“What are you wearing?” Temra asks, eyeing me up and down before I can demand why she’s arrived so late.
“A dress,” I say with disgust. I pick at the fabric, missing the lightweight material of my typical loose tunic and trousers. They’re perfect for combating the heat in the forge, and right now I swear it’s hotter in the governor’s home than it’s ever been in my workspace.
People make me sweat.
Temra blinks slowly, as if to compose herself. “Why didn’t you put on something nicer? Where is that dress I bought you for last Sisters Remembrance Day?”
“It’s in my closet.” Buried somewhere deep, but there, nonetheless.
“It’s so lovely. Really brings out the blue of your eyes.”
I don’t recall the color of the dress, but I smile as though I remember it or care just how lovely it is. My current ensemble is a light tan. Nondescript. Lacking any fancy embellishments. Perfect for hiding.
Or so I thought.
“Ziva, all the other girls in attendance are in bright colors. You’re practically wearing your work clothes in dress form.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My work clothes have stains,” I say, proud of myself, but as I scan the room, I realize she’s right. My bland dress no doubt makes me stick out like a lone weed in a flower garden.
It’s honestly been so long since I’ve been to a social gathering, I’m completely unaware of the latest styles in clothing. I probably look like I’m trying to snub the governor at his party.
Not that this was supposed to be a party at all.
So, really, who’s more in the wrong here: me or the governor?
I peer at my sister more closely. “Your hair is rumpled.”
Her hands fly to her curly locks, attempting to flatten the strays.
“You were with a boy,” I accuse.
Temra doesn’t embarrass easily. There’s no telltale reddening of her cheeks or sheepish eye lowering, but I know I’ve struck true all the same.
“The time got away from me, is all,” she says.
I want to press her further, but it’s awfully hard for me to be angry at her when I’m trying so hard to block out the stimulants around me.
I suspect the governor’s husband has a fondness for blue, for the whole room is spattered with it. Azure hand-stitched rugs cover the floor, the dining area is speckled with sapphire flowers I don’t have a name for, even the wax of the candles spread over the decorative tables has a cerulean sheen to it.
Beautiful marble columns hold up the ceiling at even intervals. On the far wall, a painting of the Sister Goddesses hangs proudly so they can watch over us all.
And there’s the happy couple, arm in arm, striding toward me, their faces upcast in delight.
I grip Temra’s arm in a vise. “Hide me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to thank our hosts and smile through this whole affair like you couldn’t be more delighted.”
“I can’t.”
“Then next time, don’t agree to a party.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be—”
I cut off once the pair is in hearing range and plaster a smile over my mouth that hopefully doesn’t look forced.
“Miss Tellion!” the governor says. “I’m so delighted to have you in our home!”
“We are most grateful for your generosity in hosting us!” Temra says. “I’m Temra Tellion, Ziva’s sister, and she’s simply been gushing about how honored she is to have forged a weapon for you.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my husband, Reniver, and our son, Asel, is around here somewhere.”
“There he is,” Reniver says.
We follow his extended finger to where a man our age is surrounded by girls. He’s tall and muscular, with a symmetrical face that’s likely the reason he has so many admirers.
“He’s a very sociable boy,” the governor says, stepping in front of the scene to block my view of his son. “So popular.”
“Just like his father,” Temra says politely.
“Oh, well, thank you.”
A silence falls. Perhaps the couple is wondering why I haven’t said a word. Everyone wonders why I can’t make polite conversation. It’s just not one of my strengths.
But I try. “Governor, you mentioned the weapon was a gift for your husband when you commissioned it. How long have you trained for the mace, Reniver?”
There, that’s a normal question, right?
“Oh, I’m no mace bearer,” Reniver explains, “but the gift is everything I could have hoped for! We’re going to take the guests by to see it as soon as supper is over. And after a toast in your honor, of course!”
“To see it?” I echo. Just where is the weapon?
“But of course you’d wish an early peek! So proud of your work! Asel?”
I jump as Reniver shouts the young man’s name, but Asel obeys, excusing himself from the horde of women.
“Father?” he answers.
“Would you show Miss Tellion where we’ve proudly displayed her work?”
Asel turns his head toward Temra first, and a delighted grin smears above his chin as he takes in my beautiful sister. Her dark hair bounces in the most perfect curls when she walks. The sun has brightened her skin to a glorious tan over the summer, and she’s a perfectly regular height at just under five and a half feet.
The governor, seeing his son’s eyes light on my sister, says, “No, this is Ziva, the magically gifted blacksmith.” He indicates me, and Asel’s face loses its delight.
I’m a behemoth at just over six feet tall. Taller than most of the boys, and Asel is no exception. My dull brown hair is flat as a board, and I wear it up and out of my face always. I never bother with makeup like most of the girls my age (what’s the point when I’d just sweat it off while I work?), and as a result, my freckles stand out in stark relief over my nose, forehead, chin, cheeks. Everywhere.
As I wait for Asel to finish his perusal, I’m not filled with shame. Only the fear that comes from being so closely examined. From being forced to interact with people. From worrying I’ll say or do something stupid. From worrying that he’ll be able to guess all my weaknesses just by looking at me.
Asel quickly composes his features. “A pleasure to meet you. Shall we?” He holds out his arm, and I think I’m supposed to take it. The color must drain from my face—touching strangers makes everything so much worse—because Temra takes my arm instead and says, “Lead on, Asel. We’ll follow.”
Bless my beautiful, wonderful sister.
But the governor says, “Actually, Miss Temra, would you accompany me to the kitchen? I simply must get your thoughts on the dinner menu for tonight.”
Temra looks to me for permission. Not permission, really, but acknowledgment that I’ll be all right on my own. I most certainly will not, but I can’t say so in front of the most powerful man in the city.
I nod as I realize just what this is.
A setup.
The governor and his husband want me to take a fancy to their son. Wouldn’t it look splendid to have one of the few people in the world possessing magic as a member of the family?
I want to gag.
Asel, having taken the hint the first time, merely steps beside me without offering an arm this time, and leads me out of the receiving hall. We traverse up a set of stairs in silence, the noises from the party growing fainter as we leave everything behind and enter into some sort of study. I note a desk made from a purple wood and books lining most of the walls. On one end of the room, a fireplace stands, empty of logs or heat at the moment. But above the mantel, atop polished metal hooks, my mace has been placed.
Displayed.
“What is this?” I shriek before I can stop myself.
“Your work, I’m told,” Asel answers.
“This mace steals the breath of surrounding enemies! It can kill without even touching an opponent, and yet it sits above the mantel as though it were a—a—decoration!”
As soon as the words are out, I remember myself and turn to Asel in a panic. He’s going to report back to his fathers, and I’ll be—