ERIK
The sword glinted as it scraped against the whetstone, the edge perfecting with every pass. There was something therapeutic about the sharpening of a blade, the rhythmic movements of the act. The repetition brought forth comfort. It relaxed me, as if the sharper the edge, the smoother it cut through the grime of life, leaving behind a peaceful purity.
Fire from the hearth provided both light and warmth for the small room while I worked on the blade. I always sharpened my own swords ever since my father taught me how. As a King, the responsibility of keeping my weapons pristine didn’t need to fall to me. Though I never asked anyone else to do the work. Not that I did not trust others to do the task—I trusted them to do their best—but I just knew I could do better myself. So, I always did.
“You actually ever use any of your blades?” Iver asked from the open door while he leaned against the frame. Edmond peered into the room from beside him.
“I admit it is not terribly often that I resort to using them. But better to have them ready in case the need ever arises,” I answered without breaking stride.
Edmond turned to Iver as if waiting for his next words. That act alone gave away that my brothers conspired to come to me. Meaning that they were also not going to be easy to get rid of.
“You are teaching your Bavadrin to fight?” Iver’s gray eyes narrowed, rimmed with curiosity. And there it was, the true reason they found me.
“She is notmyBavadrin,” I grumbled.
“Of course she is. You control who interacts with her and keep us at bay.” He smirked.
Edmond ran a hand through his golden hair. “You know, Erik, he has a point.”
“I always have a point, brother,” Iver stated casually.
Jorn grunted in disagreement from somewhere in the hall, earning a searing glance from Iver. The three of them funneled into the room without invitation. Iver took a position in front of the hearth, casting a long shadow, making it nearly impossible to continue my work effectively.
“You mind? I am in the middle of something here.” I turned to view all three of them.
“Please, continue. It won’t bother us.” Iver remained standing in front of the fire, placing his hands in his pockets.
With a slow exhale, I laid the blade down on the table before me. All hope of continuing vanished, along with my peaceful serenity. “What is it you three want?”
“I want to better know our guest.” Iver spoke first.
“No.”
“We want to know what you are doing with the girl. Why is she learning to fight?” Edmond asked as if concerned.
“She asked to,” I answered with a sigh. A Bavadrin woman could not hope to physically take us. His worry wasted energy and time.
“And you allowed for it?” Jorn placed his hands on his hips.
“Clearly.”
“Why?” Jorn and Edmond asked nearly in unison.
“A few reasons. One, she asked, and I saw it as a way to please her by easily giving her something she wished for. Second, for her to feel like we may have something to offer her people if we worked together. We have strength. Third, to solidify her understanding that she nor any Bavadrin can ever stand against us. Never will she or they physically beat us.”
“What if she learns something that can be used against us?” Jorn frowned.
“C’mon.” Iver laughed sharply. “You are afraid of that little girl?”
“She is a Bavadrin—who knows the depths of her scheming ways,” Jorn snapped.
Edmond continued our brother’s line of thought. “There is a reason the great war lasted so long between us all. We currently have control because Bavadrins had no clue we were coming and so we took them by surprise. Now we have their chosen leader, which helps maintain control. But what if she learns something she shouldn’t? What if she brings that information back and the tides turn? Bavadrins were told of having gifts that differ from ours. That they can burrow into minds, though the truth of those tales is uncertain. We need to use them as warm bodies to fight against the Sidhe, but we also need to not allow them to regroup and stand against us.”
Jorn nodded fervently. “They ultimately should not be trusted. Deceit is in their blood. They?—”
“And hotheaded anger and destruction is in ours,” I interrupted. “The stories we tell of the Bavadrins and the ones they tell of us have slivers of truth, but they are vastly oversimplified. She is not wicked, and neither are we.”
“What if she is a conjuror?” Edmond asks.
