Blade of Glass: Chapter 7

“Kytto’s an asshole,” Vertiline admitted. “Try not to let it worry you.” She dragged Geneve along like the girl might break loose in strong winds.

Geneve hurried, her smaller legs working hard to keep up with Vertiline’s elegant strides. The Adept was lean and hard, quite unlike the usual bulk of Knights. Her frame seemed locked down against something inside coiling to be free. Geneve wondered if she’d be lean like Vertiline or big like Israel once she grew up. “Why are we going to see Kytto?”

“Because he’s an asshole.” Their forward march led them through the Keep’s interiors, then down a flight of steps that looked well used, like most everything here. Globes within sconces gave off warm light without the eye-watering smoke of flame as they headed below the ground.

The steps didn’t continue long, ending in a huge room filled with racks of equipment. Burnished steel breastplates sat alongside bright shields. Weapon racks held the glimmering glass blades of Knights, as well as more mundane steel weapons. The rows of equipment seemed to go on forever. The air smelled of oil and hammered metal. 

It wasn’t dim, despite the size. Light globes were everywhere. Vertiline towed Geneve left from the stairs. The far wall sported a modest hut, outside which stood a short, angry-looking man. His coffee-colored skin shone with sweat, probably because he was sorting through piles of armor. He wore pants and a blacksmith’s apron over heavy boots, but no shirt under the apron. The angry-looking man squinted at Vertiline. “Fuck off, Tilly.”

She let Geneve go, sweeping the angry-looking man into an angrier-looking hug. “Hello, Kytto.”

“What part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t you understand?” Kytto escaped Vertiline’s clutches and ran a hand through short-cropped black hair. It was wet with sweat, leaving his palm wet, but Vertiline’s armor collected none of it. “Who’s the runt?”

“You’ll like her. Grins when she fights. Takes a beating when there’s no call for it.” Vertiline crossed her arms. “We just spent time with Eleni.”

“And what does Lucent,” Kytto leaned on the title, “Eleni want with a runt?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah. You’re telling me this because the runt got hurt?” Kytto pursed his lips, glaring at Geneve like this was all her fault. “What’d you do, kid?”

“I—”

“Scratch that. I don’t want to know.” He worried an itch under his apron. “Was it worth it?”

“I—”

“Don’t want to know that either.” Kytto frowned, before glancing at Vertiline. “Why’d you bring her here?”

“Because Israel—”

“That asshole! Someone needs to knock his teeth in.” Kytto grinned like he was the man for the job.

Geneve felt a jab of anger. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Both Vertiline and Kytto swung to face her, as if she’d just sprouted an extra head. Vertiline patted the air in a calm down gesture. “Relax, kid, it’s not like—”

“It is! You’re saying bad things about him, and he’s not even here. If you want to fight someone, say it to their face.” Geneve put her clenched fists on her hips, glaring up at Vertiline. “He’s kind, and nice, and tries to be the best Knight he can be.”

Vertiline deflated a little. “Aye, that he does.”

“What did Israel ever do to you?” Geneve demanded.

“You’re right.” Kytto kept up his grin but with clenched teeth now, answering before Vertiline could. “I do like her.” He crouched down, offering a sweat-slick hand to Geneve. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Kytto.”

She took the hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d touched a sweaty person. “Geneve.”

“I’d love to say I’m pleased to meet you, but Tilly only talks to me these days when she wants something.”

“That’s not true. There was that time last year—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Kytto said, like Vertiline hadn’t spoken. “Let me guess. You’re here because a bigger kid tried to knock your head off, and you wouldn’t give in.”

Geneve nodded. “It’s not what Knights do.”

He wobbled a hand in the air in a maybe-maybe-not gesture. “Eh. Sometimes that’s right.”

“Are you a Knight?” Geneve still felt sullen anger at this angry man, and wasn’t sure why, but he’d cast stones at Israel, and was now aiming for Knights as a whole.

“Fuck, no. I’m a Tresward Smith.” He tugged his ear, then stood. “Got no time or patience for the patterns. Can’t call the Sacred Storm. Don’t want to, really.”

Geneve looked between Kytto and Vertiline. “But—”

“Thing is, when you make weapons for a bunch o’ assholes who like to beat on injustice because it’s fun, you need to be good at … dispute resolution.” Kytto took a deep lungful of air, then blew it out. “And nothing speaks to Knights like getting a beating from their lessers.”

“Especially when they’re short,” Vertiline offered.

Kytto squinted at her. “Who’s short?”

“I kind of—”

“If you want to say something, just say it.” Kytto crossed his arms. “Don’t feel like you need to save my feelings. Especially not when you want a favor.”

Vertiline gave another small, bright smile. “I don’t want a favor. She does.”

“Nah. She doesn’t even know what the problem is.” Kytto rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll help.”

Vertiline gave a tight nod. “Thanks, Kytto.”

“No problem. Now, like I said, fuck off.” He gave a smile to take the sting out of it.

She nodded, then reached for Geneve. “Come on.”

“No, leave her.” Kytto turned from Vertiline like she’d already gone. “The kid and I have work to do.”

“Like what?” Geneve asked.

“You think this armor’s going to stack itself?” Kytto stretched his arms wide. “Let’s get to it.”

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