“Old weapons are still good weapons.” He rolls his eyes.
“Not always true.” I lift a sword, eying down the fuller and inspecting the edge. “Age alone can dull a blade. And if you took these off the battlefield, they were already nicked and damaged to begin with.” I show him the subtle dents in the weapon. “See, here.”
Ruvan seems mildly impressed, but the emotion is fleeting. “A dull silver sword is still a silver sword. All it needs to do is break a vampir’s flesh.”
“It’s far more effective when sharp. The blade does more of the work so the fighter isn’t slowed down. Plus, old, dented blades will get stuck in bones rather than slice clean, which creates opening for attacks. Do you have a smithy?”
“A smithy?” He blinks, clearly startled. “What could you possibly need a smithy for?”
You are pretending to be a hunter right now, Floriane, not a smith. Keep the illusion. “I…I could make an attempt at honing them,” I murmur. Figuring out how to dance with my words is more difficult by the moment. “I’ve seen it done enough times. Sometimes I worked on my own sickles.” Which a hunter would never do. But I can’t resist. I can’t leave these weapons in the state they’re in. Doing so would be a dishonor to all the forge maidens who came before me.
Ruvan considers this for a long moment and I worry my ruse has been destroyed. He starts back for the main doors. I begin trying to find which is the sharpest weapon, quickly hoisting sickles that I think will be my best bet.
“Leave them. Ventos will bring them to you.”
“Pardon?”
“He’ll be delighted to put to use all that muscle of his by carrying them to the smithy,” Ruvan clarifies. “But we haven’t had a smith in the castle in centuries. So your time will be better spent clearing the cobwebs than lugging metal.”
“You actually have a smithy…” I slowly set down the sickle. And here I thought it was just blood everything.
“Of course we do. But you only have a day to do whatever it is you need. I won’t delay going into the old castle longer than that.”
