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Mak started from his seat. “Did that mage actually—”
“No. The coward was not responsible for the violence. But he boasted about discovering the remains of one of their sacred herds.”
“You couldn’t let that pass.”
Lio shook his head.
“If Master Gorgos did have Eriphite blood on his hands,” Mak asked, “what would you have done tonight?”
“I don’t know.” Lio put his head in his hands. “We are here to roll out the welcome carpet for the Tenebrans, not to let them trample all we cherish. There is a time for giving ground and a time for standing our ground. I just wish I always knew which was which.”
Mak sighed. “In the Stand, we always know. You chose an uncertain service, Cousin.”
Lio lifted his head. “But I’m not navigating alone.” He pointed between the pavilions.
Mak smiled. “Cassia’s got them back on schedule, and it looks like they’ve lost Master Gorgos along the way. Let’s go show them that silly dressing stool I made for Nodora’s brother.”
“Let me guess. She commissioned it as a Solstice gift for Epodos.”
“He’ll wear it out sitting in front of the mirror and thank her when she gives him the same thing again next year.”
Lio huffed a laugh and joined his Trial brother in the smiths’ pavilion.
Cassia stood admiring a bin of pitchforks. “Steward Telemakhos, I had no idea your craft is smithing. What a fitting occupation for a warrior. It must require both physical strength and studied skill.”
“Hesperine smithing demands the utmost expertise,” Mak replied, “if I do say so myself. Geomagical forges allow precise temperature regulation, which provides greater control and produces more consistent results, but they require careful attention.”
Lord Adrogan sat on the wrought iron dressing stool, bouncing a little to test its strength. He smoothed his hair.
Lord Gaius turned a kitchen knife over in his hand. “You work in steel as well.”
Mak nodded. “And bronze.”
“But you do not make weapons?” Lord Gaius asked.
“Certainly not, honored guest. As you know, those are forbidden in Orthros beyond the fortress of Waystar.”
“You do not supply Hesperines errant with arms?”
Lio prepared to assist Mak in stifling mortal speculation. “As a warrior and a smith of Orthros, Steward Telemakhos is the first line of defense for the Queens’ laws against weapons.”
Mak’s aura shifted with discomfort. “Only a very few Hesperines errant have ever wielded blades Abroad, in any case.”
“Those are not made here?” Lord Gaius pressed.
Lio shrugged. “The origins of the Blood Errant’s famous weapons are as mysterious to us as they are to you. They have never revealed the source of their arms, but whatever mortal smith from ancient times forged them, he is certainly long dead by now.”
Mak took a file to the rough edge of a tankard handle.
Lord Gaius shook his head and dropped the knife back on Mak’s display table. “Warriors without weapons.”
“That’s what comes of females running things,” Lord Adrogan muttered.
“Yes, Lord Adrogan,” Lio said. “Sixteen hundred years of peace and prosperity.”
“Sixteen hundred years of apron strings!” the man scoffed. “That’s all my mother ever did. Wring her hands and beg my father not to go to war. That’s how men end up poor.”
“If deprivation inspires him to battle,” Lio replied, “might not prosperity endear any man to peace?”
