“Do you want to fight?”
“Of course I want to fight,” she said, nearly insulted.
Reeve hesitated. “Do you feel ready to fight?” he asked, rephrasing his question.
“Readiness doesn’t matter,” she argued. “I will not stay here while you take all the glory.”
His face relaxed, pride shifting into his previously worried eyes, and he looked like he wanted to kiss her again right there.
“Go to the armory, the Starsmith will meet you there,” he said, dropping his hands, “then come and find me.”
Maeve looked up at him, his face a perfect expression of preparedness. Like he was ready for the challenge, ready to finally let go.
Ready for war.
“What is it?” asked Maeve, looking down at the box.
“A gift from the High Lord,” said the Starsmith.
Her name was Kaeren.
Maeve looked at her carefully for a moment before she removed the satin-wrapped lid. Pale-blue tissue covered what was beneath. Maeve delicately pulled back the wrappings. Her heart swelled.
A shining silver sword lay on bright sapphire velvet fabric. Its golden hilt was ornately carved with vines that resembled serpents. She ran her hands across the intricate carvings.
Her fingers moved up the blade. Something snapped inside her. Something that had been resting until that moment, something so instinctive she hadn’t understood its absence until it crept up her spine.
Carved into the spine of the sword were words that caused her throat to tighten.
Usque ad Mortem, Sinclair.
She traced her fingers over the carvings, pride swelling deep in her stomach.
“How much did he place inside?” she asked quietly.
“More than any other weapon I have had the honor to forge, My lady,” said Kaeren.
“My lady,” repeated Maeve with a soft smile, unable to peel her eyes away from the blade thrumming with Reeve’s power. “I am not your lady.” She looked up at Kaeren, no bite or judgment in her tone. “How soon can a horse be ready?”
“There is one ready for you,” said Kaeren.
Maeve nodded. She gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled it from its box. It was lighter than she was expecting.
“Elven steel,” she smiled. “Light as a feather and sharp as glass. Not much of it left in the world.”
“How did you make this one?” she asked as she played with the blade, testing its movements.
Kaeren hesitated. “Forged from another sword.”
Maeve stopped and looked at her. “Whose sword?”
Karen relented reluctantly. “The High Lord’s.”
“From Shadow-Slayer?” she asked in disbelief.
She nodded. “That is not all.” She moved aside and gestured to a fully displayed set of armor. A sound of shock left Maeve’s lips. It was beautiful, designed and made for a woman who valued her femininity in both its softness and its rage. The designs etched into the armor matched her new weapon. She smiled.
“The armor is similar to a Senshi’s, similar to the High Lord’s, plated in thin, flexible, crystalized Aterna Magic. Nearly indestructible.”
