“Can you feel that?”
He nodded.
“It’s a part of you,” I whispered in awe. If I hadn’t seen the transformation, the scales of armor erupting from Kash’s skin, I wouldn’t have believed it.
But now I was asking so much more. Of the three, Damon seemed to be the least threatening. His helm was the clearest, and for the moment, he was the one I trusted. “You are the blade named strength. I’m going to try to take the smallest scraping of your armor using a chisel and hammer. Do you think you have enough strength to keep still?”
Damon dipped his head.
Unwrapping the chisel set, I laid out the tools before me. I started to have second thoughts about what I was about to do. I needed to get a piece of his armor, but if it was attached to him physically—if he could feel every touch—I was pretty much asking permission to skin him . . . and hopefully he wouldn’t kill me in the process. This wasn’t just any armor; this was cursed armor with a protective magic.
I picked up the chisel and hammer and moved around so I was at his back. “Your back has the least amount of nerve receptors. It may hurt for a moment, but as soon as I’m done, I will do my best to heal you.”
Damon turned his head. He grabbed the wooden table and braced himself. Being this close to him, I could see the finely etched lines of fur that ran alongside the Lion helm. It gave him a shaggy mane that matched Damon’s own long locks. I wondered if the cursed armor chose the forms based on the blade’s physical appearance, or if it were something more concrete.
Kash and Spencer each grabbed one of Damon’s arms and held it down.
“Oh stars, please let this work.”
I placed the chisel at an angle along the back of his breastplate, just below the pauldron. Lifting the hammer, I hit the chisel with a solid hard smack. Damon jerked in pain, but the chisel skidded, not even pulling a metal sliver.
My heart raced as I realized I would have to do it again. Kash and Spencer looked at me and gave me another nod of encouragement. My hands trembled as I prepared to strike again, this time using more strength. Having spent many years bent over an anvil, I wasn’t a stranger to the might needed to hammer out metal.
“Please forgive me, Damon,” I said as I swung it a second time, using all my strength.
I felt the chisel dig in, and Damon tried to stand up. Kash and Spencer held him in place, and he struggled. I needed another solid hit. Without losing a beat, I swung a third time and felt the metal peel back the barest of a scraping that fluttered to the floor.
“Done!” I cried, tossing the tools. I picked up the black shaving with tweezers and dropped it in a glass tube, sealing it with a cork.
Damon was raging—flailing—and Kash and Spencer struggled to contain the fierce lion. I took a risk and pressed my hands to his back as I reached for the ley line. Using my mind, I tried to direct the magic within the armor, imagining the skin underneath knitting back together.
Damon settled down at my touch. His head dropped forward onto the table as I healed him and then soothed his pain.
“It’s okay. It’s all over,” I whispered and rubbed his back. A sudden cry was ripped from my throat as I felt the armor latch onto my hand, my fingers sinking into his back like mud. The armor had tasted my magic, and it wanted my power, the same desire as the dark void in the mountain.
Like an infant at a teat, I could feel the armor suck on my hand, and I felt weak as it drained me.
“No!” I cried, fighting to pull my hand away. Damon had passed out on the table and Spencer was pushing down on his back while Kash was gripping my wrist, trying to pull. But neither was helping to release me. I panicked as I remembered what happened last time. I hadn’t escaped. It was a burst of light and magic that had released me from the magic eater’s grasp.
“Help!” I cried out again.
The artifact Grimkeep gave me glowed from where it sat on the table, and a burst of light shot out of it, striking the armor by my wrist. The darkness recoiled. My hand was freed
I collapsed on the ground in pain. Tears welled up in my eyes. My right hand was bright red and blistered—then healed. Cupping my arm, I grimaced in pain and looked at the hand that would probably end up scarred.
But I could handle pain. Pain would heal and lessen over time. If Damon had to withstand it, I could as well. The important part was the black shimmer that came from the glass tube.
I lifted the vial to the light and watched as the black sliver would morph between gold, metal, and then a black mist.
“What are you?” I said as it moved back to smoke and then reacted to my voice, flinging itself against the glass. “And what are you?” I turned to address the golden rock on the table.
Whatever it was, it was like no magic I’d ever seen or even read about.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By evening, I was no closer to finding out what kind of curse was upon the blades, or how to remove it. All I knew was that the armor was sentient and connected to the darkness I sensed within the kingdom. Which meant if I could defeat it, I had an opportunity to break the curse.
Dinner was a minor affair in the parlor room. The stalactite had been removed, and the table repaired. A new copper statue of a woman had been added near the window as a conversation piece.
Annette and Benton were commenting on the sculpture’s lifelike features and the way she was looking into her cupped palms with hope. I didn’t care for the aura coming off the figure, so I found myself on the far side of the room.
Brenna saw my injured hand and used her magic to heal the worst of the blisters. Instead of my hand being on fire, it felt like a tolerable throbbing. The poor girl fell asleep standing up afterwards, and Annette and I helped her to a sofa to sleep.
“Where’s Carlotta?” Shannon asked.
“I don’t know,” Annette said. “She wasn’t at breakfast or lunch, but then again, neither were you.” She pointed to me. “Where have you been hiding?”
With all eyes focused my way, I felt myself shrink under the pressure of having to lie. I wasn’t good at lying.
A cough came from the doorway, and the king entered, his cape swishing behind him. “I have sad news. It seems that Carlotta has failed in her alchemy attempt.”
“What happened?” Benton rubbed his chin and looked at me, his brown eyes narrowed.
“She succeeded—in turning herself into copper.” The king pointed to the statue.
Shannon screamed. Annette’s hands flew to her mouth, and she looked like she was going to be sick. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Carlotta’s serene, hopeful expression encased in the burnished metal.
My stomach dropped and a sour taste filled my mouth. Carlotta had stolen my notes and charm from my worktable and turned herself to metal.
This was my fault.
While everyone else moved farther away, I drew close to the statue. With shaking hands, I touched the charm in her palms. The copper was warm beneath my fingers, but there wasn’t a soul. She was gone. There was nothing I could do.
It was her selfish desire for wealth that led her to this state. It isn’t my fault. But I still blamed myself.
Trembling, I backed away from the statue, my hand reaching into my pouch and feeling for the other charms, making sure the rest were safe and accounted for. When I removed my hand, a golden thread from the spindle caught on my finger and slipped out of the satchel.