Sterling Forge's Arc

Chapter 12 of 31

They stopped by a downed frostwood to rest. Sterling sat with his back to the trunk and let the ruined blade rest across his knees. He meant to wrap the handle so the lie held. He did not get the chance. Linny crouched in front of him. She held out her hand. "Give it to me." "What?" "The bad one. Trade." She unbuckled the good blade from her belt and set it on the log between them. "I saw the chip yesterday. I saw it when you turned the flat to me. Stop." He closed his hand around the grip. "No." "You can fight. I can't. It makes sense." "No." She did not move. The chipmunk climbed onto her shoulder and sat very still, pink ears twitching at the cold. Snow had settled in its fur like sugar. "Why?" she said. "Because I said so." "That's not a reason." "It's the reason you're getting." She picked up the good blade and held it toward him hilt-first. "Take it. Give me the other one. If something comes out of these trees, you're the one who has to swing." "I said no, Linny." "Why?" He looked past her, at the frostwood, at the pale branches lacing the sky. He said it before he could stop. "I promised your family. I won't let him down again." Her face changed. The blade lowered an inch. "Again?" He did not answer. "Sterling. What do you mean, again?" He tightened his grip on the ruined blade. The grainy metal bit his palm through the wrap. "Take the good one," he said. "Keep it on your belt. That's the trade I'm making." "Answer me." "No." She stared at him. He watched her decide whether to push. She had that look she got before she said something that cut. Then the chipmunk on her shoulder stiffened and turned its head north. Its tail went flat. Linny saw it. She stood. "Later," she said. Not a promise to drop it. A promise to come back to it. She pushed the good blade against his chest until he took it. She lifted the ruined one off his knees before he could stop her and slid it through her belt. "Linny—" "You said you'd swing. So swing." She was already moving, low, toward the cover of the next trunk. "It's closer than yesterday." He stood. The good blade sat right in his hand. It was the first honest weight he had carried in two days. He hated how much lighter he felt. He hated that she had made the choice for him and that the choice was correct. He followed her into the frostwood. The thing she had promised to ask again walked behind him the whole way, heavier than any blade.