He continues, “She says soldiers sometimes leave the foot in the boot and then put all on together. But it’s no good. Take the time, or it won’t be secure. Do you understand?”
Still no. I’m watching her unfold the leather dubiously, but again, I nod. “Yes, Master Hugh.”
Captain Ammax must see right through my nonsense because she snaps her fingers and says, “Look. Here.”
I bristle immediately, but then I look at the wood and leather she’s unbound in her hand, and I go completely still. She’s holding . . . ?a foot.
Sort of.
It’s crudely formed and made of wood that’s been sanded and stained and polished—and actually looks quite worn. No toes, just halfhearted notches where toes should probably go, and a narrow ankle with a flat base instead of a rounded heel. A bolt seems to go directly through the ankle and out the other side, but I can’t quite figure out the mechanism. The wood above the ankle forms a bit of a bowl at the top, where holes have been drilled through, and a leather sheath has been attached. The laces are wider and flatter than regular bootlaces, but the sheath is high, and would reach all the way to the wearer’s knee.
It’s nothing like what I once tried to fashion on my own.
“Do you want to try?” says Captain Ammax more slowly, and I’m so shocked that this is for me that I don’t even care that she sounds brusque.
I’m just nodding and unknotting the leg of my trousers. “Yes, Captain.”
Within minutes, I’ve rolled the stockings into place over the end of my leg, and she’s showed me how to fold the muslin inside the wooden cup to offer some cushioning. Then I lace the leather up around my calf to hold it all in place—“Tighter!” Captain Ammax orders, which Master Hugh echoes in quieter Syssalah, and then they bicker at each other in Emberish while I re-lace everything more tightly.
It’s tight and snug and heavy and I just stare at it for the longest moment. In a way, it’s like my thoughts can’t quite process it. I haven’t seen anything on the end of my leg for so long that it’s weird to see anything at all there.
But a spark of hope has flared in my chest that feels so foreign I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.
Hugh breaks through my staring. “Do you have other boot?”
I frown. “No. Well, yes. At the Shield House.” In the wardrobe. I think. I don’t usually pay much mind to keeping track of the right-sided ones.
He waves a hand again. “No mind now. Boot should fit over leg. Tell Ammax if not.”
She grunts and tells him to tell me to stand up, but I know these words, so I swallow and stand, keeping my weight on the leg I know will support me. I was right: the new foot reallyisheavy. I’m not used to the weight, and it almost drags against the ground when I shift. I somehow feel secure, but also like I’m standing on a stilt. When I drag the new foot forward a few inches, that pin in the ankle flexes, and I’m not ready for it to shift. For a terrifying second, I’m worried I’m going to stumble into the dirt, but Hugh puts out a hand. I grab hold and hop a few steps on my other leg until I’m sure I won’t fall.
I swallow and frown and freeze in place. I don’t want to move any farther. That spark of hope almost burns out.
Captain Ammax says something, and for the first time, her voice isn’t quite as sharp. Master Hugh nods and says to me, “You must practice.”
I try another shuffling step, but I’m wary and off balance—and a little embarrassed. I only move forward an inch, but again, the ankle gives a little, and I don’t know how to compensate. Everything feels tight and unsteady and . . . andwrong.
“Slow,” says Master Hugh. “Practice.”
I take a long breath and look up. It’s near the end of the day, and we’ve caught the attention of a few of the forge workers. When I see them watching, my cheeks burn—but Hugh scoffs at them, saying he could find more horses that need shoeing. They quickly busy themselves withother tasks. But I realize that some soldiers have also come to the forge, and they’re watching, too.
“Sephran,” I say in surprise. The youngest soldier from the other day is with him. “Leo.” The heat on my cheeks goes nowhere, and there’s a part of me that wants to yank this foot off and hide it away so I can forget how awkward all this is. But I’m glad to see them, so I try to swallow my emotion. “Well met.”
“Well met, Archer.” Sephran pauses and glances down at the foot that’s laced to my leg. “You’re busy. We can come back.”
He says this slowly, which I appreciate. “No! Stay. I . . . ?I want . . .” I fight for words, but I’m stumbling over them almost as badly as I did with the foot. It’s always harder to speak their language than to understand it. “You,” I say, pointing at him. “I want you. You stay.”
Sephran smiles. “All right.”
Captain Ammax looks up at them, and her voice sharpens. “If you stay, stay quiet.”
Sephran and Leo lose the smiles. “Yes, Captain.”
When she turns back to me, Leo looks appropriately chastised and stands at attention, but Sephran catches my gaze and rolls his eyes dramatically. I grin and have to look away before it turns into a laugh.
Leo snorts and does start to laugh, but Sephran smacks him in the arm. He snaps to attention again.
But then Captain Ammax is giving me instructions, and I have to pay attention while Hugh translates. She shows me how to adjust the muslin and the laces, and tells me to practice with my crutches so I don’t fall. Before I’m ready, we’re taking it all off and putting everything back in the bag.
