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He waved around the room. “Some of these are normal weapons, but some are of fae origin, and a few are mage-crafted blades. Magical weapons choose their wielders, something craftsman learned a long time ago. So, do any call out for you? Can you feel any of them?”

As much as I wanted to laugh him off, I knew he was right. I’d read texts about weapons who’d chosen their masters. Mostly they were featured in historical accounts of battles and glory. I didn’t recall any serving a bounty hunter with dubious parentage.

“Do you have any weapons who call your name?” I asked him, curious about what kind of weapon would want to serve him, and why I thought it would mean more to my opinion of him than what he’d told me himself.

He smiled and walked across the room to a display of swords. At the top was a smooth, shiny Katana with a white bone handle. At the top of the grip, a blood red tie capped it off.

“This is Isolde.”

“Like Tristan and Isolde? Did you name it, or did it tell you its name?”

He lifted it up so I could see it better. “I received this weapon as a teenager. It was sheer luck it bonded to me. I’m the one who named it. I’d always been fascinated by that story.”

I studied it, sufficiently impressed. “What does it feel like when it speaks to you?”

He shook his head. “It’s different for every weapon and every warrior. No blade will speak the same, just as no person will speak the same.”

Sounded about on par with what I’d learned of magic in the short time I’d been around it. “Of course, that makes perfect sense.”

“This is serious. Is nothing sacred to you?” The captain said from near the door where he’d been hovering since we arrived.

Fin cast him a baleful look, and I outright glared.

“I wasn’t joking. As someone new to magic, it makes perfect sense from what I’ve learned so far. Why don’t you go yell at one of your soldier boys? The grown-ups are talking.”

His only response was a sharp narrow of his eyes.

“Do you feel anything?” Fin asked me again.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Other than the captain’s death stare, I felt nothing.

“Does it just happen?” I asked.

Fin shrugged. “It can happen when you get near a weapon. It can also happen when you touch one, or even when you’re injured by one. As if the weapon needs to conquer you to serve you.”

With reverence, he placed his sword back on the rack and faced me again. “Well, even if nothing speaks to you, you’ll still need weapons. Most of what I have is standard fare. You’re welcome to grab anything you like.”

I glared at the captain. “What, he’s not going to make me qualify at the range first? Throw a few knives to ensure I don’t accidently spike you in the back with one?”

The man in question turned away to face out the door, and Fin huffed beside me. “You two really need to get over this petty feud. It serves no one.”

“Maybe if he didn’t look at me like I was somehow lesser than him, than you, I might be able to,” I said. “Until then, I’ll mock and goad him to my heart’s content. Maybe one day we’ll hit the mats and beat it out of each other.”

Fin just shook his head and wandered away to let me window shop. I braced my hands on the countertop and stared down at the knives on display. Beautiful butterfly knives, some illegal kit, even some gorgeous throwing knives. I would bet they were weighted perfectly, knowing Fin.

After a second, he came over and lay two short swords along the countertop. “What about these?”

“Hmm, let me check with my fencing master. Oh wait, I don’t have one.” I pointed toward the guns. “I know how to shoot, and I know how to use knives. I can pick out a long one and call

it a short sword if you like.”

He returned the swords and faced me, hands on his hips, consternation bending down his brow. “How do you usually choose your weapons?”

“How does anyone?” I skirted the counter to look at another display of knives perpendicular to the other. “I pick them based on the job. Some nights you need a hot thermos and a knife. Sometimes you need something big and flashy you don’t actually have to use. I go with my gut.”

The captain snorted, and I ignored him, meeting Fin’s sharp eyes. He’d been studying me since we walked into the room, and I hadn’t figured out why.

“How do you choose yours?” I asked him.


Tags: Amelia Shaw The Rover Fantasy