Chapter 23: The Smith And The Ritualist (1)

“You’re back!” Kat exclaimed when Elvis returned to the smithy the following morning. She threw her arms around him and planted a long, deep kiss on his lips. The embrace only ended when her father loudly cleared his throat from within the workshop. “I thought you’d be away for longer.” “Me too,” Elvis replied, enjoying the feeling of her bosom pressed against his chest. He struggled to fathom how memories of their exchanges and time in the apartment upstairs didn’t melt El-Prime’s frigid heart. Kat was a sweet, beautiful woman and far better than anyone they’d been within almost a decade. “Penelope found multiple samples. They have the necessary ingredients for repairing the cracked shard. It was a decent delve, and we didn’t need to spend any more time in the undercity.” He grinned. “I also wanted to get back to you as soon as possible. So, we didn’t let things drag out.” “Aren't you sweet?” Kat smiled. She pulled away and gave him a once over, poking his chest and abdomen and running her hands over his arms. “Good. Not missing anything. Lukas gets his shard. What about you? Is there anything in this for you besides money? Or is he and Penelope just letting you get hurt and rely on the shard to fix everything up?” Elvis laughed. “Nothing of the sort. Lukey and I take turns. If the shard suits him well, he gets it. If not, it will be mine, and the next one goes to whoever is lagging. His ability isn’t combat-oriented at all, and I’d rather he get this one. I’m likely to get hurt a lot less if the little one can take care of himself.” “Why am I not convinced?” Kat frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “Trust me, Kitty,” Elvis said, arm snaking around her waist. He pecked her cheek. “Besides, Lukas really impressed Penelope with his soul ability. She’s increasing his pay and giving him extra magic lessons. He promised to invest it all in a shard for me. We’ve seen a few decent ones that his bonus might just be enough for.” “Good. The last thing I want is for you to get carried away with your brother and this sorcerer and get hurt so bad the shard can’t fix it. I—” Kat caught herself. She broke eye contact and started toward the smithy. “Da and I agree that you have a talent for metalwork. The billets were of high quality, and we’ve made amazing progress with the order. It would be a shame to lose someone like you.” “Right.” Elvis grinned. “For the business. I know you weren’t expecting me back today, but I can help. Maybe you can teach me how to draw out a billet. Perhaps even help me make a simple blade and identify the right time for quenching?” “I thought you came down to distract me from work and drag me upstairs,” Kat said, eyes narrowing. “Before or after, of course! If your father can spare you right now—” “I can’t!” The old blacksmith yelled from within the smithy. It was always loud around the forge, but the man seemed to hear everything the pair said to each other. However, he rarely interfered unless they were getting too carried away in the open. “Stop eavesdropping, Da!” Kat yelled. She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I swear, just because I agreed to work with him, he thinks he can tell me what to do. I’m a grown woman with a dedicated client base. I could go work elsewhere or even start my own shop if I wanted.” The blacksmith said nothing. The rhythmic sound of the hammer on the anvil resumed. “But you won’t because you love your dad and don’t want him to get lonely.” “And our client base is somewhat entangled.” Kat glared at him, hands on her hips. “So what are we doing?” “Maybe upstairs for a bit and then get to work?” Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Kat nodded. “I supposed that’s acceptable.” It was a productive afternoon. When the pair returned to the workshop an hour later, Kat guided him through the heating, drawing, and shaping of billets. The pair worked side by side, wearing heavy gloves, aprons, and goggles with tinted lenses. Their alchemical treatments provided ample protection from the heat and glow radiating from the furnace. It surprised Elvis that El-Prime had no interest in alchemy. It seemed to play a significant role in Iskander’s artisanal field, working its way into all fields, including blacksmithing. He believed it would prove vital once they got around to their own ‘start-up.’ But if I think so, some part of El-Prime agrees. He just doesn’t know it yet. Unlike her father, Kat utilized several modern tips and tricks. She used a magnetized piece of metal to check if the billet was hot enough. “Skill smiths can usually tell by color,” she explained. “I can, too, but that’s not always accurate or reliable. Materials often contain impurities. When you’re using scrap metal, you can’t always be sure of what else is in there. Eyes and ears might fail to discern the truth, but the lodestone never lies.” Working in the smithy had done wonders for Elvis and, therefore, El-Prime’s body. Their wiry form was now well-toned. Arms, shoulders, and chest now also had hints of definition. Training with the Shadow Seekers and working as a courier helped improve their stamina, but they still had a long way to go. Fortunately, both clone empowerments came with improved endurance. As a result, Elvis didn’t tire quickly, whether in bed, training with weapons, or hammering away at a glowing chunk of metal. Several hours passed as Kat and Elvis worked side by side, working on individual billets. She finished significantly faster than him and moved on to other projects, but he kept her lessons in mind. He widened and lengthened the chunk of steel before smacking it on the anvil to get the desired shape. Initially, he took it too far and drew the gruff old man’s attention. He wandered over, grumbling, and guided Elvis through fixing the mistake. “You’re using brute force,” the man said. “That might come in handy with billets and drawing out the metal, but shaping is an art demanding skill and a light touch.” He used the tong with both hands, holding the length of metal just past the narrowed tang. “You don’t always have to use the hammer. Sometimes, the anvil is just as good.” he then carefully tapped the side on the anvil’s pointed end, giving the metal a slight curve. Then he returned it to the forge. “There is no rush when you’re learning. Advance a bit. Back into the heat. Advance a bit more, back into the fire.” It was the first time the blacksmith had shown such patience and spoken gently to Elvis, catching him off guard. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to say after finding the right words. The process took Elvis more than twice the time it had taken Kat. It still wasn’t perfect, but still decent. Lukas heated the blade up once more and used the magnet to know when it was enough just enough. He then quenched the dagger and held his breath. Much to Elvis’s relief, he heard no cracks. “Good job,” Kat said. “We can’t be sure without a good grind, but I see no delaminations or major faults.” “But, it's warped,” Elvis complained. “That happens to Da sometimes, too. Quench it again, and if that doesn’t fix it, we’ll leave it in the jig overnight.” Lukas stared at the banana-shaped blade sitting on the anvil. When he tapped it, it wobbled, clattering noisily instead of laying flat. He picked it up by the tang and slid the blade end into the fire. “Thank you for today,” he said, hugging Kat. His insides felt warm, and it wasn’t just because he had spent most of the day between a roaring furnace and the blindingly bright forge. “I had an incredible time.” “I did, too,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “You’re not a bad student.” “He should quit delving and weapons training and pursue metalwork full-time,” the blacksmith stated, passing by. His voice had regained its gruffness. It seemed to appear primarily when Elvis and Kat were in physical contact. Elvis was starting to think it was an act. “Risking talent in the undercity is foolish.” “See. You got a compliment from Da.” Kat laughed once her father disappeared into the shop connected to the workshop. “The blade might be warped, but it's better than most first blades. He’s genuinely impressed.” “It’s all thanks to you.” Elvis’s heart fluttered, eyes locked on his work. He was proud of what he had done and hoped El-Prime would share his joy. Lukas hadn’t felt happiness in far too long. So much time had passed since that clone struggled to remember what it felt like to be happy. However, between Kat and creating something usable and pretty out of scrap, Elvis believed that was it.