Chapter 8Lena
Lips trembling and her eyes glassy with unshed tears, Amara places a palm to her chest and sucks in an audible breath. “It's…” She shakes her head with a watery chuckle. “I have no words. They’re all so beautiful.”
I snort. “You’re such a drama queen.”
She narrows her eyes. “Fuck off!”
My comments already forgotten, she moves further into the room, stopping to spin in a slow circle, whiskey eyes darting from one item to the next.
I pass my own gaze over the shop, seeing dirks, broadswords, short swords, scythes, and axes, as well as any other blade you could possibly imagine. All artistically displayed from ceiling to floor, covering every inch of available space on the white walls of Rory’s Swords and Daggers. Near the back of the storefront, Amara looks like a kid in a sweets shop as she flattens her nose and both palms against the clear pane of the wrap-around glass casing, ogling some of Aurora's finer creations. Eyes straying past that, I find a hutch pressed up against the back wall, displaying her less lethal creations. Nails, horseshoes, and locks are scattered chaotically across its shelves, a stark contrast to the otherwise well-organized room.
Tristan brushes past me, poking his head through the archway off to the side.
“There's more in here,” he says, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
Amara bites her fist and squeals in glee, and I laugh at the sight. It's comical how one of the toughest women I know can be brought to tears over a few blades. If a suitor was to offer her gold and jewels, she'd gut the fucker for insinuating she was a whore who could be bought with trinkets. But bring her a pretty sword or dagger, and she'd fall to her knees and have him cumming down her throat in less than a minute. I don't know if Amara will ever drop her guard enough to fall in love, but if she does, one thing’s for certain. He'll have to come to terms with the fact that her first true love will forever be made of steel.
Off to the side of the hutch, a black curtain sways on copper rings in an entryway that I assume leads to a workspace. A slender hand draws back the black curtain and a beaming Aurora appears. Draped in a soot-covered apron over dark leggings and a tunic, her hair is pinned in a knot atop her head, bouncing with her motions as she rolls up her sleeves and glides in our direction. The princess clearly balks at traditional garb, but she could be wearing a burlap sack and still no one could mistake her for anything but royalty.
Clasping her hands together, Aurora quickly moves to greet us but stumbles and grunts when Amara throws herself at her, tossing her arms around Aurora in a crushing hug.
“Your work’s amazing.” Pulling back, Amara squeezes her shoulders. “I thought I’d come here and it would all be shit, but it’s not!” She steps back and punches the princess in the arm. “I guess princesses can do more than push out babies.”
Aurora shoots me a bewildered look as she rubs the soreness out of her shoulder. “Thank you?”
“No, thank you.”
Glancing at a silent Tristan leaning against the archway, I nod imperceptibly and he slips into the adjoining room as I join the two females.
“I’m so glad you both came!” Aurora says, clapping her hands. “I didn't know if you were just being kind or if you were really going to, but I'm so happy you did!”
She's adorable.
“Of course, we came, sweetie,” I reply. I didn't know it was possible, but her smile spreads further at my endearment.
“Come on back.” She waves us over, walking backward. “I brought out a few pieces I've been working on.”
Aurora and Amara race away and quickly slip past the curtain. Following at a more sedate pace, I listen to the clink of copper rings as I slide back the black fabric, revealing an astonishingly large workspace.
The cavernous room is as tall as the front of the shop, but it extends much wider. The walls are made of the same gray slate I've seen from some of the older buildings in the city, and a burning forge is off to the side, connected to a chute that rises between massive wood beams all the way to the top of the cathedral ceiling. A barrel of water is only a few paces away from the forge, placed next to an anvil that reveals its age with numerous dents and scratches. Metal tongs, hammers, chisels, and various other tools of which I have no clue of their purpose are scattered throughout the room. I find both females huddled around a weathered wood table, inspecting a small dagger.
Rounding the table, I toss one leg over the bench and sit while I examine the array of weapons. Aurora has placed several daggers, an axe, a scimitar, and a khopesh across a discolored beige cloth. You can see how Aurora’s designs differ from a traditional blacksmith’s work. They seem lighter and more delicate, but no less deadly, and each one has its own distinctive, artistic twist. Not feminine, per se, just more visually appealing. All her pieces are absolutely stunning and unique in their own right, but my eyes keep snapping back to the khopesh.
Lifting the sword, I twirl it as I inspect the hook of the steel blade. Deceptively slim, the blade appears as if it could barely cut through butter, but after applying pressure between my thumb and forefinger, it's obvious its thinness is deceptive. The slim steel is stronger than most broadswords I've handled, and I imagine I could sever clean through a person's neck with very little effort on my part. Placing my palms flat beneath, I bob it up and down, barely registering its weight.
Eyes downcast, Aurora pulls loose threads from the frayed cloth. “It's not complete. I’m still working on the hilt and I think I made it a bit too heavy.”
I snort. “If you made it any lighter, it'd disappear.” Waiting until she meets my gaze, I smile. “Aurora, this is brilliant.”
“You think so?”
“I do.” Flipping it end over end, I catch it by the hilt. “It's well balanced, light, and the steel of it is surprisingly strong. It's extraordinary. You’re very talented.”
She blushes and averts her gaze, but I can see the pride in her eyes. “If you like that, you should look at this.” She reaches for the axe and lifts it up by its hickory handle, paying no mind to me or anyone else as she prattles away.
Tristan slips silently between the curtains without stirring a clink from a single ring. When I catch his gaze, he disappointingly, but unsurprisingly, shakes his head.
Unaware of Tristan’s presence, Aurora taps the edge of the axe’s blade as he falls in behind her. “Now, to get this dark shade of purple, I wanted to use the forge, but the heat was too inconsistent. So, I quickly scrapped that idea and instead, I used my Gif – aaaah!” Startled by Tristan's sudden appearance, she spins and swings the axe up over her head. As she arcs downward, Tristan, thankfully, has the wherewithal to seize the handle before it impales his skull.
I slap a hand to my mouth, smothering a shocked laugh, Amara doing the same.
Aurora freezes with the axe poised above his head, her expression that of horror. “Uriella’s Light! I almost killed you!” That horror suddenly contorts into a panicked rage. “You shouldn't sneak up on someone handling a weapon!”
Unfazed, he chuckles. “I'll admit it was a close call. Here, why don't I take this?” Aurora nods frantically and he pulls it from her grasp, his brown, almost black eyes sweeping over it appraisingly. “What's this here?”
She looks at me with a confused expression. “It's an axe. You cut things with it.” She stacks fisted hands above her head and mimes slicing downward. “Like to chop wood, or to cut off someone's head, or-”
“Obviously,” he cuts in dryly, extending it outward and spinning the handle. “Did you make this?”
Aurora nods.
“The craftsmanship is exquisite.” Tristan steps back, mimicking a few practice swings before examining it more closely. “How much would you like for it?”
Her smile falls. “Oh! Well… it's actually a commissioned piece,” she says, then adds quickly, “but I'd be more than happy to create another one.”
Adjusting his grip, he swipes a few more times before standing upright and passing it back to her. “Please, I'd love to have one for myself.”
“Of course! Do you have any special requests?”
