At my declaration, Victor gives me a firm nod.
“But how do I get it without her?” A pressure builds within my chest, and all my frustration threatens to boil over.
Once again, I’m at Galla’s fucking mercy.
I begin to pace, needing to move. There has to be a way forward. A way to win.
In all my life, I’ve learned that I’m alone in my decisions. That there is nobody I can truly trust. Even Victor kept this secret from me, although I understand his reasons.
But now, my every instinct is to return to Thyra and talk with her about this.
With difficulty, I pull a cloak of calm about myself. “You’ve studied the Dragonstone Blade for years. Can you tell me anything about the other tools that were used to forge it?”
I already know that the anvil is lost. It can’t have been destroyed because it’s one of the hardest substances in existence, but it could have been buried anywhere in the three kingdoms.
“Emiliana and I have spoken many times about the blade’s forging,” Victor says, his eyes brightening as he pulls several papers forward, one of which depicts black coals billowing with flames. “Between her study of the Chronicle and my study of the blade’s metallic properties, we consider that the only fire that could have been used to forge the blade was dragonbreath.”
And the news just gets fucking worse.
While dragonstonewas formed from a fire dragon’s bones, dragonbreathis the name for the embers that could become trapped in the center of other creatures’ bones. Creatures killed by fire dragons. Where the marrow in their bones would burn out, fire could be trapped, allowing the bone to be later cracked open and the fire released.
Supposedly.
Given that a fire dragon’s flames are said to have burned hotter than Ember Fire, I’m not sure I believe the stories.
It seems to me that any creature burned to death by a fire dragon would have been rendered to ash, bones,and all.
Certainly, finding a bone containing dragonbreath would be nearly impossible.
“What about the fae who carried out the forging?” I ask, pushing through my increasing frustration.
“Unknown.” Victor grimaces. “Their identity is concealed. At least in the texts we have access to.”
Forcing myself to continue speaking as if nothing’s wrong, I say, “Brother, I have one more question.”
“Ask it.”
I wrap my hand around his right shoulder. “Have you ever ground iron to dust?”
Victor recoils so swiftly that he knocks parchments to the floor. “Never.”
I don’t let him go. “Do you know of any Iron Fae who has?”
“If I did, I would have told you. Immediately.” Victor’s green eyes are wide, and his face is pale, the scars stretching across his injured side. “Even our father was not such a fool. The grains are too small for us to control.”
What Thyra told me about an Iron Fae dipping his blade into iron dust is even more concerning to me now. I was hoping Victor would have seen or heard something that would allow me to identify the offender, particularly as they’re likely to be part of my workforce given their easy access to iron.
As for the truth of Thyra’s story, I don’t doubt her for a second. In all my exposure to lies and liars, there was nothing but a haunted truth in her words.
Her experience also explains her mention of iron dust back at the cabin. She believed that Cassia dipped her arrows in powdered iron without a care for the consequences.
I release Victor’s shoulder and step back from him. “Make your own judgment about attending our mother’s event. I won’t command you either way.”
He doesn’t let me leave so easily.
His hand snakes out, closing around my forearm. “If someone’s grinding iron into dust, I need to know.” His lips twist. “If it got into the air…the water… the burns would be as terrible as Ember Fire.”
“Worse,” I say. “They would be worse.”
