“No,” I say roughly.I’m worried that I did. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I don’t run, because I don’t want to give the impression that there’s cause for concern. I’m just walking up the lane to see my friend. But nerves keep prodding me, and my feet nearly sprint anyway.
I’m halfway there when the magistrate rounds the bend, walking on horseback, a rope tied to her saddle. She rarely comes out this way, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite this close, but she’s a striking woman, stately and stern, with deep brown skin and close-shorn hair.
The other end of her rope is attached to the bound hands of Ellis the blacksmith. Jax’s father.
Ellis has a black eye and a split lip, and he’s stumbling along like he’s still drunk. His eyes alight on me, and he says, “Callyn knows me! Tell the magistrate, girl.” He hiccups and stumbles, then makes a retchingsound and spits at the ground. “Tell her,” he croaks. “Tell her I’m a good father to Jax.”
He must be joking.
The magistrate does nothing more than give me a nod before giving the rope a sharp jerk. “I’ve already heard enough about your son from Lord Jacob,” she says. “The only person who can speak for you now is the queen herself. Nowwalk.”
Lord Jacob. Oh Jax, what happened?
I stare from Ellis to the magistrate to the lane leading to the forge, which suddenly feels twenty miles long. I don’t know if I should run the rest of the way—or turn around and run back to the bakery and get Nora out of here. An unusually cold wind whistles through the trees, making me shiver despite the warmth in the air.
I force my mouth to work. “Is Jax all right?” I call after Ellis.
“He won’t be!” he snarls back. “Not after what he’s done!”
Oh.Oh no. Does this mean— Should I go back for Nora—
But the magistrate hardly glanced at me. Those horses didn’t stop at the bakery—and I’m sure they wouldn’t have gone galloping past if they suspected me of being a part of something. I grab hold of my skirts and hurry the rest of the way down the lane. I don’t know what I expect to find, but everything my thoughts conjure is terrible. Jax on his knees, in chains, begging for his life. Jax being mouthy and irreverent with the magistrate’s people, earning himself a trip to the stone prison.
Or worse, Jax broken or bleeding or dead. Or all three.
When I come skidding into the courtyard, there are two men in the workshop, but no Jax. One man is middle-aged, a bit more round and portly, with ruddy cheeks and thick brown hair peppered with gray. The town crest for Briarlock is on his sleeve, so he must have come with the magistrate. He says, “I’ll check the inside, my lord.”
“Sure,” says the other man casually. He’s younger, in finer armor, with what must be a dozen weapons strapped to his body. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and looks like a fighter. He’s frowning down at his palm, at something he must have picked up from the work table, something too small for me to identify from here.
I don’t know if I make a sound or if he senses my presence, but his eyes snap up in surprise. He slides whatever he was looking at into a pouch on his belt, then gives me a clear up-and-down glance. “Hello,” he says.
“Hello.” I offer a quick curtsy and wonder if this is the Lord Jacob that Alek mentioned. “My lord.”
“If you need something from the forge,” he says, “it seems that both blacksmiths are unavailable for the time being.”
His accent is unusual, slightly different from people who come from Emberfall, his words not quite as hard edged. It throws me for a moment. “I … ah …” My eyes sweep the area. No sign of Jax.
The man steps out from under the overhang. “Who are you looking for?”
My eyes snap back to his. He’s savvy, this one. “No one,” I say, and his eyes narrow just the slightest bit. I take a breath. “I mean—I’m looking for my friend.” I frown. “I saw his father. Is—is there trouble?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet.” He pauses. “Who’s your friend?”
“Jax.”
“Would that make you Callyn? You own the bakery?”
“Yes.” I hesitate. “Is Jax all right?”
“He will be.” His voice is grave. “His father roughed him up. The magistrate will hold him for a couple weeks.”
Those words take a moment to register and rearrange all my thoughts. My pounding heart begins to slow. This has nothing to do with the Truthbringers—and everything to do with Jax’s horrible father.
“You’re sure he’s all right?” I say.
“I think so. Tycho will bring him back once we’re done here.” He pulls a few coins from a pocket and holds them out. “I get the sense he might have a hard time getting around. Can you make sure he has enough to eat?”
