Lightning burst from Talon’s fingertips and surrounded the anmarite, bathing the silver in violet. With every pulse of static, the metal softened. Felsin watched closely, waiting for the metal to become malleable. Once the lightning had done its job, Talon receded his hand, and Felsin set about hammering into a flat, vambrace-like shape.
With each strike, the metal flattened and smoothed. All too soon, the anmarite regained its original toughness, and the hammer bounced off one last time, useless. Felsin looked up at Talon, beckoning him to be the fire of the forge again.
So little accomplished for so much effort. The metal hardly looked dented now that it had re-hardened. This was going to take a while. And none of it would be pleasant.
* * *
A dream plagued Talon—a frustrating, endless chase. He ran forever yet never reached his destination. The further he sprinted, the less he understood what he sought. Was it resignation he decided upon, or had he finally laid eyes on the goal when consciousness returned?
Weak and sore, Talon sat up, eyes narrowing as the darkness cleared. What happened? A moment ago, he had been in Weisskopf’s southern courtyard, working beside the forge.
Talon glanced up and was met with the night sky. Stars blurred against the endless void, bright, silver, and. . . fake. Blinking, Talon cleared his sleep-crusted eyes, realizing only a ceiling decorated with little paper stars loomed above him.
He lay on a simple bed covered with a quilted red comforter. His coat had been removed and draped over the rocking chair in the corner. Mess covered the remainder of the chamber: stacks of cards piled atop the dresser, and no less than five crystal balls adorned the table.
Laying his hand across his eyes, Talon sank into the mattress. He was exhausted, and he tended to think when his energy was spent.
Saint’s Winds. What was Talon supposed to do about Des? He couldn’t be with her, but she pulled him to her side like a magnet. When her voice lowered, when her steely gaze fell upon him, when their skin brushed. . .
She was impossible to resist. The cold distance he’d meant to create instead warmed each day. He was falling for her.
Sors leaped onto the bed and sat beside Talon, shaking him from his thoughts.
“There he is.” Felsin’s voice appeared in the air beside Talon.
“Ah.” Talon jolted upright, and Sors jumped into his lap. “Where did you come from?”
Felsin chuckled. “You passed out. Do you not remember?”
Pressing a hand to his aching cheek, Talon closed his eyes. Oh. Valkyrie had told him to stop, and he had insisted he was fine, eager toget the excruciating job over with. The last thing he recalled was everything going fuzzy. He’d probably landed on this aching cheek, considering the corresponding arm also throbbed dully.
“Why am I in your room?” Talon asked.
“I was going to bring you back to Janus, but,” Felsin folded his arms. “I didn’t want to miss the chance to interrogate you.”
“Where’s Valkyrie?” Talon asked.
“She left. Told me to tell you that you’re stupid, and she told you so.” Felsin politely informed him.
“Great,” Talon murmured. He felt wretched. Overextending with cefran magic was akin to bleeding out and surviving by a thread.
“Des disturbed my father’s tomb,” Felsin said abruptly. “Were you with her?”
“No.” Talon leaned back. “Why haven’t you asked her?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to. I’ve been thinking about what she said. About him being murdered.” He sat beside Talon, eyeing him expectantly.
“Hm?” Talon pushed Sors aside. “Your father was murdered?”
“So it’s news to a songbird as well?” Felsin looks away. “Somehow, that makes it worse.”
“I thought you were with him when he died.”
“I was. I remember a rockfall, my father shielding me.” Felsin sighed. “Which is stronger? My fury at Janus’ disrespect, or my gratitude for uncovering a piece of the truth?”
“That’s up to you.”
Felsin paced. “Everyoneknew. My mother. Brand. Alfaris. Why didn’t I?”
