“We are,” he answers. “He runs this shop.”
“The silversmith you know is Gladir?” I ask and we exchange equally surprised looks.
“You know him?”
“Know is a strong word,” I reply. “I’ve met him once. Came here in search of bloodstone.”
Honestly, the fact I remember his name is more impressive.
I met the old fae once during my initial foray in this realm.
He and his daughter are the first people I met who had no idea who I was. They were not associated with Celesta and her temple, or Ryc and the Witherhorn family—two contending sides expecting me to hide from the other.
Cyran opens the door and the tiny, copper bell overhead chimes. I follow and the instant I cross the threshold, I’m met with the shop’s signature scent. A strange yet not unpleasant concoction of florals, musk, and vanilla.
It’s juststrong.
I’ll certainly have to bathe when I return, else the scent will cling to me for the rest of the day. I’d rather Ryc not try to piece together where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing. I don’t want him to know about this search until I’m ready for him to know and have his ring in hand.
I close the door behind me.
“Welcome to Embers and Ashes,” Gladir greets in a practiced but warm tone.
Hunched over the counter, face downturned, he doesn’t lift his eyes from inspecting the dark object in his hands. Round, gold-rimmed glasses hang low on the bridge of his nose. Peering around Cyran as he approaches, I follow slowly in his wake. Blackened metal, curved talons… it’s ademonicgauntlet he inspects.
I scoff a tiny, quiet laugh.
Likely something picked up in the days following the eclipse.
“Feel free to browse at your leisure,” he says with an airy waveabout the shop. Again, he doesn’t lift his eyes. The gauntlet has hisfullattention. “I’m here for any and all questions.”
Cyran stops before the counter, prompting Gladir to finally lift his face.
“Captain Stargarden.” A surprised smile lights up the fae’s features. “Haven’t seen you in quite some time.”
“It’s good to see you well,” Cyran says, the kind and warm note in his tone unexpected.
I stop. Lingering in the shadows a short distance behind Cyran, I wait.
I wouldn’t describe Cyran aswelcoming.
Yet he’s welcoming Gladir?
He made it sound like heknewofGladir. This—this tells me heknowsGladir.
“I’ve heard about your adventures and undertakings through a few at the castle,” Gladir says with a small laugh. “Choosing you is a wise decision on King Alaryc’s part.”
Turning, I venture farther into the shop, not wanting to disturb their conversation. I leave my hood raised, turning it into a curtain between the counter and me as I steer well away from the light shed by the magelight chandelier hanging above them. The rest of the shop by comparison lies shrouded in shadow.
Relief washes through me as I slip unnoticed past them. If these two know one another, the least I can do is give them a moment to catch up. Cyran bringing me here is a kindness after all.
Near the front window of the shop, a shelf filled with various species of pinned and framed butterflies and moths catches my attention. Yet try as I might, ignoring their conversation in a shop this small will be impossible.
“I hope your work and service to Erus doesn’t consume all of your time,” Gladir says. He sounds genuinely concerned.
“For now it does not,” Cyran replies with a small, deep chuckle. “But it will not be long before it does.”
Wait.
