I frown, turning that around in my head, and he adds, “My horse. Mercy.”
The mare blows a snort against his shoulder.
It’s a generous offer, and it takes me by surprise—but the last thing I need from him is pity. “No. I’m fine.” I thrust my crutches into the snow to prove it.
“As you say.”
He’s being kind. I should be grateful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Anger and excitement are whirling in my gut, and I’m not quite sure where they’ll land. I’m not even surewhy. I keep my eyes on the snow ahead.
“Jax, was it?” he says, and I startle and almost lose my crutch again.
“Yeah. Yes. My lord.”
“I’m Tycho.” He pauses. “You don’t have to be formal.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing.
He continues as if we’re in the midst of a conversation. “I’m being rude. Forgive me. I’ve been mostly on my own for days, with only Mercy for company. I sometimes forget how to have a conversation with another person.”
“Forgiven,” I say woodenly.
I’m not meaning to be funny, but the corner of his mouth turns up, just for a moment. “I didn’t expect to find Alek here. He’s from the north side of the Crystal City. His House mostly deals with fabrics and textiles. Does he visit Briarlock often?”
This, at least, I can answer honestly. “I’ve never seen him before.”
I’m sure I’ll see him later, though. The message feels like it’s burning a hole through my pocket.
“I’ve been in Emberfall for well over a month,” Lord Tycho says. “But his family has a history of … trouble. He doesn’t like me much.” He glances at me, and his voice takes on a heavier tone. “He’s a dangerous man when he wants to be. Take care when you do business with him. You should warn your friend as well.”
I find it interesting that a man armed to the teeth would call someoneelsedangerous, but I don’t say that. I saw the way Lord Tycho’s hand went to his sword when the other man came into the bakery. I’m desperately curious about who these men are, their relation to each other, and what’s on this secret parchment in my pocket. The curiosity puts a sour taste in my mouth, but I can’t shake it.
We come to the final bend in the lane, and I see my home up ahead, silent and dark. I added coal before I left so the forge would stay hot, and a thin trail of smoke floats into the sky.
I feel a momentary panic, thinking my father might have returned. I don’t know why it would matter, but everything feels awkward and uncertain now, and my father would only make that worse. I can see Da being drunkenly vulgar, demanding too much silver or vomiting on the lord’s polished boots. Lord Tycho is surely someone who wouldn’t tolerate it.
But no, there’s no motion, no sign of anyone. The vise grip on my chest loosens the tiniest bit.
“It’s just up ahead,” I say to him, nodding.
“Good.”
I can’t tell if that word means he’s impatient, or if he’s glad to have a reason to end this stilted conversation, but either way, I’m glad too.
I stoke the forge and light a lantern, because the sun is beginning to fall behind the trees. Now that I have a job to do, I can focus on the horse instead of the young lord who’s peering into my workshop. In addition to a few low stools and several iron handles I’ve bolted to the wall or the tables, I have a dozen ropes suspended from the ceiling, positioned anywhere I need to move quickly without my crutches. When my father is being particularly wicked, he cuts them down. But under Lord Tycho’s appraising gaze, I’m self-conscious, both about the workshop and my skills. I feel like I should grab a rag and wipe the place down. I teased Cal about the flour on her cheek, but there’s probably soot on my face from this morning.
I have to clear my throat, and I point to a post anchored in the ground. “You can tether her there. Did you find the shoe or was it lost?”
“I have it.” He ties the mare, then moves close to unbuckle a saddle bag. He pulls a bent shoe free and winces. “It’s not in the best shape. We’ve covered a lot of ground over the past six weeks.”
“I can make you a new one.” I glance at the other forehoof and hesitate. The shoe on that one won’t last long either. “For both fronts, if you like.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
I can’t tell if he’s being charitable or genuine, and it leaves me off balance. When Lady Karyl was looking for my father, it was easy to demand extra silver to carry her message. But with Lord Tycho, he’s too calm, too easygoing. It feels as though itmustbe an act, like he’s still suspicious. I drag one of my stools close to the horse and cast a glance his way, sure he’s going to be watching me, but he’s not.
Instead, he’s moved away, peering at the tools and gadgets hung from the walls.
I have a ceramic jar of raisin biscuits that Callyn brought me last week, and I feed one to the horse. “Is your master always like this?” I murmur to the mare.
