Page 47 of Daughter of No Worlds

The woman grinned, tossing a strand of long, auburn hair over one shoulder. Everything about her appearance looked lazy, like she could have rolled out of bed looking just as she did now. And yet, she was undeniably captivating. Not traditionally beautiful, exactly, but her features were strong and sharp, nearly as striking as her sculptures. White powder covered her hands, which left smears in her hair as she pushed it behind one ear.

“Both,” she said. Then she looked at me. “This must be Tisaanah, the famous apprentice.”

I tried to decide whether or not I liked being described in this manner.

One of Max’s eyebrows twitched, asking an unspoken question. “Sammerin told me,” the woman said.

“What a gossip,” Max muttered. “Tisaanah, this is Via.”

I greeted her, though I was still visibly distracted. I looked at the chunk of marble beside her — the one presumably responsible for the white dust smearing her hands and face. The bottom half was a pristine square, while the top chipped away to reveal a woman’s head, chin lifted, face raised. “You made these?”

“Yes, though sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about taking ownership of them.” She looked at her work in progress and scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure about this one.”

“It’s plebeian.” A man who had been lounging on one of the couches swung his legs out, standing beside Via and placing a hand around her shoulder. He looked like he put a lot of effort into being extremely handsome and even more effort into not showing it. He was good at both, but eight years at Esmaris’s estate made me an expert in spotting that kind of thing.

“You’re capable of better,” he went on. “Something more… raw. Soulful.”

Via made a small, noncommittal noise, then waved a hand at him. “This is Philip.”

Philip gave Max a smile that was more of a baring of teeth and completely ignored me.

“Anyway.” Via slipped from Philip’s grasp and began striding away, motioning for us to follow. “Come to my workshop.”

Thiswasn’t her workshop?

She led us into a shadowy corner where a single, plain door stood nestled into the darkness.

“He’s awful,” Max muttered as Via opened the door.

“Oh, Max.” She gave him a mischievous smile, stepping into a dim, golden light. “Would you judge a squirrel by its ability to swim?”

“I don’t need to know where this metaphor goes next.”

“What I mean is, he’s no great conversationalist, but he’s excellent at climbing trees.”

Max groaned.

I didn’t need to understand the specifics of Aran to understand her gist, and I chuckled. But only for a moment, because I stepped through the door and into stunned silence.

This room was the opposite of the dusty loft we had come from in every way: meticulously organized, with two smooth, clear tables in the center of the room perched atop neatly ordered shelves. The walls were lined with weapons. Swords, knives, spears, scimitars, daggers — and many others that were unlike anything I’d ever see before. They were all undeniably, lethally beautiful, their silver and gold and steel glinting in the flickering golden firelight.

Via shut the door behind us and began rummaging through a cabinet in the corner. I paced the walls, examining the weapons. Some, I noted, seemed oddly and intentionally incomplete. I paused at one sword that had a hollow center, delicate spiraling patterns cut into its blade.

Decorative? Or — perhaps they held some kind of purpose.

“Why is it like this?” I asked, pointing to one of the hollow swords on the wall.

She gave me a smile as sharp as her blades. “So Wielders can have more fun with it.”

So… the space in the center was for magic? Interesting. I leaned closer, squinting at the designs.

“You like?”

“It is beautiful.” An undeniable truth. “But beautiful is not enough. It needs to be both beautiful and—”

The word eluded me, but Max provided, “Functional.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Beautiful and functional.”

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