My eyes burn, and I blink the sensation away. I didn’t cry when Mother died in the war with Emberfall. I didn’t cry when Da died and we had to beg for passage back to Briarlock.
I won’t cry now.
Out in the barn, the hens start to cluck, and Muddy May, the old cow, moos. The door rattles against the wood siding. That faint hint of purple over the mountains begins to streak with pink. In a few hours, the glistening snow will be slush and mud again, and Nora and I will be bundled up, thrusting a hand under the hens to find eggs, bickering over who has to sit in the cold to milk May.
But those hens keep clucking, and a faint orange glow suddenly pokes from below the creaking barn door.
I sit up straight, my heart pounding. It’s been half a year, but the events at the Crystal Palace are still fresh in my memories. The clap of thunder, the flash of light.
But of course there’s no magic here. Could it be a fire?
Underneath my flare of panic, I have the thought that I should just let it all burn to the ground.
But no. The animals don’t deserve that. I grab for my boots, jerking them onto my feet without waiting to lace them. I sneak down the hallway past Nora’s room, stepping lightly so I don’t make the floor creak. If I didn’t want her to see the note from the tax collector, I definitely don’t need her to see the barn burning down.
I make it to the steps down into the bakery, but I trip over my loose laces and nearly go face-first into the brick floor at the bottom. I overturn the stool where I sit to take orders, and it clatters to the ground, rolling haphazardly into the shelves. A metal bowl rattles ontothe bricks, followed by a porcelain dish I use for large loaves. That shatters, bits going everywhere.
Amazing.
I wait, frozen in place. My leg is at an awkward angle, but I hold my breath.
No sound comes from upstairs.
Good.
The cold hits me in the face when I slip out the door, but I hear the cow again, so I hurry through the frozen mud. I have a few weeks’ worth of hay and straw in the loft, but I’m always good about stacking them away from the walls. Some must have gone moldy anyway, and moldy hay is always likely to start a fire. That stupid door needs fixing.
Like a working door will matter if the barn is a pile of ashes.
Halfway across the frigid yard, I realize the tiny glow hasn’t spread.
And I don’t smell smoke.
Muddy May moos again, and I hear the low murmur of a man’s voice.
I freeze for an entirely new reason. My heart rate triples, the world snapping into focus.
Not a fire. A thief.
I grit my teeth and change course, striding across the yard to the small shed where we keep tools. Mother’s old weapons are wrapped up under my bed, but I don’t have much practice with a sword. The ax hangs ready, slipping into my hand like an old friend. I can split firewood without breaking a sweat, so I have no doubt I can make a thief regret his choices. I swing the ax in a figure eight, warming up my shoulder. When I get to the broken door, I grab hold andyank.
The door creaks and moans as it moves faster than the hinges are ready for. The shadow of a man shifts behind the cow. A blazing lantern sits not far off—the source of the orange glow.
I swing the ax around, letting the flat side slam into a wooden post. The hens go wild with clucking, and May spooks, jerking the rope where she’s tied and overturning the bucket.
“Get out of mybarn,” I yell.
May spooks again, her hooves scrambling in the dirt as she shifts away from me, and she must slam into the man, because he grunts and then falls, tangling in the length of his cloak. Wood clatters to the ground beside him, and I hear a crack as it gives way.
“Clouds above, Cal!” he snaps, jerking the hood of his cloak back. “It’s just me!”
Too late, I recognize the light hazel eyes glaring at me from under a spill of dark hair. “Oh.” I lower the ax and frown. “Itisyou.”
Jax swears under his breath and reaches for his crutches, dragging them through the straw. His breath clouds in the frosty air. “A good morning to you, too.”
I’d offer to help him, but he doesn’t like help unless he asks for it. He rarely needs it anyway. He rolls to his foot smoothly, if not agilely. He gets one crutch under his left arm, but the other snapped at the end, and it’s too short now.
He looks at the jagged end, sighs, and tosses it to the side, then switches the good crutch to his right side to compensate for his missing right foot. “I thought you’d be asleep. I didn’t realize I’d be taking my life into my hands by coming here.”
