He grunts.
Barely smothering a smile, he slips his gloves back on and turns, using tongs to remove a long, fiery blade from the kiln before forcing it into submission with a hammer.
Ting-ting-ting.
Clang.
I lean against the wall, watching him work. His quarters used to be stationed on the castle grounds until I moved him out here nineteen years ago. This cave digs deep underground, so none of his sound spills into the forest or makes its way up to Orlaith’s tower.
Heavy footfalls echo down the throat of the cave in alternate rhythm to the jarring, metallic strikes. The reek of whiskey and whatever female wet Baze’s cock last night hits me before he emerges into the workshop glow—hair a mess, dark circles beneath his eyes. His top is loosely buttoned, and he didn’t even bother with his boots.
Two days off, and he’s fallen into old habits.
I arch a brow. “Good night?”
He avoids eye contact, scratching the back of his head and repressing a yawn. “You wanted to see me?”
I watch him for a long moment.
Clang.
Clang.
Clearing my throat, I push off the wall, reaching for one of the two swords laid out on Greywin’s work table, both made from an almost black wood with leather-bound pommels.
Simple, well-made weapons.
I hand the smaller one to Baze, his brow buckling as he studies it with eyes more vigilant than they were seconds ago.
“Wait ...” He steals a glance over his shoulder to our master plan—different colored logs stacked against the far wall. Stepping stones to edge Orlaith closer to an eventual metal blade.“Ebonwood?”
I nod.
He looks at the blade like it’s going to twist out of his hand and slit his throat. “You’re pushing her too fast.”
He’s right, of course. But patience is a luxury I’ve been sipping on for years; a luxury I can no longer afford.
Not when it comes to her.
“No. I’m not pushing her fast enough.”
He sighs, weighing the weapon in both hands. “She barely withstands the draw of a metal blade at dinner, and you think she’s ready forthis?It’s over double the density of her last sword. The sound difference—”
“May be jarring,” I finish for him.
He looks at me through his tangled mop of hair. “Exactly. We agreed to move onto walnut after she got used to the Petrified Pine. Which she wasn’t, by the way. If we hadn’t lost the set to that selkie hovel, I’d have kept her on the pine for the next six months.”
Six mon—
“She seemed to cope just fine the other day.”
“Because she was fuckingjacked.”
An image I’ll carry to my grave.
I clear my throat.
“Be that as it may, we don’t have time for walnut anymore. We barely have time for Ebonwood. I was tempted to move right onto Silver Olivewood ...” I shrug; the heavy pelt draped around my shoulders having nothing on the weight that’s been stacked there for years. “I had Greywin thin the hilt on hers instead.”
