Hours vanished as I threw my full attention into repairing my injury. Past healings had done the lion's share of the work, but I could still sense lingering damage beneath the surface. I had to be careful, as my body was still far too low on nutrients to cope with a protracted session, but there was not much choice.

  Ideally, I would remain here for weeks, even months, as I slowly recovered. It was the wise, careful choice, one that almost guaranteed my safety and one I might take if circumstances were different.

  But they were not. I could not afford to wait around, hoping that the people who nearly killed me could not track me down. I could not spare more than a handful of days, and even that delay put me on edge.

  By mid-afternoon, I had drained and refilled my core twice over. My stomach growled like a trapped animal, my arms and legs looked slimmer than they had in months, and when I lifted my shirt to check on my wound, my ribs stood out sharply. Despite all of that, the cut was still not wholly repaired.

  I sighed, shaking my head as I lowered the hem of my shirt and stood, stretching out my tired muscles. It would be unsafe to push any further, so it would have to do. Even now, it would take months to regain my strength and stamina. A part of me knew the delay would not change much. I would need to rely more heavily on my magic, but I was a mage. Was that such a bad thing?

  Yes, it was.

  Fighting with a spear was less efficient than magic. There was a reason our country favored mages rather than soldiers for warfare. But I had already fought as a real mage and lost. Badly. Why would I do so again? It was idiotic. Suicidal. Only a fool would repeat their mistakes, hoping that something would change.

  I had repeated some mistakes, but that would not be one of them.

  But beyond that, I had grown fond of martial combat. It was not as flashy as a destructive spell hurled from my fingertips or as impressive as throwing about people with a wave of one hand, but it had a flair all its own.

  So, I needed a new spear. And, if Lukas was right, the blacksmith in town just might be able to help me.

  I picked up the cold iron dagger from the table near my bed and slid it into my belt. Lila had brought it to the room at some point, having taken my valuables and hidden them away for safekeeping. After a moment, I grabbed Amelia's ring and my shielding vambrace, placing the first in my pocket and buckling the latter onto my arm underneath my sleeve.

  Then, with a brief mental order to Cat to remain in the room until I returned, I opened the door and slipped out, heading back into town.

  ***

  The blacksmith's shop was smaller than most I had seen, with only two rooms, at least as far as I could tell.

  The front was a rectangular space with a few shelves and a low desk. Goods lined each shelf, mostly tools of varying shapes, sizes, and purposes. Against the wall was a door that must lead into the forge proper, and I spotted a staircase leading up to what I presumed was either a storage room, the smith's home, or both.

  I walked to the desk, glancing around for the smith before spotting a metal bell on the wooden surface. The little thing let out a clear, sharp ring with only a light tap, loud enough that I took a step back and winced. Was the damn thing enchanted?

  "One moment, please!" a muffled voice shouted from behind the nearby door.

  I almost nodded but caught myself at the last moment. Rather than wait around for the man to make his appearance, I started browsing for anything that might be useful. A spear was my top priority, but there were a few other things I would prefer to have for my trip.

  The door opened after a minute or two, and out stepped a man. He was tall but surprisingly slim, with heavy, soot-stained clothes covering his body. The apron covering his front was burned, and I could spot a pair of gloves tucked into a pocket.

  I would put him at maybe ten years my senior, with long hair pulled back into a ponytail, uneven stubble covering his jaw, and bright eyes meeting mine without hesitation.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Afternoon," the man said with a smile, "How can I help you today, sir?"

  I returned his smile, replacing the knife I had been examining back onto its shelf as I quietly retracted my Aether into my body, replying, "I am looking for the smith of this town? Am I right in assuming that is you?"

  "You'd be right, sir," the man smiled, "Johann. Best blacksmith for a fifty miles. Only one, too, though that's not the main reason I'm the best. Anything you need, I can make. I've forged horses and hinges, buckles and nails, pots, pans, axes, hoes, pickaxes, and plows. You see anything you like, let me know."

  He said it in an almost sing-song tone, with a feeling as if this was a pitch he had done a hundred times over. I walked back to his desk, reaching down to pull the cold iron dagger from my belt.

  "Actually," I said, placing the dagger on the counter, "I was wondering if you could do a special project for me."

  Johann's eyes wandered down to the blade, his gaze cooling a little as he replied, "I'm not a weaponsmith, sir, but I can recommend some to you if you're willing to travel a ways."

  "I have it on good authority from at least two people in this town that you once crafted weapons and armor for the nobility."

  "Hah! Is that what they're saying? Don't I wish. Let me tell you, swords pay a damn bit better than a hammer."

  I chuckled, replying, "I can imagine. However, with all due respect, I do not believe you. Somehow, I doubt most smiths could create a knife of comparable quality as yours."

  While I could not purify materials of impurities using Aether—yet—I could sense them without much issue. Johann might claim he was a simple smith, but he crafted knives better than some I had seen in Volaris.

  "Those are just simple knives, sir," Johann replied with a self-deprecating smile, "For hunting, not self-defense."

  "True enough, but I do not need you to smith a new weapon," I responded, tapping my finger on the cold iron knife, "All I need is for you to take this blade and mount it on a spear haft. About five feet long, sturdy, and rounded. Can you do that?"

  Johann gnawed at his lip, seeming to consider my request. After a few seconds, he nodded and said, "Yeah, I think I can. Just as long as you don't spread it around town. Can't have every kid around demanding I make 'em a spear, now can I?"

  "Your secret is safe with me," I said, "Ah, but a few questions. How quickly can you get this done, and how much will it cost me?"

  "Depends how fast you want it done," Johann said, "The faster you want it, the more it'll cost. Soonest I could do would be the morning after next, and that'd cost you three silver."

  "That much? For mounting a blade?" I asked.

  Johann smiled, "Way I see it, you're willing to pay more for fast work, aren't you?"

  Damn it all. He was all but stealing from me, but I had already shown my hand. He knew I was desperate or at least more eager than I should have let on. Still...

  "I am not exactly...flush with coins at the moment," I said, clearing my throat.

  Johann's smile faded, and he said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't work for free."

  "Can we come to some kind of arrangement? I could sign a contract and return here to repay my debts."

  "Hah! That'd be a pleasant surprise, but no. Again, sincerest apologies, but I don't make that kind of deal. Although..."

  I noticed that his eyes had dipped down to my hands. Or, more accurately, to my finger.

  Johann cleared his throat, "Tell you what. I'll get your blade mounted onto a new haft. Best one I've got. No flaws or blemishes, wrapped in leather for a better grip, and I'll even throw in a new crossguard, all done within two days. In exchange, I keep that ring."

  I glanced down at my hand, staring at the ring glinting on my finger. Amelia's ring.

  Since setting off alone, I had lost or purposefully discarded almost every reminder of home. This ring was the sole memento left of my friends—of someone who might have become something more someday. If I gave this up...

  I stared at it for a few seconds and pictured Amelia's face. Then, I steeled myself and met Johann's eyes.

  "While not a bad idea," I said, "I think you can sweeten the deal a little more."

  Johann blinked, and I saw a hint of a skilled shopkeeper in his eyes as he responded, "What did you have in mind?"

  I left his shop a half-hour later, not particularly happy but satisfied enough with our deal. Johann had not liked my counter much, but we both understood that my ring was worth more than a steel crossguard or a length of wood. Amelia had not sprung for anything costly, but it was still a fine loop of silver with tiny runes of bronze set into it.

  In the end, Johann had agreed to part with a spare backpack, a piece of flint and tinder, a small hatchet, a bedroll he had not used in years, and a half-filled purse of copper and silver coins.

  I hated having to give up Amelia's ring. It stung at me, sending aching pains into my chest. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, demand it back, and leave town with only the clothes on my back and dagger in hand. Hell, a part of me whispered that I should threaten the man, demanding he do my bidding on pain of death.

  But I did not want to be that person. I did not want to become a monster and could not allow myself to take stupid risks because of sentimentality. Besides, Amelia would prefer that her ring save my life than sit on the finger of my corpse.

  I returned to Lila's home, eating a brief, filling dinner with them before retiring with excuses of lingering exhaustion. It was not wholly a lie, though I knew I would not get as much sleep as I claimed.

  Instead, I sat on the bed, facing Cat and 'speaking' with him using my mind. It was good practice, and, more importantly, I had been putting something off for months.

  "Shadow," I said into his mind.

  "No."

  "Night?"

  "No."

  "Nightfall."

  "No."

  "Nightshade."

  Cat sent what I could only surmise as simmering annoyance through our connection. I held up my hands, responding, "I never said I was good at naming. You could come up with a name, you know."

  "No. You give. Not me."

  His ability to string words together was progressing faster than I expected, while I remained limited to one, maybe two words at best. I made a mental note to investigate if it was his actual intelligence, or bond, or something else entirely.

  I folded my arms over my chest, thinking about how we had met, what Cat was, and what he represented. Felines were omens. They were magical beasts, but also often considered harbingers of change and luck, both good and ill. Black cats, in particular, tended to signal fortune.

  Beyond all that, what were the chances I would find a beast who was willing to form a bond and shared my element? Near-nonexistent.

  I met Cat's eyes and said, "Our meeting was a stroke of chance and good fortune. It seems only right that your name represents that. From now on, I will call you Fortuna."

  The feline stared at me, and I felt him weighing the name. After a time, he nodded once, and I felt his satisfaction radiate through our bond. While it was not the best name, it seemed he was okay with it, and that was, in the end, all that mattered.

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