She presses her face to my chest and blows warm breaths against my hip. I grab hold of a rope to keep my balance in case she butts her head at me, but she’s as gentle as a kitten.
I drop to sit on the stool and pull her foot into my lap—but then I see the scars.
She’s a bay, with deep-brown fur, a black mane and tail, and a narrow white stripe down her face. But long stretches of white fur make streaks just behind the saddle girth, unnatural coloring that can only be caused by scarring.
In a location that can only be caused by spurs.
It makes me scowl. Maybe this is what I’ve misread. Maybe Lord Tycho is worse than cruel to this horse. Maybe that’s why he seems so easygoing. Maybe he just doesn’tcare.
My gut clenches at the thought, and I’m surprised to realize I don’t want him to be like that. So many people turn out to be a disappointment, and it’s discouraging to think this fresh-faced young nobleman will be the same. I reach for my clamps and file and cast a dark look across the workshop to where he’s meandered: the corner where we have a few forged weapons.
From here, I can’t tell if he’s wearing spurs.
He must sense my gaze, because he glances over, and I quickly look back at the horse.
If he noticed my staring, he doesn’t say so. “May I?”
I have to look back, and he’s gesturing to one of the swords.
“Yes.” I scrape at the mare’s hoof, creating a fresh surface for a new shoe. “They’re nowhere near as nice as yours,” I add roughly.
“I disagree.” He cuts a pattern through the air, spinning an agile half-turn in the narrow space, making his cloak flare. “Incredible balance.”
The praise makes me blush, and I’m not ready for it. The hoof is clean, so I grab hold of a rope to pull myself up so I can get to the forge, and I thrust a fresh shoe in. I’m glad this part takes my focus, so I don’t have to say anything.
It doesn’t stop him from talking, though. “Did you make this?”
I nod. “The swords are mine. My father made the daggers.” I put the horseshoe against the anvil and swing my hammer to spare me saying anything else. Sparks fly and glowing steel splinters away.
Lord Tycho is more patient than Lady Karyl. He waits for me to finish banging, then says, “You do better work than your father.”
I grunt and say nothing, returning to the horse. If my father heard that comment, he’d put his boot in my belly and it would hurt to sit up for a week. The hot shoe presses into the mare’s hoof, and smoke rises. I murmur a soft word but she’s steady as a rock.
Silence falls between us again, but I hear the moment he returns the sword to the rack along the wall. At first I’m tense, worried he’s going to ask more questions, but he says nothing, waiting at a distance as I measure and bang and hammer. After a few minutes, this hoof is done, and I drag my stool to her other side to begin again.
“Forgive me,” he says, and suddenly his voice is lower, quieter. “I know I interrupted you and your friend earlier.”
I blink and look up.
He’s leaning against the work table now. His eyes are intent, and he doesn’t look away. “I sense that I’ve made you uncomfortable in some way. I didn’t mean to.”
I shrug, then duck my face into my shoulder to push hair out of my eyes. “You didn’t.”
He says nothing, so I glance over in the midst of my filing. His cloakis tossed back over his shoulder now, and I can clearly see the insignia over his heart.
I raise my eyebrows and look back at the mare’s hoof. “You wear the crests of Syhl Shallow and Emberfall together.”
He glances down. “Oh. Yes. I carry messages between the Crystal Palace and Ironrose Castle. Between the king and queen and the prince and princess.”
My file goes still. “That makes you—”
“The King’s Courier. Well, that’s the official title in Emberfall. Here, I would be the Queen’s Envoy, though no one calls me that. But either way, I try not to make a spectacle of it. There are many who’d make me a target if they knew.”
Clouds above. And I nearly handed him a note from the Truthbringers. I may as well have handed it right to Queen Lia Mara herself.
At least that explains his accent, the tiny edge to his words. He must be from Emberfall originally, though his Syssalah is flawless. We’re close enough to the border that I know a handful of words in Emberish, mostly words to ask travelers what they need from the forge. I would’ve learned more if I’d been able to enlist as a soldier. The last queen of Syhl Shallow was known to say it was the height of ignorance to not understand what your enemies are saying. I suppose I can add that to the list of things that makes me feel like a failure.
Once this hoof is smooth and clean, I head for the forge again. “You don’t travel with …” I gesture around at the empty space. “Guards?”
