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He showed me briefly how to forge new swords yesterday, and now he looks at me expectantly, eyebrow raised. I square my shoulders and grab the huge tongs.
My first few attempts are pathetic, but the third sword that I hammer into shape and dunk into freezing cold water actually has a shape.
Irian snatches it away from me and examines it before chucking it to the ground like he did with the previous swords.
“Again,” he tells me, just like he did before.
And I follow his instructions until the last ten swords that I forge meet whatever standard Irian has in place.
I am blind with exhaustion when I leave the smithy close to midnight, but I am also proud of what I have achieved.
And tonight, like every other night, I take the pain, physical and emotional, and sit with it.
And I enjoy it.
2
LASTA
It looks like I’m the only one who is going to acknowledge that we’re going to go to war soon.
I lean back in my office chair, rubbing my eyes vigorously to wake up.
It is after midnight, so I cannot order another pot of kaffo from the kitchens, and I do not feel like going down to make a pot myself.
“I could always sleep here. There’d be another pot ready and waiting by the time I woke up,” I reason, but then I look down at my desk where a big stack of papers placed by my advisors rests.
They’re all letters from various parts of Nagaland. Some of the letters are from spies I sent into the different kingdoms a few weeks ago, reporting back on what they have discovered.
Almost all the letters from the spies have the same content. Unrest is brewing in every corner of Nagaland, all because of Prince Zalith and Slyth’s decisions to mate with human women. The rest of the letters are from the other rulers of the kingdoms within Nagaland, echoing what our spies have written.
They’re not happy that the Prince and his royal advisor have broken one of the most important societal rules that exists in Nagaland.
“Fuck, it is a rule that is most important in all of Protheka,” I murmur to myself and rub my eyes again. “We’re well and truly screwed.”
I stand up then and go over to the window, which overlooks the vast, beautiful grounds that stretch out for miles and miles behind the palace.
And I see her.
A human woman, walking slowly away from the smithy, a torch in hand. Her bright blond hair tumbles down her shoulders and her tall, lean, strong frame is at odds with her attitude.
She walks slowly, her head bowed, her eyes cast to the ground.
She must be the new recruit at the smithy. I’ll need to visit it tomorrow, to check on my latest order of weapons.
But now, time to deal with these letters.
I arriveat the smithy before dawn, after having spent all night in the chair in my office. The smithy is busy when I walk in, a large mug of kaffo – my third for the day – in hand.
Irian, the head blacksmith and one of my close friends, doesn’t look up as he works at the forge.
And there she is.
There are several other naga in the room, all of them belonging to the royal guard. All of them work part-time in the smithy.
But the human woman is all I can focus on.
She is helping Irian at the forge, and I know she has only started working here recently, but I am impressed to see that she moves with smooth expertise.
