He grinned. “Show me.”
“I’m not a dancing monkey.”
“Come on. Show me.”
She held her hand out. “Give me a coin.”
Vigholf tossed her a brass coin. Rhona placed it on the ground, cleared her throat, and unleashed a bit of lava at the coin.
“Ow!”
She cleared her throat again, but this time so she wouldn’t laugh. “Sorry, but I warned you it sprays,” she reminded him while he rubbed his eye.
Rhona held her hand over the coin and whispered the words only the best Dragonsmiths of the Black Mountains knew. The words her father had taught her before she could fly.
Grinning, she handed the coin back to Vigholf.
He stared at it. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean that’s it?” She snatched the coin and held it up for him to see. “I changed this from brass to glass.”
“Yeah . . . but I thought you’d change it into gold.”
She threw the coin at his head. “Glass is just as amazing.”
“Is glass even metal? I don’t think it is.”
“Look,” she cut in, annoyed, “I haven’t been taught how to change anything into gold. But I can do amazing things with steel and I can turn gold into
—”
“Not gold.”
“Choke on that coin,” she ordered him.
Vigholf chuckled. “You make it too easy. I could torture you with this al night.” Rhona tossed the bones of her meal out into the dark forest behind her for any animals that may have use of them and tried not to pout. “Daddy wanted to send me to one of his cousins for an apprenticeship where I could have learned al sorts of things like changing things into gold.”
“But your mother said no?”
“She figured it was a waste since clearly her eldest daughter would be a Dragonwarrior just like her mum.”
“You need to tel her.”
“Tel her? Tel her what?”
“That you want to be a blacksmith. That you want to fol ow in your father’s footsteps.” He held up the hammer, his appreciative gaze moving over every detail. “That you want to stay in the Northlands after the war is over and make me and mine steel weapons like this. That’s what you need to tel her. What you should tel her. As soon as we’re done with this current nightmare.” She fought hard not to smile, even biting her lip a bit before she said, “So this is al about you then, eh?”
“Not al about me, but my brethren. I’m thinking of the Horde, not just myself. That would be selfish and we of the North are never selfish. We have a Code.”
“And your Code says not to be selfish?”
“Probably. I’ve never been one for a lot of reading and that bloody Code book is huge.” Rhona laughed and Vigholf loved hearing the sound of it. “You’re not like the other Northlanders, you know?”“You mean serious and boring and patiently waiting for my glorious death on the battlefield? Yeah. I know. But why go through life being miserable? What’s the point of that?”
“There is none.” She yawned. “Guess we better get some sleep. We have a lot of hard riding to do tomorrow.”
“We’re running out of dried beef,” he pointed out.
“Because you don’t pace yourself.”
“I don’t even know what those words mean.”
“I realize that.”
She turned on her side and rested her head on her travel pack.
“Shouldn’t we sleep closer together?” Vigholf asked, working hard to sound at least remotely innocent.
“Why? Because we did it before when I was a bit drunk?”
Well . . . yeah. “Of course not! For safety. It can get dangerous in these woods at night.”
“How would you know? You’ve never been this far west.”
“True, but aren’t al dark woods near mountains the same?”
“I guess you can sleep over—”
With his travel pack in hand, Vigholf clambered over the fire and settled in right beside Rhona.
“Do we real y need to be this close?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Safety.”
“Are you just going to keep throwing that word at me, hoping I’l ignore the fact that you’re just using any excuse to snuggle up close to me again?”
“Yes.”
She settled down, her back to him. “Wel , at least you’re honest. My male cousins would have outright lied.” She looked at him over her shoulder.
“That’s the Cadwaladr Code, I’m afraid.”
“Which is why I didn’t bother lying to you. You can spot liars a league away.” Vigholf stretched out, his hands behind his head, his eyes gazing up at the stars above his head. “Gods, I’m hot.”
Rhona sat back up, gawking at him. “There’s snow on the ground. I’m wearing a fur cape. I can see my own breath when I talk or just breathe. This is winter here.”
“Northlanders would cal this spring. Ice Landers, the Spikes . . . a miserable summer.”
“I have nothing to say to any of that.” She settled on her side again, and after a few minutes, Vigholf turned on his side and put his arm around her, snuggling in close.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Keeping you warm. Don’t want you to freeze in the night.”