I banish the thought into the void left behind by his death. The same void widened by Drew leaving for the fortress. I won’t let myself think of Drew in the same way. He will return home. I have to believe it or I might give in to despair all too soon.
The procession passes, led by Davos. Of course that means Drew is at the front, at the master hunter’s right hand, helping lead the vanguard. I can tell him by his armor, even though it is an identical design to everyone else’s. I made all the clasps that line his fittings. I made the silver ring that he wears on his right pinky, identical to mine.
His head turns. Our eyes meet. I can feel his stare through the mask.
I am overwhelmed with the urge to run to him, to grab him, shake him, hold him back, scream at him for what he is doing. I admire him endlessly for the sacrifices he has made and continues to make and the hope he somehow manages to muster despite them.
Don’t forget your promise, I mouth.
His right thumb reaches underneath his palm and spins the ring on his pinky. It’s a movement that everyone else certainly misses, but I don’t. There’s no explicit meaning to that movement, just a feeling—a reminder of the bond we share and the tether between us.
I dip my chin. He looks forward once more.
Drew is gone. The rest of the procession continues onward, obscuring my view of him. Mother and I stay with all the other townsfolk, hovering in our place until long after the vast majority of the hunters have left. Only a few remain stationed at the lower wall that rings the town proper.
When we arrive back at our home, Mother picks up the bucket of salt just inside our door and carefully pours out a thick line on every windowsill, and over the threshold of the door. We then lock ourselves inside, ready to settle in for the long night.
“Come.” Mother calmly motions for me to follow her upstairs. I do so silently. I don’t quite trust myself to speak yet. My heart is still in turmoil that wants to escape as screams or sobs. “In here.”
Mother leads me into her bedroom. She opens the chest at the foot of her bed, taking out the blankets we use in winter and the linens that were a gift from the milliner when she and Father wed. At the very bottom of the chest is a set of leather armor identical to the hunters’. “Put this on.”
“How do you have that?” I look between her and the armor. “We’re not permitted to have any hunter’s tools as citizenry.” Everyone in the hamlet has their place, and no one is permitted the trimmings of another’s station. But everyone is always promised to have enough. Worthy rewards for worthy sacrifices—yet another teaching of the hamlet.
“Neither is your brother permitted to teach you the skills of a hunter between full moons.”
I freeze. My mother’s eyes, dark as the coals of the forge, the same as her hair, the same as mine, pierce me. “You knew,” I whisper.
“I knew from the first night.” She gives an exasperated chuckle. “You two didn’t really think that you could keep something like that from me, did you?”
“We didn’t— We weren’t— We— Why did you never say anything?” I have a thousand questions, yet I can barely seem to formulate one.
“Why would I prevent my children from learning how to defend themselves?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Old gods forbid, if you were attacked by a vampire, I would want you to know everything you could. The hamlet needs its forge maiden. I always thought it was foolish we never learned how to properly use the weapons we made just in case.”
“That isn’t the role of the forge maiden.”
“Sometimes roles should change.” The sentiment is counter to our entire way of life.
“Even if…” No, I can’t even think an agreement with her even though I want to. My objections are still buried underneath all the words of the town elders, of Davos, of even Mother herself about our stations. Instead, I say, “But I’m not as good as Drew.” I continue to regard the armor uncertainly. I doubt it’d fit, and not just because of my curves. That’s not the life I’m made for.
“Of course not. Your days were spent in the forge. He can’t hold a candle to your smithing.” She smirks. “But if you had gone into the fortress, and not him, I have no doubt that you would’ve been just as good as your brother.” I doubt it, but don’t say so. That wasn’t my destiny. “Now, let me help you into this.”
“What about you?” I ask as she holds out the armor. Even though I’ve never worn it, I know it well. I’ve forged thousands of these clasps. Checking each one several times.
“I could only make a deal with the tanner for one set of armor. It took years to collect all the pieces, enough to cobble together a complete set without the Hunter’s Guild noticing anything was amiss.” Stealing from the guild bears the same punishment as Drew sneaking me the elixir. We’re a family racing to the gallows, it seems. “We began working on the arrangement not long after Drew told me of the impending Blood Moon.”
“What did you give the tanner in return?”
“Silver daggers, three of them, small ones.”
“Where did you get the silver?” I already know the answer. This solves a long-standing mystery my brother and I have wondered about for years. I know what she’ll say before she says it.
“I smelted your father’s sickle.” A rare gift from the fortress to a mourning widow and forge maiden, a bending of the rules intended solely to honor the dead.
“Mother—”
“Don’t feel guilty for a moment.” She punctuates the firm sentiment with a jerk of the armor straps. I inhale, chest fighting against the constricting leather breastplate. “This was my choice, Floriane.” She uses my full name. That’s how I know she’s serious. “I assume you still have the other one you managed to forge?”
“Yes.”
