Page 61 of Blood Feast

“You’ve wielded it with courage many times before. That’s why I thought you would feel more comfortable taking up arms.” He gave Lio a questioning glance.

Lio ran his fingers along the staff. “This one is for me?”

Mak nodded. “I hoped it would be acceptable to you, as a scholar and a mage.”

Lio hefted the staff in his hand, then stood it on the ground before him. The pale metal was forged in a twisting design that reminded Cassia of vines, or perhaps molten glass just about to become a piece of art. Twists of adamas near the top of the rod caged the moonstone.

“At Paradum,” Lio said, “in those moments before Rudhira arrived, I stood surrounded by Gift Collectors. I knew that by the time I broke through that many dream wards with my mind magic, Cassia would be…” He squeezed her hand and shook his head. “If I’d had a weapon like this, I would have had hope. I accept this gift with gratitude.”

Mak picked up a sheaf of notes from a nearby shelf. He rolled the papers in his hands, hesitating, then held them out to Lio.

Lio took the papers, his gaze darting across the first page, and his eyes widened.

“You know I’m no politician…” Mak muttered.

Lio raised a brow at him over the papers. “Now you are. This is a proposal for the Firstblood Circle to allow the Stewards to use more than fists.”

“If I can show on the battlefield that my weapons are of service to our people, I was hoping you would help me with the political part. You convinced the firstbloods to vote for the first Tenebran embassy to Orthros. If anyone can persuade them to approve armaments for the Stand, it’s you.”

“I don’t think any diplomat can convince them of that,” Lio said, “but a warrior like you can.”

“At least critique the proposal for me. If it sits all right with your conscience, that is. Just read it and consider it. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course I will.” Lio slid the papers into an inner pocket of his robes.

Lyros took up the spear. There was perfection in its smooth, clean form. “Mine turned out a masterpiece, my Grace. You’ve given these your greatest skill, strength, and magic. You should be proud.”

“I will be—as soon as one of them saves a life.” Mak picked up the morning star and gave it a few swings, then nodded as if satisfied. The spikes protruding from the ball looked deadly indeed.

Lio smiled. “If we hope for these weapons to become as legendary as the Blood Errant’s, they’ll need names.”

“So will our errant circle,” Cassia said. “What shall we call ourselves as we go on our quest in Hespera’s name?”

Mak looked thoughtful. “Nike says it was Methu’s idea to name the Blood Errant and their weapons.”

“Don’t let Lio choose any names,” said Lyros. “We’ll end up with a mouthful of specialized terms our enemies will need a glossary to understand, much less pronounce.”

“You wound me.” Lio put a hand to his chest. “As a bloodborn like Prometheus, I could think of suitably legendary epithets.”

“Unlike him, you are not a poet,” Mak teased.

“Lio appreciates poetry,” Cassia defended him.

“If your idea of poetry is a six hundred page scholarly treatise,” Mak said.

Lio held up a hand in surrender. “I’ll only make a suggestion, then. The most meaningful names are gifts from those who truly see you. Each of us could name our Grace’s weapon.”

Lyros nodded. “That’s fitting. Mak, you are their creator. Would you do the honors first?”

Mak ran his hand along the spear for a moment, thinking, or perhaps speaking silently with Lyros. “Night’s Aim, for darkness is protection, and you are always true to that purpose.”

Lyros’s aura stirred with emotion. “Thank you.”

“And mine?” Mak asked.

Lyros laid a hand on the shaft of the spiked club. “What could be more fitting for defending our homeland than a morning star?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Cassia murmured. “Orthros means ‘morning,’ the time when Hespera gives us rest.”

---