Page 221 of Starside

He glares at me.

I slowly walk over to him, eager to ruin his day as he has ruined mine. “Or … are you afraid? Is that it?” I take another step.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says.

I laugh. “You looked pretty terrified at the idea of kissing me.” I remember how his eyes widened when I gripped his face. When he realized what I was going to do.

His look could make an entire field of wildflowers wither. “I don’t kiss anyone.”

I raise a brow at him. “As a rule?” I say it as a joke, but he doesn’t reply. My smile fades. “You’re not kidding.” I frown. “You don’t … you’ve never bedded anyone?”

He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “Of course I have. But fucking and kissing are two different things.” He looks utterly revolted as he seems to imagine the act. “I would never let anyone get that close to me.”

The corners of my lips twitch. “You act like kissing is more intimate than having sex.”

“It is.”

“You make it sound repulsive.”

“Isn’t it?”

I smile fully now. “It isn’t so bad.” Not that I have much experience. I only kissed one boy, once, as a teenager. It was fine, but not good enough that I ever rushed to do it again.

Raker’s eyes narrow. He looks like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and turns around, toward the table.

“The map,” Raker says, clearly desperate to change the conversation. He points at a pile of parchment and pieces of charcoal. Still shaking my head in amusement, I begin to draw.

“We’re here,” I say, drawing the estate, then the desert, with the flaming city at the corner of it. City on Fire. Not far from a place that doesn’t have a name, only endless bolts of lightning.

“We just have to make it through the desert. And hope the cavalry doesn’t find us before we reach the Land of the Gods.”

He nods. He doesn’t look worried at all.

“Vander said a beast lives there. One that will make us enemies of ourselves.”

He just looks at me. His gaze repeats, I’m not afraid of anything.

My glare says, Cocky bastard.

Then, I yawn. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and Vander was right. Portaling with the blade has sucked away my energy. “Fine. We’ll leave from the edge of these gardens first thing tomorrow,” I say, pushing off the edge of the table. “I’m going to get some rest.”

I lied.

The blacksmith in the Traveling City said one of the Great Houses has a forge, run by someone who might know which god my blade once belonged to.

Lord Rodin’s sword was freshly sharpened, evenly so, with precision, and limited scratch marks along the metal. By a grinding stone, I would guess.

A device found in a forge.

It’s still a theory. I could be wrong. But something tells me the ancient blacksmith is here.

I just need to find him.

The attendants aren’t helpful. The moment I spot a few and open my mouth, they scuttle away. You would think the God of Death himself roamed these halls, hanging anyone who dared look him in the eye.

Maybe he does, I think, as I creep down a set of stairs. A forge needs fire. So far, I haven’t been successful searching the top floors. Maybe he’s below.

For the first few flights, all I feel is endless chill. Then … the temperature changes. It becomes warm when it should be getting colder. I follow the mysterious heat, until I hear it—pounding metal. Like a melody.