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“What did you hear?” I ask.
“You weren’t talking, but I heard you. You said you wishedyou were brave like me. Ziva, that’s ridiculous. You have your own kind of bravery. Why—” She cuts off as something else comes to her. “You were really underselling how much that handsome stranger affected you. Goddesses.” Another pause. “You steal sweets out of the larder after I go to bed!”
Before anything else can happen, I snatch the sword away. “I was afraid of this.”
“As well you should be,” Temra says. “We’re going to have a long talk about the taffies.”
“No, Temra. It’s the warlord! When she cut herself and handed me the blade, I heard her secrets. Remember when I told you how I made the weapon? By whispering my secrets to it? This sword not only has long-range abilities, it reveals the secrets of those it cuts. Kymora—she intends to enslave all of Ghadra and rule over everyone. She’s going to take me with her tomorrow whether I wish it or not to make weapons for all her soldiers. Everyone is in danger.”
Neither of us speaks as the weight of the words settle.
I wait for Temra to say something. Perhaps to ask if I’m overreacting. If there’s any chance I misunderstood. Or if maybe we’ve got the sword’s abilities wrong.
She says, “What do we do?”
I was so prepared for some kind of argument that I forget immediate action is required.
I have to save us.
There’s really only two choices. I go with Kymora and build weapons for her army. Or… we run. We leave everything behind. My forge. My family’s home. Temra’s school. Everything we’ve ever known. Everything that’s ever felt safe.
We give it all up to try to save Ghadra.
I’m ashamed that it takes me a moment to make the right decision.
“Pack a bag,” I say. “Necessities only. Fit as much food as you possibly can. We have to leave.”
“Where will we go?”
I pace back and forth and fiddle with my fingers. “We need a plan and quickly.” Who would take us in? Is there anyone who would hide us? Certainly not in Lirasu. Not anymore.
I pause in place. “Do you remember that old painting we found in the back of Father’s closet when we were going through our parents’ things?”
Temra nods. “You want to track down Father’s family?”
I remember the day we found that painting. On the front was a couple I didn’t recognize standing before a beautiful waterfall, but on the back was written:Sotherans. Thersa Falls.
I thought to simply throw out the picture. After all, it was stashed at the back of the closet, but then I realized the similarities between the two in the painting and my father.
They’re his parents. My grandparents. I knew my father took my mother’s surname, but at the age of five, I’d never thought to ask what his original family name was.
It was all there on the painting. My father’s family are the Sotherans, and they live in Thersa. We had no reason or care to seek them out before. But now—
Now I cling to that information like a lifeline.
There’s no point in stressing over how we’ll be received or if we’ll be received or if we’ll be believed when we claim to be relations. Our main concern is escape.
“We have to find them,” I answer.
“But they don’t know us. They’ve never met us. Did Father ever even talk about them?”
“Not that I remember. But they’re family. They’re our only hope.”
“Okay,” Temra says after a moment. She riffles through a bunch of tools atop one of the worktables and stalks over to me. “That’s good. We have a destination. But we need to take precautions.”
“Precautions?”
I hear asnip, and then my head feels significantly lighter. My hand flies to my ponytail, only to find it practically gone.
