“Thank you,” I say to them both. I close my fingers on the crutches and make my way out into the sunshine.
I expected the forge to be large, but it’s downright massive, at least ten times the size of what Da and I shared at home. Calling it a forgeat allseems too simple, as it’s really an open structure composed of multipleforges, with theclangof hammered iron sounding from every direction and a haze of smoke in the air. Men and women move about with practiced efficiency, pulling iron from fire and pounding glowing metal everywhere I look. A low rumble of chatter carries over the noise, with the occasional burst of laughter. A few dogs wander among the people, too, waiting for scraps of hoof from the blacksmiths who work with horses. The animals are tethered on the far side of the structure, soldiers and guards standing alongside, some waiting more patiently than others. I don’t recognize any of the soldiers, and after what happened, I don’t know if Iwantto, so I keep going.
Near the opposite end of the forge, a loudclangblares over everything else, followed by acrashand a shout and a plume of smoke. I peer through the haze as a new voice starts yelling, the tone thick with anger. It’s Master Garson, his face red from the heat of the forges, sweat threading his hair. I have no idea what he’s saying, but his fury is all directed at one of the blacksmiths on the other side. For an instant, I’m frozen in place, trapped by memories of another man’s anger.
Then some of the smoke clears, and I see him reach a middle-aged woman who’s fallen beside one of the forges. She’s coughing, and he’s helping her up. A younger boy nearby is speaking rapidly, and a few other people have gathered. I try to listen for words I know, but there’s too much commotion.
As I watch expressions and mannerisms, I begin to realize that the boy is apologizing. The woman was hurt somehow, but seems to be all right. She claps him on the shoulder.
So does Master Garson. He smiles, then moves away.
I misunderstood his emotion. It wasn’t anger at all, butworry. The thorn in my heart eases a little bit.
But then a man mutters to my left, and I glance over to see that he’s glaring at me. He looks away before I catch his eyes, and I have no idea what he said, but I canfeelthe animosity.
That’s enough time in the forge, then. I tighten my fingers on my crutches and head for the path.
Across the sprawling fields, the castle gleams in the late afternoon sunlight. I can make out archers on a training range in the distance, and I step off the cobblestone path to see if I can find a better view. My fingers itch for my bow, but I doubt I could join them. They’re probably soldiers engaged in an exercise, and the archery field would take a long time to reach on my crutches.
A new thorn of worry replaces the first. Everything here is far.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. “I knew I’d find you near the forge.”
I turn to discover Tycho behind me on the walkway, and the pulse of relief in my chest is profound. The battle-worn soldier from this morning has been washed away, leaving a dashing young lord in his place. He’s bright and flawless in a loosely laced vest and calfskin trousers, and I’m stunned to realize that for all the months I’ve known him, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen him without his armor and weapons. He looks casual and elegant all at once, with hints of privilege everywhere, from the silver buckles on his boots to the glimmer of gold filigree in his buttons.
If he’d shown up likethisin Briarlock, I would’ve stumbled over every single word. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to speak rightnow.
“What’s wrong?” he says, and I realize I’m staring.
The first thought that pops into my head is that I wouldn’tmindbeing brought along for my skills in his bed.
Focus, Jax.I flush and jerk my eyes away. “Ah—you’re so early.”
“I would’ve been earlier, but Prince Rhen wanted to speak to me.” He jerks his head at the path. “Come on, let’s walk. I wanted to show you around.”
“All right.” I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m still tongue-tied,so I wrap my fingers around my crutches and fall into step beside him. Then, right when I’m in the middle of chastising myself about lusting after him, Tycho reaches up to tug at a strand of my hair.
My heart stutters. My voice? Gone.
So much for discretion.
But almost immediately, he lets go. “You left your hair loose.”
“I—ah—” My thoughts keep refusing to organize. “I . . . ?I gave you the nail I was using,” I say. “I didn’t know how to ask for another one.”
“Oh.” He winces. “I should have thought. I can help. Let’s head for the forge.”
I wish I could read his voice. It’s warm, but also so polite. So genteel, like he really is a young lord I happened to cross paths with.
Maybe that’s on purpose.
It’s the first thought that’s given me a measure of composure. He just touched me, but then he immediately let go. Perhaps brief touches and simple friendship are all he can offer now.
The thought tugs at my heart. Not only for me, but forhim. When I first met Tycho, he had the bearing of a fierce soldier, skilled and fearless, trussed up in armor and weapons that warned of violence at the first sign of trouble. It wasn’t until later that I discovered how much vulnerability he keeps locked away behind all that leather and steel. The first night we spent together, he was so tense, so hesitant. Too many people had taken advantage of him in too many ways. It was like he’d never been able to find a moment of happiness for himself.
I hate that my presence here could mean he won’t be able to again.
He’s begun to change course, heading back toward the forge, but I think of the man who scowled at me and I shake my head. “I’ll get a nail tomorrow.” Then I shrug. “Or maybe not. I’m in a new place here. I should just cut it all off and be done with it.”
