Geneve liked Kytto. Not because he was nice, but because he spoke to her like she was already fully grown, with glass in her hand and steel around her body. He didn’t mind she was six years old, as long as she didn’t mind him swearing and ordering her around.
She visited him as often as she could. Sometimes he got her to move armor. Other times, he gave her a hammer and let her beat glowing steel. Most of the time, she left tired, sweating, and happy. Kytto didn’t take it personally his orneriness didn’t leave a mark on her mood. He seemed to like her too, but never said. She got sore working there.
“Your first problem is you’re small,” he observed as she struggled to carry a breastplate to a rack. The metal was shiny, like all Tresward-forged armor. It didn’t scratch on the coarse ground, and appeared to be newly minted. All Knight equipment from the hands of Smiths was like that. Strong, and bright, just like the Light.
“I can’t help that.” Geneve huffed as she dragged the armor along.
The scraping sound made Kytto wince. “That took me a month to make.”
“Is that long?”
He pondered that while he leaned against a table. “I guess some could do it in less, but they’re not here.”
“Why am I here?” Geneve let the armor go, and the breastplate rattled on the ground. “What am I learning here that the Knights can’t teach me?”
“You’re not learning anything yet.”
“But why—”
“You’re getting stronger. Keep eating. Keep moving heavy shit from there,” he pointed to a mount of greaves, “to there,” his finger found a rack a heart-sinkingly long, long way away, “and you might be strong enough to punch wosshisface in his, uh, you know.”
“Wincuf.”
“That’s the asshole, yeah.” Kytto shook his head. “For one of my countrymen, he’s a depressingly bad example.”
Geneve felt her brow furrow. “Countrymen?”
“Tebrani. It’s a long way from here. You need to cross the sea to find it.” Kytto looked at the greave pile. “Those aren’t moving by themselves.”
* * *
Israel came to Kytto’s domain after a month of Geneve working there. He stormed inside, armor gleaming, sword hanging at his waist behind him like the first day Geneve saw him. Unlike the first day, his eyes weren’t kind. They were hard, and maybe a little bit angry. “Kytto!”
The Smith looked up from a large box of broken armor. “Ah, Chevalier Israel. I was wondering—”
“You’re interfering with this Knight’s training.” Israel pointed to a wide-eyed Geneve without looking at her.
“Much as I hate arguing with a Chevalier, that’s not correct.” Kytto didn’t look like he hated this even a little bit.
“How so, Smith?”
“Because she’s not a Knight. She’s a Novice.”
Israel nodded. “The error of title was mine. Still, you’re interfering with this Novice’s training, and—”
“Again, humble apologies, but no.” Kytto shook his head, but had no hangdog look about him. If anything, he looked like he was about to eat a cake. “I’m fixing her training.”
Israel looked at Geneve, the hammer she held, and the stubbornly un-hammered steel on the anvil before her. His eyes moved to the floor, where other scraps of metal lay, then to the racks of ordered armor, and finally to a pile of gauntlets Geneve was certain she’d have to move soon. “Ah.”
Kytto look like his cake was leaving on a cart owned by someone else. “What do you mean by that?”
Israel gave a small bow. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“That’s it?”
“Was there something else you wanted?” Israel countered.
“I was hoping for more of a fight, truth be told,” Kytto admitted.
“We’ve no quarrel, Smith. I know you look for them among the Knights.” Israel held up a gauntleted hand to forestall Kytto’s eruption. “You are very good at putting things back together that we break.” The Chevalier turned to Geneve. “Novice?”
“Yes?” Geneve put down her hammer, ready to leave with Israel. “Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes softened, then found his feet. “No. It was me that did something wrong. I brought you here but haven’t been around to help.”
“Seems like your job is going out. Spreading the Light. Killing the dark things of the world.” Kytto sniffed. “Wouldn’t be a good use of a Chevalier’s time to train a Novice, would it?”
“Not a good use of a Smith’s time, either.” Israel tipped his head sideways, fingers playing with the crystal at his throat. “She’s more precious than glass or steel, Smith.”
“Aye.”
“I’m in your debt, then.” Israel turned on his heel, climbing the steps from Kytto’s sanctuary.
When Geneve couldn’t hear his booted feet on stone anymore, she turned to Kytto. “Did I do something wrong?”
Kytto watched the stairs and shook his head. “No.”
“Did Israel?”
The Smith gave a small, tired smile. “Not really. He thinks so. I don’t, and neither does Tilly.” He clapped his hands together. “That steel’s not going to hammer itself flat, is it?”
Geneve fingered the hammer but didn’t lift it. “Vertiline doesn’t like Israel.”
“Like? No.” The smith’s eye twinkled.
“Then why—”
“Not having this conversation.” Kytto wolfed that grin of his like he wanted to punch someone. “We’ll have a different one instead. Tomorrow, I’m going to show you something.”
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