Page 44 of Spark of the Everflame

“No, my trade is far less honorable than the noble healers.” He flashed a wide, toothy grin. “I’m a bladesmith. I made a weapon for your mother once.”

Another surprise. My mother never went anywhere unarmed, a trait I’d chalked up to my father’s insistence, but unlike me, she was careful to always keep her weapons carefully concealed. I thought back over her collection of subtle, easily hidden blades and wondered which one had come from his hands.

“She’s a hell of a woman, that Auralie,” he said. “I can see where you get it from.”

Another flutter of pride danced through me, this time shadowed with the whisper of grief.

“How did you meet her?” I asked.

Before Brecke could respond, the table jolted as if struck. He and Henri exchanged matching glares that had my brows rising, but Brecke rubbed his leg and quickly continued.

“We met in the army, and we’ve stayed in touch since then.” His focus ticked down to the sheaths at my hip. “I can make one for you, too, if you’d like. Something quick and stealthy to replace those giant...thingsyou’re hauling around.” His voice dropped, eyes gleaming. “And sharp enough to pierce through thick Descended hide without losing a limb.”

I frowned at my twin daggers. I’d stolen them from my father when I was twelve. My childhood judgment had been awed by their heft and sturdiness, and they had served me well enough in the years since—if, admittedly, a bit bulky at times.

“In fact, I’ve got something that would be perfect for you.” He reached into his boot and pulled out a short, thin blade. Its smooth metal was the color of a storm-darkened sky—the telltale sign of Fortosian steel, one of the only substances that could pierce Descended skin. Its onyx handle was carved with wavering flames on one side and interwoven branches on the other. He balanced it between his fingers, running a thumb along its edge until a wisp of blood appeared, before sliding it across the table to me.

It was an exquisite weapon, the kind I’d normally have to save for years to afford. And if I was going to work at the Descended palace, it would be good to have a blade that might do me some good if things wentreallypoorly.

“I can’t,” I said, even as I ran a fingertip longingly along the cool metal. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t possibly pay for it.”

Brecke shrugged. “Take it.” He unclipped the matching sheath from his boot and tossed it to me.

“You can’t mean that. You could sell this for a small fortune.”

“If I sold it for what it was worth, only the Descended could afford it.” His jovial mask slipped for a split second, something like resentment darting across his features. “I get enough of arming their kind during the day. Just promise me you’ll watch this one’s back.” His smirk returned as he elbowed Henri in the ribs.

Hesitantly, I dared to pick it up. Its weight was shockingly light despite its sturdy feel, but well-balanced in my hand. My fingers grazed the etching along the hilt, noting how the deep grooves caught my skin and improved my grip. A clever design—as much function as form. And the dull grey metal had been brushed to a matte finish, allowing it to be concealed more easily in the dark.

A weapon more suited to an assassin than a healer.

I almost whimpered as I offered it back to him. “I really can’t take this, it’s too generous.”

He raised his hands, refusing to touch it. “Then pay me in a favor. One favor, to be chosen and called in at some later date.”

“What favor?” Henri cut in. He shot his friend a frown that suggested he knew exactly the kinds offavorsBrecke usually traded in.

“Don’t get your breeches twisted. Nothing scandalous—unless the lady prefers scandal.” His expression turned positively wolflike.

“The lady does not,” I answered. “Nothing illegal, and if it involves touching any part of you, I’ll slit you open with your own blade.” The threat only seemed to excite him even further. “But I’ll agree to any other favor within my power to do.”

“And nothing dangerous,” Henri added.

Brecke and I shot him matching exasperated looks.

“If it’s not dangerous, it’s not worth wasting a favor on,” I said as I sheathed the dagger and secured it to my boot. I marveled at how its sleek lines were almost undetectable against my calf.

Brecke roared with laughter. “Albanon, you better hold on to this one.” He slapped a very nervous-looking Henri on the arm. “If you can.”

ChapterEleven

Iawoke to a cold, empty room.

Hours earlier, I’d left Henri and Brecke in the tavern downstairs, content to let them drink and banter while I enjoyed the solitude of a hot bath, but the more I’d soaked alone in the steaming water, the more my mind had flooded with the many demons nipping at my heels.

My missing mother. The agreement between her and Prince Luther. Teller’s schooling. The wolf in the woods. The flameroot powder.

Each question was a stone slab in an wall surrounding me on all sides, thick and ivy-coated like the one I’d seen encircling the palace gardens, a beautiful but impenetrable cage. My mind hurled itself at the barrier, clawing for answers, but my pathetic mortal fists only scraped and bled as the wall inched closer and closer, squeezing at my soul.

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