pulled back into a thick ponytail, but tendrils escaped and framed her red face. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing swirling blue tattoos running up her forearms, and her biceps bulged. Her skirts were hitched up as well, and Lars caught a glimpse of a thigh that could crush a man’s skull—and he had a feeling that if she asked for volunteers they would all go willingly. Her skin glowed with sweat, and sparks flew as she slammed a hammer down onto whatever piece of metal she was currently trying to flatten into a pancake. Benji wasn’t sure she needed the hammer to be honest. She looked so fierce that she could probably have just yelled the metal into submission.
“Watch out, pretty boy,” the woman said as a shower of sparks flew in Benji’s direction.
Pretty boy? Benji had never been so simultaneously offended and turned on in his life. Clearly this woman was his previously undiscovered humiliation kink come to life. He hooked his thumbs into his studded belt and crooked an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me, human?”
“You really want to test how flammable you are, cutie pie?” the woman asked.
Benji wondered how much charcoal dust he’d absorbed into his pores after living in the Swamp of Death. He took a step back.
“Smart boy,” the blacksmith said.
Benji hated her. He also kind of wanted to lie naked on the floor so she could step on his balls and make him cry. It was very confusing. He lingered, glaring suspiciously, while the blacksmith finished what she was doing, finally immersing the glowing metal in a tub of water. The water hissed, and steam billowed throughout the workshop.
The blacksmith set the metal aside. “Now, what is it that you need, cutie?”
Benji narrowed his eyes at her. “I am not cute.”
The blacksmith folded her arms over her ample chest and laughed. “Whatever you say.”
Benji curled his lip and strutted forward. “Actually, I’m very interested in knives. For all my murdering.”
The blacksmith was unperturbed. Her mouth curved into a smile, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Benji said. “I’m an anarchist. I want to burn the world down, and assassinate the ruling classes while I’m at it.”
“Aren’t you the kings’ representatives?” the blacksmith asked. “You and the other elf?”
“I’m bringing the system down from within,” Benji said haughtily.
“Fair enough.” The blacksmith held out her hand. “I’m Gretchen. Nice to meet you.”
“Benji,” Benji said, taking her hand. “Likewise.”
Her grip was impressively firm, and if Benji listened closely he was sure he could hear his bones grinding together. He kept his face impassive though, and Gretchen gave an approving nod as she released her grip. “Knives you say? Are you interested in a broad blade that goes in deep and makes a statement, or a lovely little stiletto that you can slip between the ribs with no fuss, perfect for political assassinations?”
“Both,” Benji said, the scowl leaving his face for the first time that day. “Both is good.”
Gretchen strode across the workshop floor, tossing her hair, and her words, back over her shoulder at him. “You know, I don’t get much call for anything more than horseshoes and cowbells around here. You, cutie pie, are like a breath of fresh air.”
Benji’s eye twitched at being called cutie pie, but he followed her anyway, and caught up with her just in time to see her lift the lid on a massive trunk, revealing a garden of murderous delights inside.
The firelight from the forge gleamed and shone on a collection of blades so shiny and beautiful that Benji wanted to cry. Stilettos, baselards, anelaces, cinquedeas, and even–
Benji gasped, and reached out to lift the knife. “A bollock dagger!”
“Boys and their bollocks,” Gretchen said, and rolled her eyes.
Benji ran his fingers over the distinctive hilt that gave the dagger its name. “It’s beautiful! How much do you want for it?”
Gretchen shrugged. “Take it.”
Benji gasped. “What?”
“Take it,” Gretchen repeated. “I told you, I don’t get much call for weapons around here, and it’s nice to see someone appreciate my work. It’s yours, pretty boy.”
Benji cradled the dagger to his chest. “Calarian will be so jealous!”
Gretchen raised her eyebrows. “Who is Calarian and why should I care?”
“My cousin,” Benji said. “The other elf in town. He’s spending all his time going around and digging roads and moving things, and I don’t know... troll-proofing the town or some bullshit. And I only came with him because he asked me to, and everything is stupid and I’m bored.”
“Mountain trolls not exciting