I nod and move to leave.
“Tycho, look at me.”
I turn, but my jaw is tight.
“I just want to make sure youenjoyit,” he says, “and that you haven’t taken this job because it’s a convenient way to hide when you don’t want to feel vulnerable.”
“I don’t feel vulnerable anymore,” I say. “Grey made sure of it.”
Then I turn on my heel to head for the training fields, to prove exactly that.
CHAPTER 8
JAX
Melting snow drips from the roof over my workshop, and early morning fog clings to the sodden ground. Mud will be everywhere today, which might make for decent business. I’ve been up since before dawn with butterflies in my gut, because today is the day that Lord Alek said he’d return, and I’m not sure what to expect.
After he left three days ago, I headed back down the lane to Callyn’s bakery. Nora saw the blood at my neck and looked like she was going to pass out, but Cal is more steady.
She cleaned the wound while swearing under her breath. “This isn’t worth it if you’re going to end up dead, Jax.”
I thrust a hand into my pocket and pulled out the silver. “Here’s another five. Do you still feel the same?”
She bit her lip—and pocketed the coins.
I saw her yesterday, and between the coins I’ve given her and what the bakery has made this week, she has fifteen silvers stashed away. I know Lord Tycho paid her generously for meat pies and sweetcakes, just like he overpaid me for his mare’s shoes. I keep feeling a twinge inmy gut every time I think of accepting his silver, as if coins earned honestly and those earned from disloyalty don’t all spend the same.
This morning, I’ve filled a jar with forged nails to replace the ones we’ve sold, so I move on to other projects. I have an order from a farmer on the north side of town who needs a new hammer and a spade, so I feed a fresh ingot of iron to the forge, then roll out my shoulders and wait for it to heat.
“You’re at it early,” my father grunts.
I look over to find him in the doorway that leads into our home. He’s relatively clear-eyed this morning, but that probably has more to do with the fact that he’s run out of coins than any avoidance of ale.
“No earlier than usual.” I glance into the forge, but the iron hasn’t reached the right shade of yellow yet. “I boiled some eggs if you’re hungry.”
He makes a noncommittal sound, but turns to go back in the house, which is answer enough. I haven’t mentioned Lord Alek to him—just like he’s never mentioned the Truthbringers to me. It’s no secret what happened to Cal’s father. There’s a part of me that wonders why he’d ever be willing to take the same risks.
Then again,I’mtaking them now, so I’m not in a position to judge.
I can hear him rattling around in the kitchen. I wonder if he’s planning to take up some of the work, or if he’ll fall back into bed. He’s not always horrible, and when he’s sober, he can actually be somewhat decent. He’s very strong, and quick with a hammer, and we’ve worked alongside each other in the forge for so long that we can stay out of each other’s way. When I was a boy, he worked long hours, but we always had enough to eat, with a little left over for the occasional diversion. He’d send me running down the lane to Callyn’s bakery with a few coppers in my pocket, telling me to buy some sweets for us both.
Then I got hurt, and it seemed like the village physician carved out a piece of Da’s heart when he took my foot.
I pull the iron out of the fire with my tongs, then set it against the anvil. I’ve gotten one end nearly flattened by the time my father reappears. He takes a leather apron from a hook on the wall. My eyebrows go up, but I know better than to say anything. I thrust the half-formed spade back into the forge and try to ignore the flicker of hope in my chest.
“I’ll need a hammer to go with this,” I say.
He nods, takes an ingot of his own, and sets it in the forge. A minute later, we’re both clanging away.
Moments like this always fill me with longing—or maybe nostalgia. We don’t say much to each other, but my father has never been a talker. The air is cold and peaceful, but we’ve both got a sheen of sweat on our forearms from the forge and the effort. We’re starting so early that we can make some good headway, and that flicker of hope that ignited earlier grows into a burning ember. I finish the spade and move on to a set of door hinges. Hours pass, and my list grows shorter—then longer, as a woman shows up with two axles that needs repairing, and she commissions us for new ones instead. With Da’s help I can probably finish the thresher for Farmer Latham, too, and that alone is worth ten silvers. We can pay the tax collector and begin to save silver for when we need to pay the balance next month.
Maybe I won’t need to hold a message for the Truthbringers again.
Around midday, my stomach is empty, but I don’t want to disturb this tentative peace between us. It feels like a truce. Maybe I should have kept all the coins away from him years ago.
“Jax,” says my father.
I don’t look up. Hopefully he’s hungry too. “Yeah.”
