mag. How did you learn the secret of it?”
A mischievous smile spread across Signe’s lips. “I stole it from the grave of the king of Skaar, and when his kinsmen found out, they sent twelve warriors to bring me back, but I killed them one by one, the first with a hunting knife and the last with a kiss.”
Shock registered on Dal’s face, and Kate laughed. “She’s kidding, my lord. It’s a secret she refuses to tell anyone and instead makes up absurd stories.” Kate had heard over a dozen versions so far.
“What a delightful mystery,” Dal said with a glint in his eyes.
Corwin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the more pressing mystery is the revolver. May I see it?”
“Of course, your highness.” Bonner clasped his hands together with suppressed excitement. “I just finished a new one yesterday. It’s the same as Kate’s in every way.” He retrieved a box from a nearby shelf, removing the lid with theatrical exaggeration. Then he lifted the new revolver out of the box, handling it with showy, delicate care, like something made of glass instead of metal. He passed it to Corwin. “Careful now. It’s already loaded.”
Corwin examined the weapon with naked wonderment on his face, his attention focused on the cylinder, which he pushed open to reveal the bullets tucked inside. “It doesn’t misfire?”
“Never once,” Bonner said. “Not this version at least.” Then he launched into a detailed explanation of how it worked and why. Kate listened, stiff with worry that he would reveal too much, raise too many questions about the intricacies of its creation. But by the end of it, neither Corwin nor Dal seemed suspicious in the slightest. Instead they appeared even more wonderstruck than before. Bonner’s delight in their reaction saddened Kate. He deserved to be so proud, and yet he had to hide the nature of his genius at every turn. She wondered what the world would be like if wilders like him were able to practice their gifts openly, same as the magists.
“This is beyond impressive,” Corwin said. “So much so that I have no choice but to ask if you’d be willing to make more.” He motioned to include Signe. “Both of you, and for a nice commission, of course.”
“How many do you mean?” Bonner said.
“As many as you can make,” Corwin replied, a handsome, irresistible smile appearing on his handsome, perfect face.
Bonner shook his head, his expression apologetic. “I can make you two or three, but I can’t commit to more than that. It takes so much time, you see, and with my father sick, I’m too busy just keeping up with the shop.”
“Yes, I understand.” Corwin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Governor Prewitt tells me Bonner-forged steel is the stuff of legends. It’s a wonder you can keep up with even half of the demand.”
“Yes, they say it’s fit for royalty,” Dal added, charm oozing out from him. It was all Kate could do not to roll her eyes.
Bonner beamed, standing up even straighter so that he seemed to tower above everyone else. “Thank you. I do the best I can.”
Using your illegal wilder magic! Kate thought. If they knew, the praise would turn to condemnation.
Corwin ran a thumb over his chin in an old habit Kate recognized, a sign that his stubbornness was preparing to make an appearance. Only the gesture was different now, thanks to the scar. He traced the line of it. “What if you had help? Could you teach others how to make these revolvers?”
Bonner sagged a little beneath the question. “It’s the same problem as before. I don’t have time for it.”
“What if you no longer had to worry about this shop?” Corwin gestured to the room.
His words set Kate’s nerves on edge as she guessed what was coming next. Only, this couldn’t be happening. Bonner was her friend. She couldn’t lose him. Don’t you dare! she wanted to scream at Corwin. You’ve already taken enough from me. Desperately she searched for a distraction, finding it in the slight disarray on a nearby worktable. She set to straightening the tools at once, the simple act keeping her calm.
“What I mean to say,” Corwin continued, “is will you come and work for House Tormane in Norgard? As royal blacksmith—and gunsmith.”
Bonner’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and Kate’s heart sank, her knuckles bone white around the hammer she’d just picked up. It was a generous offer, and far more tempting than any they’d speculated about earlier. A position in the royal house meant a lifetime of wealth and security. Most of the royal smiths were born into the trade.
But Bonner would still be a wilder, in the capital city of Norgard.
“What about your father?” Kate said, gently setting down the hammer and forcing herself to move away from the table.
Bonner flinched, the hopeful look in his eyes dimming. “Kate’s right. I can’t leave Farhold. Not with my father so ill.”
Guilt washed over Kate, smothering her relief at having volleyed the danger of his leaving.
But Corwin wasn’t just any opponent. He nodded, his expression grim. “I understand the burden of a sick father all too well.”
Kate stared at him, realizing he was referring to his own father. Rumors circulated in some of the less-reputable newspapers that High King Orwin suffered a lingering illness. She’d never believed it could be true until now.
Corwin ran his thumb over his chin again. “Would you change your mind if I were to have your father tended to by the magist healers? I don’t know what ailment affects him, but their magic is powerful. With their care, he might soon recover enough to join you in Norgard.”
All the air evacuated from Kate’s lungs, the weight of defeat pressing down on her. Next to her, Bonner’s eyes filled with sudden, bright hope.
“Do . . . do you really mean it?”
“Yes, he means it.” Dal slapped Bonner on the back. “He’s the high prince, and wealthy enough to afford the League’s prices.”
Don’t do it, Kate prayed. Pick me. But she bit her tongue to hold back the protest. Bonner loved his father more than anything. Same as she had loved hers. She would’ve done anything to save him—include risking her own life. She couldn’t get in the way of letting Bonner do the same.
“Yes,” Corwin pressed. “Your revolver is important enough that I must do everything in my power to see that you make more.” He turned and motioned to Signe. “And you with your black powder. You can become royal alchemist, or whatever title you wish, if you’ll come to Norgard.”
He turned back to Bonner. “Just think of it. Your revolver let Kate kill three drakes in a matter of moments. If we make enough of them, put them in enough hands, imagine how many drakes we could slay. Maybe even enough to rid the world of them. That would be a feat to make any father proud—and yours will live to see it.”
Kate closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, accepting defeat. There were a million things she wanted to say to Bonner, reminding him of the risk of the Inquisition, the reality of his magic when it came to his invention. The gold robes were based out of Norgard, for Shades’ sake. But she couldn’t. Even worse, she didn’t think it would matter. Saving the kingdom? Getting his father the help he needed? Those were risks Bonner would be willing to take.
She opened her eyes and touched Bonner’s arm, needing the reassurance of him for as long as it would last. “It’s too good an offer to refuse.”
Bonner turned his head and looked down at her, a muscle working in his jaw. He covered her hand with his before turning his gaze back to Corwin. “Very well. I will accept, but only if Kate may come with me.”
Kate’s fingers tightened around Bonner’s forearm automatically, her fingernails digging into flesh. What are you doing? she tried to shout with her eyes, but Bonner ignored her completely, not even flinching at the assault on his skin.
“I didn’t spend so much time and energy keeping her safe to just leave her behind unprotected,” Bonner continued.
Scowling, Kate pulled her hand free. “I’ve no need of your protection, Tom Bonner. Or anyone else’s.” She shot a glare at both Corwin and Dal for good measure. “I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, that’s not in any doubt,” Dal said, grinning. “Not after your performance yesterday. Or considering you single-handedly slew all those daydrakes.”
“Yeah, thanks to me,” Bonner pointed out, his grin as broad as Dal’s.
The only person not smiling now, aside from Kate, was Corwin. She could guess why—he didn’t want her in Norgard any more than she wished to come.
Dal must’ve sensed Corwin’s reluctance, too, for with a wicked glint in his eyes, he said, “I’m sorry for not mentioning this earlier, Kate, but I’m afraid you really have no choice about coming to Norgard, at least for a little while.”
“Why is that?” Kate said while Corwin shot his friend a dark look.
“Because of your heroics in saving our high prince, of course,” Dal said with an exaggerated frown. “The high king insists on rewarding you for such. How could he not?” Now it was Dal shooting the dark look—at Corwin.
Corwin drew an audible breath, then addressed Kate. “Dal is right. You are to be honored for your deeds. The . . . high king commands it.”
Kate knew he was lying, but she didn’t know why. She considered calling him on it, but Bonner spoke before she could. “You’ve got to offer her more than some reward or you can count me out. The number of guns you want is going to take a long time, and I’ll need Kate’s help.”
“With what?” Dal asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“She’s our weapons tester,” Signe said with a fox-like grin.
Dal clapped his hands. “Oh, that sounds like a job I might sign up for as well.” He waved at Corwin. “I’m sure we can devise something for Kate. Yes, your highness?”
Corwin was silent several seconds before slowly nodding. “I might be able to arrange a place for you in the royal stables. You’ve certainly the skill for it.”
It was a cruel jab, even if he didn’t mean for it to be. He surely remembered that had been her wish once—to follow in her father’s footsteps, training Norgard horses day in and day out, year after fulfilling year.
She couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice as she replied, “You forget, your highness. I’m a traitor’s daughter. They won’t welcome me there.”
“They will if I make it so,” Corwin said with a hint of anger in his voice. Then he abruptly calmed. “You saved my life, Kate. That makes you welcome anywhere in Rime. I give you my word that you will be well treated if you decide to return.”
Your power is not so great, Kate thought. People would obey the decree, but only when there was someone around to enforce it. When there wasn’t . . .
Still, she had saved him. The high king was in her debt and that had to count for something. Go to Fenmore, she remembered once again. She had no idea what her father had meant by it. If she returned to Norgard, there was a chance she might discover his intention. Maybe someone he’d been close to would know what he’d meant.
Kate turned her gaze to Signe, “Are you going to go?”
Signe bared her teeth in a smile. “I never walk away from a new adventure.”
Then I would be here alone, Kate thought. For a moment she let herself picture Norgard, with its outer wall of white stone rising up over rolling fields of grass, green as emeralds. On any given day, more than a thousand horses roamed those fields. And beyond that white wall stood the castle itself, home to the finest horseflesh in all the world. My father’s horses.
But it was also home to the executioner’s block, the place where her father had died.
Why? Why did he do it?
Go to Fenmore.
Kate stood up straight, feigning courage she didn’t feel. “All right, I’ll go.”