Page 41 of To Bleed A Kingdom

“Come on back.” She waves us over, walking backward. “I brought out a few pieces I've been working on.”

Aurora and Amara race away and quickly slip past the curtain. Following at a more sedate pace, I listen to the clink of copper rings as I slide back the black fabric, revealing an astonishingly large workspace.

The cavernous room is as tall as the front of the shop, but it extends much wider. The walls are made of the same gray slate I've seen from some of the older buildings in the city, and a burning forge is off to the side, connected to a chute that rises between massive wood beams all the way to the top of the cathedral ceiling. A barrel of water is only a few paces away from the forge, placed next to an anvil that reveals its age with numerous dents and scratches. Metal tongs, hammers, chisels, and various other tools of which I have no clue of their purpose are scattered throughout the room. I find both females huddled around a weathered wood table, inspecting a small dagger.

Rounding the table, I toss one leg over the bench and sit while I examine the array of weapons. Aurora has placed several daggers, an axe, a scimitar, and a khopesh across a discolored beige cloth. You can see how Aurora’s designs differ from a traditional blacksmith’s work. They seem lighter and more delicate, but no less deadly, and each one has its own distinctive, artistic twist. Not feminine, per se, just more visually appealing. All her pieces are absolutely stunning and unique in their own right, but my eyes keep snapping back to the khopesh.

Lifting the sword, I twirl it as I inspect the hook of the steel blade. Deceptively slim, the blade appears as if it could barely cut through butter, but after applying pressure between my thumb and forefinger, it's obvious its thinness is deceptive. The slim steel is stronger than most broadswords I've handled, and I imagine I could sever clean through a person's neck with very little effort on my part. Placing my palms flat beneath, I bob it up and down, barely registering its weight.

Eyes downcast, Aurora pulls loose threads from the frayed cloth. “It's not complete. I’m still working on the hilt and I think I made it a bit too heavy.”

I snort. “If you made it any lighter, it'd disappear.” Waiting until she meets my gaze, I smile. “Aurora, this is brilliant.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” Flipping it end over end, I catch it by the hilt. “It's well balanced, light, and the steel of it is surprisingly strong. It's extraordinary. You’re very talented.”

She blushes and averts her gaze, but I can see the pride in her eyes. “If you like that, you should look at this.” She reaches for the axe and lifts it up by its hickory handle, paying no mind to me or anyone else as she prattles away.

Tristan slips silently between the curtains without stirring a clink from a single ring. When I catch his gaze, he disappointingly, but unsurprisingly, shakes his head.

Unaware of Tristan’s presence, Aurora taps the edge of the axe’s blade as he falls in behind her. “Now, to get this dark shade of purple, I wanted to use the forge, but the heat was too inconsistent. So, I quickly scrapped that idea and instead, I used my Gif – aaaah!” Startled by Tristan's sudden appearance, she spins and swings the axe up over her head. As she arcs downward, Tristan, thankfully, has the wherewithal to seize the handle before it impales his skull.

I slap a hand to my mouth, smothering a shocked laugh, Amara doing the same.

Aurora freezes with the axe poised above his head, her expression that of horror. “Uriella’s Light! I almost killed you!” That horror suddenly contorts into a panicked rage. “You shouldn't sneak up on someone handling a weapon!”

Unfazed, he chuckles. “I'll admit it was a close call. Here, why don't I take this?” Aurora nods frantically and he pulls it from her grasp, his brown, almost black eyes sweeping over it appraisingly. “What's this here?”

She looks at me with a confused expression. “It's an axe. You cut things with it.” She stacks fisted hands above her head and mimes slicing downward. “Like to chop wood, or to cut off someone's head, or-”

“Obviously,” he cuts in dryly, extending it outward and spinning the handle. “Did you make this?”

Aurora nods.

“The craftsmanship is exquisite.” Tristan steps back, mimicking a few practice swings before examining it more closely. “How much would you like for it?”

Her smile falls. “Oh! Well… it's actually a commissioned piece,” she says, then adds quickly, “but I'd be more than happy to create another one.”

Adjusting his grip, he swipes a few more times before standing upright and passing it back to her. “Please, I'd love to have one for myself.”

“Of course! Do you have any special requests?”

Tristan strokes a finger along the hickory handle. Aurora watches him, intently following the path. When she sees me watching her, she bites her lip and blushes.

“No, I wouldn't want to disrupt your vision,” Tristan says, dropping his hand to his side and stepping back. “Your work really is remarkable.”

She smiles at his praise. “Oh, no, it won’t take anything away. If any of your suggestions did, I'd advise you differently.”

Staring at the axe, he taps his chin and nods. “Alright, then.” He scans the room. “Do you have anything to write with?”

Shuffling her feet, Aurora stares down at the floor. “Maybe we could discuss it over dinner? Tomorrow night?”

Tristan lifts the cloth and pulls out a loose leaf of parchment hidden beneath. “I wouldn't want to put you out like that. It’ll only take a moment. If I could just find something to write with,” he mumbles to himself. Spotting a charcoal stick, he snatches it up and begins to write.

“Uhhh….” Aurora’s mouth rounds as if to speak, but she can't find the words. Snapping it shut, her face pinches in determination. “It’s no trouble at all. I insist.”

Tristan is one of the most intelligent men I know, but when it comes to the female gender, he tends to be a bit dense.

---