A familiar voice cuts through the clanging and chattering of the forge. “Hey, Archer.”
Sephran.My heart lifts a little when I hear his voice.
It shouldn’t. I have to tamp that down, too.
I’ve got the horse’s leg pinned between my knees and a heavy set of pincers in my hands, so I blow a lock of hair away from my face and look up. Despite my efforts, I can’t see much higher than Sephran’s scuffed boots.
“Hey,” I say in return. My Emberish still isn’t very good, but Sephran won’t care. He doesn’t speak Syssalah, so we’ve learned to make do. “You surprise me,” I say. “Off duty?”
“Yeah. It’s late.”
Just as he says the words, distant bells chime, signaling a call to the mess hall— meaning there will be a mad dash for food. The soldier holding this horse knows it, too, because he swears under his breath.
I blow another lock of hair out of my eyes. “Go,” I say. “You eat. I take horse to stable.”
His eyebrows go up. “Yeah?” he says hopefully.
I nod, and that strand of dark hair falls right back into my face.
I clearly don’t have to tell him twice, because the soldier gives the horse a pat on the shoulder, and then he’sgone.
Sephran’s boots shift through the dirt of the forge, and then, to my surprise, he reaches out to tuck that lock of hair behind my ear. It’s a brief touch, just a brush of gentle fingers against my cheek, and then the shell of my ear.
But it feels likemore.
Before Tycho returned, Sephran kissed me. It was only once, and I stopped him before it went too far— but it happened. And Sephran may have apologized, but he was angry when I told him about my secret relationship with Tycho, especially when I revealed that I was desperately longing for his return.
He left you, Jax.
When Sephran’s fingers drift along my skin, my hands freeze, my tools going still against the hoof.
He notices. “Sorry,” he says, though I’m not entirely sure he means that. “That looked annoying.”
I hesitate, then decide to let it go. “No sorry,” I say equably in my broken Emberish. “Thank you.”
Since the night he kissed me, we’ve had a lot of moments like this one. Intimacy that’s not quiteintimacy. Touches that shouldn’t feel loaded with intent or meaning . . . but suddenly do.
As I reach for my file, silence swells between us. Sephran was my first friend here, and I don’t want to lose that. This doesn’t have to mean anything different from the times he’d help with my archery stance or when we’d tussle and spar in the fields.
But a part of me wonders if Sephran would’ve done that if Tycho were standing right here.
I’m thinking not.
The silence is too much to bear, so I set the horse’s leg down to reach for a fresh shoe. Using my tongs, I thrust it in the forge, burying it among the ash. “We go shooting?” I say.
“Can you?” he says, his tone a little sour. “Or do you need to check with your keeper?”
I frown at him. I’m not sure I know this word. “Keeper?”
His eyes flare in surprise, but then he scowls. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it.”
I might not understand the word, but I’m not an idiot. I can hear his tone, and I realize this was a dig at Tycho.
The shoe in the forge is glowing red, so I yank it free roughly enough that sparks fly. “No,” I say evenly, pressing the hot steel against my anvil. “Tell me, Sephran. Tell me what means.”
He says nothing, but he folds his arms. Now his jaw is set.
I give him a look, then pick up my hammer and slam it against thehorseshoe. The sound of ringing steel echoes through the forge, clear and solitary. The dinner bells rang, so I’m one of the few blacksmiths left. Sephran watches me in complete silence.
