season and to bless her most important weapons, and her gods seemed more than happy.
What she didn’t have to do was give up her entire family! That her gods never asked of her.
And Gemma had been raised the same way, their mother hoping the sisters would work the forge together. A true family business. It was a nice dream but not one that Keeley ever expected her sister to realize since she’d never loved blacksmithing the way Keeley always had. Keeley believed that people, when they could, should do what they loved. She loved working with steel, just as their father loved working his farm. Why would she ask Gemma to do something—anything—she didn’t love?
Yet locking herself away in some nunnery and giving up all freedom to appease some random god . . . ? That was something Keeley would never understand. Her sister deserved better.
But, after she’d turned sixteen, Gemma had suddenly disappeared one night before the winter frost, leaving nothing but a note for their parents to find.
That was more than a decade ago, and none of them had seen her since. It was true, their parents had received a few letters here and there through the years, letting them know Gemma was safe and had left of her own free will. But no messages for Keeley or their other siblings. As if Gemma expected them to forget she’d ever been a part of the family. As if she wasn’t blood. Their blood.
Keeley just didn’t understand what could have kept Gemma from her own for all that time. Keeley couldn’t imagine that sitting around all day—or kneeling—to pray to a god that might or might not answer could ever replace being with family.
But now Gemma was back! Gliding into Keeley’s shop with her pristine white robes and gloved hands, acting like they were old acquaintances rather than sisters.
She was so busy seething, Keeley had no idea how long she’d worked on that last pommel, letting her anger and annoyance at the current situation flow into her work. Usually, working was just how she enjoyed her day, but at the moment . . . it was keeping her from putting her sister in a headlock and squeezing until she’d put some sense back into her.
When she finally stopped, her hair drenched, her arms and hands dirty, she stepped back from the forge and into one of the Amichais.
Keeley faced the one called Caid. Well . . . she faced his thick neck. She had to tilt her head back a bit to meet his eyes, which was strange for her. She was tall, like her mother, and there were few men who could match her height except for her father. “It was the fact he could look me in the eyes and not the tits that sold me on your da,” her mother liked to say.
“Something wrong?” she asked when Caid just stared down at her with what appeared to be a dangerous scowl. But that could be just the way he looked at everyone.
It was hard to tell, but she had yet to see a hint of a smile on his face or anything resembling happiness. Even when Keran got Caid and his cohorts’ food, he just appeared angry at his bread and cheese. As if the meal had threatened him in some way.
What Keeley found secretly funny was looking at Caid’s angry face beneath all that hair. A literal mane of brown and gray hair with some thin streaks of white, although she doubted any of those colors had anything to do with his age. She could also see his sharp cheekbones, wide nose, and deep-set brown eyes; but she refused to find someone so eternally pissed off attractive. Life was too short to be that angry.
“The boy’s gone,” Caid finally announced.
Keeley frowned. “What boy?”
“The one you risked your life for.”
It did take her a minute to realize who he was talking about, but she blamed Gemma for that too. The little cow had distracted her.
“Why did he leave?” She raised a brow. “Did you say something to him?”
“I said nothing to him,” he replied flatly. “I had nothing to say.”
“Did you frighten him with your glare?”
His scowl became decidedly worse. “What?”
“Your glare. I’m sure that nice young boy found your glare terrifying. I’m used to it,” she said, pointing at herself. “I get glared at all the time. Insecure males mostly. But that boy has been through enough today and he doesn’t need your . .