Page 206 of Alchemised
“I don’t have the rank for anything else,” she said.
The Resistance metallurgists had years’ worth of projects on their dockets: tools, base weapons, rappelling harness gear, armour, prosthetics, not to mention the expectation that they’d invent new weaponry as the war progressed. Without the Institute being able to train new metallurgists, those they had were a critical resource. The generation who should be learning the craftsmanship were all either in combat or dead. Standard-issue was what everyone in the Resistance got. If they couldn’t fight with that, they couldn’t fight as alchemists.
To obtain bespoke weaponry was something combat alchemists dreamed of: weapons forged to perfectly match the owner’s specific resonance strengths and combat style. They were versatile, felt impossibly light, and took almost no effort to transmute. They were also much harder to defend against.
“What do you mean you don’t have the rank? Aren’t you a member of the Eternal Flame?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“I thought that was part of the package deal: You swear your life to a set of asinine religious ideals and get a valuable weapon in compensation.”
She stared at her shoes.
It was traditionally a part of joining the Order of the Eternal Flame. They were issued following a vow ceremony, a weapon to defend the ideals they’d sworn to uphold. They were deeply symbolic.
But when Helena joined, it was just after Principate Apollo’s death. Many people had joined at the time. She’d been sixteen, just starting basic training. New members going immediately into combat had greater need. Helena didn’t even know what type of weapon would be suitable.
The matter had been forgotten when she became a healer. Weapons were for those in combat. She was not, and never would be.
“There are more immediate needs than making me a special weapon that I’d barely use,” she said.
“Consider it an immediate need now. After six years, surely there’s been time,” he said. “How many swords and suits of armour does Holdfast have?”
She bristled. “Luc fights at the front lines.”
Kaine scoffed, his lip curling. “With fire. Get a better knife.”
SHE RETURNED WITH THE SAME knife.
Kaine was across the room the instant she pulled it out. Moving impossibly, terrifyingly fast, he was right in front of her. He ripped it from her hand.
“Why do you still have this?” he hissed. “I told you to get a new one.”
She tried to snatch it back. “I can’t just show up on the docket like that. People know weeks out before they’re up for testing. It’d be noticeable if I’m suddenly prioritised.” She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes, and recited verbatim, “‘Your request has been declined. It would raise too many questions.’”
Ferron looked like he wanted to strangle her. He raised his hand as if to fling the knife out the window but then drew a measured breath.
“Give me your resonance alloy, then,” he said, slamming the knife onto the table.
“What?”
His eyes turned flinty. “Surely you can manage that at least?”
“Yes—but—” She was flabbergasted.
“What?”
Outside of the Eternal Flame, bespoke weaponry was prohibitively expensive. That was why the weapons were such an honour. Especially during the war, most of the metallurgists who hadn’t joined the war effort on one side or the other had fled Paladia altogether and taken their valuable talents to safer countries.
She kept staring wordlessly at him until he looked away. “You can consider it thanks for healing my back.”
She seized the opportunity. “Did it—did the scar tissue set properly? I came back to check—but you—”
“It’s fine,” he said in a stiff voice, his posture rigid. His head was turned so that she could see only his jaw. “I hardly feel it.”
She exhaled. “Good. I was afraid that maybe something had gone wrong and that’s why you didn’t come—”
He whirled on her. “It’s not any of your fucking business.”
