Chapter 323: Measures of Steel

Brenda walked ahead of Orion with quick, respectful steps, guiding him past the main work floor and toward the narrower passage that cut along the back of the building.

The noise dulled as they entered the hallway, stone swallowing sound until only the muted thud of distant hammering remained. At the very end stood a single door, darker than the rest, its surface nicked and scarred like it had survived more than one argument with flying tools.

Brenda stopped before it and turned.

"We’re here," she said quietly.

Orion nodded as she dipped into a shallow bow, then stepped aside. Without waiting, she retreated down the hall, boots soft against the stone, leaving Orion alone with the door.

Orion didn’t care, though, because he was sure she was busy. They were always busy here, after all.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in," came Mary’s voice from inside, steady and unmistakable.

Orion pushed the door open.

The room beyond was less an office and more a storage space that had reluctantly agreed to host paperwork. Weapons were everywhere.

Some leaned against the walls in careful clusters—swords in sheaths, polearms propped with their heads wrapped in cloth, axes whose edges gleamed even in rest. Others lay in open crates stacked two and three high, straw spilling over the edges, hilts and guards poking out at odd angles. A few blades rested naked on racks bolted to the stone, unfinished or rejected, their surfaces dull where polishing had been abandoned halfway.

There was a single window set high in the far wall, narrow and deep, letting in a pale shaft of morning light that cut across the room and landed on the one piece of furniture that seemed even remotely deliberate: a massive desk of dark wood. Its surface was scarred with old burns and knife marks, but it stood mostly clear, save for a few rolled parchments, a ledger pushed to one side, and faint dust outlines where other things had recently been moved.

Mary stood behind it.

She looked much as she always did—towering, broad-shouldered, her leather apron discarded over the back of a chair. Soot streaked her cheeks and forearms, and thin, pale scars crossed her skin like old memories she had long since stopped explaining. Her red hair was cropped close to her scalp, practical and uncompromising, damp at the edges with sweat. She was wiping her hands with a rag, eyes already on him, sharp and assessing.

For a moment, Orion simply took it all in.

"This place looks like it’s been swallowed by its own work," he said at last, stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him.

Mary huffed a laugh. "That’s because it has."

He glanced around again, eyes tracing the sheer volume of steel. "You’ve doubled production?" he asked her. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"That’s what it looks like, but no, we haven’t. It’s still at the usual pace, with just a slight increase," Mary told him.

She jerked her chin toward one of the open crates near the wall. "And more than half of these weapons still aren’t good enough."

Orion moved closer, crouching beside the crate she indicated. Inside lay a longsword, its scabbard set aside. The craftsmanship at first glance was solid—clean lines, decent balance, a simple but elegant guard. He lifted it carefully, testing its weight.

"It looks fine," he said.

"Looks," Mary echoed.

He gave the blade a few experimental movements, slow arcs through the air. The balance point sat just a hair too far forward. Not enough to notice to an untrained eye, but enough that after a prolonged fight, the wrist would tire too quickly. The edge caught the light unevenly—microscopic inconsistencies where the sharpening had been rushed. The fuller was slightly off-center, barely perceptible, but enough to affect how the blade would flex under stress.

"It wouldn’t hold up in a real battle," he said quietly.

"No," Mary agreed. "Not the way it should."

She leaned back against the desk, arms crossing over her chest. "In the training grounds, maybe it would. Against someone desperate, tired, or better trained? It’d fail. And Tobias will have my skin if I sell him pretty rubbish like that."

Orion returned the sword to the crate with care. "You’ve always hated sending out anything less than perfect."

"And I always will." Her mouth twitched. "Even when it’s inconvenient."

"But anyway, you know that isn’t why I called you here, right?" she asked him.

He nodded once. "I figured."

She pushed off the desk and reached beneath it, dragging out two narrow boxes made of dark-stained wood. She set them atop the desk with a solid thump, then slid one closer to him while keeping the other near herself.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Mary rested a hand on the lid of the nearer box, fingers splayed as if grounding herself. When she looked up, her eyes were bright—not with humor this time, but with something closer to pride, carefully restrained.

Orion approached the desk quietly as Mary opened the lid.

Inside, nestled in fitted dark padding, lay six daggers.

They were arranged in two neat rows of three, each one identical in form but subtly unique in finish, the mark of handwork that refused to be fully erased. The blades were slim and well-proportioned, designed for throwing—he could see that immediately—but sturdy enough to survive more than a single impact. Their steel carried a soft sheen, polished but not overly reflective, edges keen without being fragile.

The guards were what caught his eye next.

Each dagger bore a delicate vine motif worked into the metal, interlaced and flowing, forming a minimal guard that protected the hand without adding unnecessary bulk. The metalwork was fine, almost deceptively so, the vines twisting into themselves with an organic grace that spoke of patience and precision rather than brute force.

The grips were wrapped in supple, treated leather, dark and smooth beneath his fingers when he lifted one free. It fit his hand naturally, weight settling where it should, neither handle-heavy nor blade-forward. The tang ran full-length; he could feel it—strength hidden beneath elegance.

At the pommel, set flush and secure, gleamed river jasper.

The stone caught the light from the window, deep and mottled, grounding the weapon visually and physically. Its weight balanced the blade perfectly. Along the guard, barely noticeable unless one knew to look, a slender crescent had been inlaid—discreet, precise, meaningful.

Orion exhaled slowly.

"They’re..." He searched for the right word, then gave up. "You did exactly what we discussed."

Mary’s smile was small but unmistakable. "Of course I did."

He knew that she would come through. He knew she wouldn’t disappoint, but seeing it made him smile and reminded him once more that Mary was talented—extremely so.

He tested the dagger’s balance with a short, careful motion, imagining the arc of a throw, the moment of release. It would fly true. More than that—it would survive being retrieved, used again, pressed into close work if needed.

"She won’t outgrow these," he said.

"No," Mary replied. "And she won’t fight them either. They’ll do what they’re meant to do without asking more of her than she can give."

He returned the dagger to its place among the others, reverent despite himself.

He could only imagine the look on Sophia’s face when he gave these to her.

"Ready for the second one?" Mary asked him.

Orion smiled. "Yes."