Jocelynn's eyes were fixed on the dagger blade where it lay nestled among the glowing coals. First, it turned a dull, smoky red. Then, ever so slowly, it took on a brighter, cherry hue.
It wasn't until the red had begun to brighten that Jocelynn realized she hadn't thought about the Ancient Oak since she'd dropped the twig into the oil. Not the voices in its leaves, or the broken acorns, or the three days that remained before the trial. For a few precious minutes, there had only been the fire, and the steel, and the gruff little artificer beside her.
"My boys used to fight over who got to watch the steel," Erkembalt said suddenly, his voice gruffer than before. "Three of them, all born on the same night, and not one of them could stand to let the others have a turn at anything. Korine used to say the forge was the only place in the world where they'd stand still for longer than a heartbeat."
