They worked in something approaching rhythm after that; Thomas at the main forge, shaping his hinges with the efficiency of long practice, while Frederick struggled with his hook at the smaller anvil.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, during a brief rest while his iron reheated.
"You can ask. Whether I answer depends on the question."
"Why are you doing this? Teaching me. You don't owe me anything."
Thomas was quiet for a moment, his hammer pausing mid-swing.
"You're right. I don't owe you anything." He resumed his work, his strokes slower now, more thoughtful. "But Lydia cares about you. And I care about Lydia. So here we are."
"That's not really an answer."
"It's the only answer that matters." Thomas set down his hammer and turned to face Frederick fully. "You want to know why I'm teaching you? Because I want to see what you're made of. Anyone can court a woman with flowers and pretty words. Not everyone can sweat and struggle and fail over and over and keep coming back anyway."
"You're testing me."
"Of course I'm testing you. You're pursuing my niece. You think I'm going to just hand her over because you've got a fancy title?" Thomas' eyes were hard. "Lydia is the closest thing I have to a daughter. I've raised her since she was seven years old. I've watched her grow from a grief-stricken child into the finest woman I know. And I'm not going to let some duke—or anyone else—hurt her without knowing exactly who he is first."
"Fair enough."
"You think so?"
"I do." Frederick met his eyes steadily. "If I had a daughter, I'd want to know too. I'd want to make sure the person pursuing her was worthy of her."
"And are you? Worthy?"
"I don't know. Probably not. But I'm trying to be." Frederick picked up his hammer again. "That's all I can do, isn't it? Try.And keep trying. And hope that eventually I become someone who deserves what he's asking for."
Thomas studied him for a long moment.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said all morning," he said finally. "Now. Back to work. The iron's getting cold."
Chapter 15
An hour later, Frederick had produced something that could, with considerable generosity, be called a hook.
"It looks like a question mark that's been stepped on," he said, examining it critically.
"It looks like a first attempt," Thomas corrected. "Which is what it is. Nobody makes anything worth keeping their first time."
"What did your first hook look like?"
"Worse than that. I was twelve, and I was convinced I knew everything, and I nearly set the forge on fire trying to prove it." Thomas took the hook and turned it over in his hands. "This will never hold anything heavy, but it's recognizably a hook. That's more than most people manage their first day."
"You're being generous."
"I'm being accurate. Most people quit after the first hour. Most people decide it's too hard, too hot, too far outside their experience." Thomas set the hook on the workbench. "You didn't quit. That matters."
"I thought about it."
"Everyone thinks about it. The difference is whether you act on it." Thomas began banking the forge fire, preparing to close up for the midday break. "You're welcome to come back whenever you wish, if you want. We'll work on basic shapes; things that are actually useful, not just exercises."
"I thought this was useful."
"It's useful for learning. But no one needs a hook that can barely support its own weight." Thomas's mouth twitched. "When you come, we'll make nails. Everyone needs nails."
"I've never thought about where nails come from."
