“Don’t do this, Em,” Alistair said, though he backed toward the door. He voice went soft again. “Please. Just listen to me.”
“Leave me alone.” She gripped the dagger so tightly it shook in her hand. “If you value our friendship, you will never speak of this again.”
Alistair’s shoulders slumped, but he quietly left her room.
Ember wasn’t sure how long she stood there. The chill of the room crept up her limbs and the trembling in her hand soon overtook her whole body. She didn’t care when the dagger slipped from her grasp, clattering on the stone floor.
THIRTEEN
THE MORNING WASN’T as torturous as she’d expected. Ember glanced at the empty bowl of tea on her table, wincing from guilt at the reminder of Alistair’s thoughtful gesture. Guilt was chased away by frustration and then rage as she remembered how free he’d been with his hands. The crush of his mouth on hers had bruised her lips. How could he make such presumptions about her feelings?
In all their years together he’d never tried to push their relationship beyond friendship, except to concoct ridiculous plans about eloping with her. She turned his words over in her mind.
We can be together now. What we’ve always wanted.
Though she wished it weren’t so, Ember couldn’t claim he’d never raised this idea before. He’d constantly sworn his affection for her. Jested that they should be married. Had his teasing masked the true desires of his heart?
Her chest tightened. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. Alistair had been so loyal, so dear to her. If he did love her as he’d claimed, then her words must have battered his heart. Ember’s sigh was long, full of the weariness of her body and spirit. She would try to mend anything broken between herself and Alistair, but she had to do so in a way that didn’t encourage him. She loved Alistair, but as a brother, not as a lover.
Much to her relief, and surprise, only Barrow was waiting for her in the barracks’ main hall. She sat beside him, happily accepting the bowl of steaming porridge he pushed in front of her.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
Barrow leaned back in his chair; lines of concern appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Lukasz called a meeting. There’s been some news.”
Ember put her spoon down. “Shouldn’t we be there as well?”
“He discussed the matter with me last night,” he said. “We have other work to focus on today.”
She returned to eating, her poor mood worsening at the lack of inclusion. Despite the praise she’d received after her trial, Ember still felt like an outsider, like she was being kept away from the real purpose of the Guard. She took a few more bites of the porridge and set her spoon down again. When she rose, Barrow frowned.
“You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’m not hungry this morning,” she said.
He studied her face. “Are you ill?”
“No.” She avoided meeting his eyes. “Just eager to begin the day.”
Barrow stood up and servants appeared to clear the table. “If I know Morag, she’ll have worked nonstop to have your weapon ready. We’ll head to the smithy first.”
Ember didn’t answer but simply followed Barrow out of the barracks. She felt restless, battered by her fitful night after Alistair’s appearance and her deepening uncertainty about her place in Conatus. Too many questions left unanswered, too many secrets whispered behind closed doors.
When they stepped into the courtyard, Ember looked over her shoulder, her gaze wandering toward the stables.
She turned back with a sigh, only to find Barrow watching her with a knowing smile. “I won’t keep him from you long.”
Ember returned his smile stiffly. She was too unsettled to seek a bond with the knight over their shared love of riding. The one person she’d fully trusted here had been scheming, manipulating her path to serve his own desires. Alistair’s confession—no matter how well intentioned—only felt like a betrayal. It stung in her chest and made her bristle against any friendliness Barrow showed.
Though the sun had risen only a short while ago, the smithy was already alive with its craft. Barrow led Ember, stopping only when he’d reached Morag’s forge. The blacksmith was stoking the fire.
She greeted Barrow without looking up. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Morag.” Barrow leaned against the workbench. “Do you have something for us?”
Morag straightened with a smile. “Nothing for you, but something for the lady.”
Ember sidled past Barrow, curiosity edging out her ill temper. What could have manifested from her strange visions of a double moon?
From a lower shelf of her workbench Morag withdrew two leather objects.
“It’s a good thing I apprenticed for two years with a Chinese blade master,” the blacksmith said as she gripped a leather-wrapped handle. From within the slipcover appeared a weapon like none Ember had ever seen. Morag extended the strange piece to her. Her fingers closed around the handle and she held the weapon up to examine it. Connected to the handgrip was a bright silver ring, a perfectly circular blade with a diameter slightly wider than her face. A crescent blade with sharp, gleaming points projected from the leather grip into the center of the ring.
“Two moons,” Ember whispered. The weapon was light in her hand. She moved her arm up and down slowly, marveling at how natural it felt to hold something so foreign to her.
Barrow stepped closer. “What a strange thing.”
“Not everyone must fight with a massive hunk of steel.” Morag snickered. “This weapon will play to her strengths.”
“What is it?” Ember asked, turning the piece over so its bright surface reflected the leaping flames in the forge.
“A variation on a weapon of the Far East, the wheel of wind and fire,” Morag said. “Your vision pointed to a wheel for combat, but a wheel of two moons.”
The blacksmith cast a sidelong glance at Ember. “But its origins are naught. This weapon belongs to you. It shall not serve you until you give it a name.”
“A name?”
Morag nodded. “The name invokes the blade’s power. As the one who’ll wield the blade, the name comes from you, lass.”
The blacksmith handed Ember a second leather case, identical to the first. “Wheels are wielded in pairs. They are tools of beauty and devastation. Graceful and lethal.”