Chapter 73 Sparks and Steel

Cherish’s forge sat behind the safe house, half room, half shed. The air was warm even with windows cracked. Iron smell. Oil on wood. A small fire in the hearth kept a bar of metal red at the tip.

Revoli sat on a crate, knees pulled up, watching Cherish work. Hammer. Turn. Quench. Steam.

“You’re quiet,” Cherish said without looking up.

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous habit. About what?”

“How I wish I could be like the others. Patrona. Fara. Skye. Even you.”

“That’s four different problems,” Cherish said, wiping her hands. “Which one’s choking you?”

“All of them. Patrona is steel. Fara glows. Skye never shakes. You walk in and own a room. I crack jokes, then hide. I’m a spark, not a fire.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one had to. You can feel it.”

“Feeling isn’t fact. Say what you really mean.”

Revoli swallowed. “I don’t think he’d want me. Not like them.”

Silence but for the hearth.

“You think you have to turn into them to be wanted. Which first—Patrona’s stare? Fara’s shine? Skye’s knives? My hips?”

Revoli’s face burned. “I didn’t say hips.”

“You looked. Everyone looks. It works. Costs too. You can bend a room with your body—I do. But it won’t hold a man like him. He’s moved by what people do when it hurts.”

Revoli hugged her shins. “What do I have?”

Cherish tapped her forehead, then chest. “Fast mind. Big heart. You see the joke when no one else can. You cut the fear. That’s not small. He didn’t know your name, and still stood in front of you in the pit. Not because you’re steel. Because you’re you.”

“It still feels like not enough.”

“Then make it more. Being a spark means choosing where to land.”

“How?”

“Two paths. Posture. Promise.”

Revoli frowned. “Sounds stupid.”

“Simple isn’t stupid. Posture first. Stand.”

Revoli stood.

“Feet under you. Chin up. Shoulders back. Eyes level. Don’t tuck. Don’t apologize. When you walk into a room, you walk in.”

She did as told. It felt strange.

“Hold it. Breathe once. Twice. Good. That alone changes how people talk to you.”

“And promise?”

“Three things. One: when it’s serious, say what you mean before you joke. Two: pick one place to stand when it turns ugly—at his shoulder, not behind. Three: stop guessing what he wants. Ask one honest question. Straight.”

Revoli grimaced. “That sounds like swallowing knives.”

“Good. Means it matters.”

“If I ask and he says no?”

“Then you’ll know. Better ground than fog.”

Revoli hesitated. “I also want to be braver. Like you.”

“I’m afraid all the time,” Cherish said. “I just don’t let fear steer. Being provocative’s a choice, not a personality. A lever. Use it when it serves, not when it owns you. Don’t turn yourself into a costume.”

Revoli gave a short laugh. “You really don’t dress it up.”

“Dressing up’s for when I charge extra,” Cherish deadpanned, making her snort.

She brought over leather strips and a clay pot. “Wraps. Resin. For your hands.”

Revoli’s eyes brightened. “You made these?”

“Made them because you keep raking your hands open. Put them on.”

She wrapped her fingers, clumsy until Cherish corrected her. The leather hugged her knuckles. She flexed. It felt right.

“Now hit,” Cherish said, pointing to a sand sack.

Revoli punched. No sting. Again, harder. A smile crept out.

“See? Spark with teeth.”

“I want to help him. For real.”

“Then train when no one’s watching. Speed, timing, grip, eyes. Mouth too, but not as a shield.”

Revoli nodded.

“And for the record—you’re allowed to want him. Don’t apologize for that. Just don’t step on the others. Don’t let them step on you. That’s grown talk. You ready?”

Revoli breathed deep. “I think so.”

“Good. One more thing.”

Revoli looked up.

“When you ask him that hard question, don’t make it about the others. Make it about you. ‘Do you see me?’ Simple. His yes or no will tell you what to do next.”

Revoli swallowed. “Okay.”

Cherish went back to the anvil. Hammer rising, steady. Revoli listened, then stood, jabbing the sack again—chin tucked, shoulders down.

“Better,” Cherish said.

Revoli smiled. “I’m trying.”

“Trying is doing if you keep at it.”

Revoli unwrapped her hands, set the strips neatly on the bench. She touched the resin pot, careful. “Tomorrow?”

“Before sunup. Less eyes. More work.”

Revoli nodded. “I’ll be here.”

“Posture,” Cherish reminded.

Revoli straightened.

“Good. Now go sleep before you think yourself in a circle.”

At the door, Revoli hesitated. “Thank you. For not laughing at me.”

“I laugh at fools. You’re not one.”

Revoli slipped into the hall. The forge heat fell away. She felt lighter. Not fixed. Not finished. Just… pointed the right way.

She looked at her wrapped hands and smiled. “Spark with teeth,” she whispered, and kept walking.