I grab my crutches. “My lord—”
He draws a sword and points it right at my throat. I backpedal too quickly, collide with my stool, and sit down hard in the dirt.
His sword follows me the whole way. I try to scramble backward, but I run into the work table.
That blade presses right into my neck, and it must break skin because I feel the sting. I’m afraid to swallow.
“Why were you talking to the King’s Courier?” he demands.
I want to be flippant, but it’s hard when I’m looking death in the face. “His—his horse—lost—lost a shoe.”
He stares down at me, and his blue eyes are narrow and dark in the shadows. The light from the forge nearly makes his red hair glow. He presses on the blade, and I try to shrink back.
“I’ve never—I’ve never seen him before. I didn’t know who he was.”
He regards me silently.
“I’m just a blacksmith,” I say. I shove a hand into my pocket and draw out the note. “Lady Karyl left this for you.”
“Did you tell him about it?”
“No. No! Nothing. No one knows.”
He takes the note. A moment later, he withdraws and sheathes his sword. “If you told him, we’ll know.”
I nod and press a hand to my neck. It comes away sticky with blood, and my breathing shakes.
Alek is a dangerous man.
Yes, Lord Tycho. I see that.
“I’ll be back in three days,” Alek says. “If you’re telling the truth, I’ll have another letter for you to hold. If you’re not …”
I hold up my blood-slick fingers. “I got the message.”
“Good.” He strides away.
My thoughts are so scrambled up that I almost forgot the promised payment. I hate myself, but this isn’t just about me. “Wait,” I call. “If you want my silence, you’re still going to need to pay for it.”
“Sure.” He swings onto the horse and throws a handful of silver into the slush. “Here are your coins.”
Then he’s off, leaving me on my hands and knees in the muddy snow, picking through for each one.
That’s exactly where my father finds me, too, when he comes stumbling into the yard. He’s bigger than Alek, and he might not be armed, but he has the capacity to be every bit as dangerous.
My breath catches. If he sees these coins, he’ll take them, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“What are you doing?” he says, and while he’s not fully slurring, it’s close.
“I dropped the can of nails,” I say. “I was just picking them up.”
He grunts and turns for the house. “Typical misfortune,” he says.
I look out into the darkness of the lane, where Lord Tycho first disappeared, and then Lord Alek. A bit of kindness chased by a bit of cruelty.
My father’s right. Typical.
CHAPTER 6
