I stare at her back, mouth agape, as she races down the street as fast as her feet will allow her without running. We were inseparable growing up at the shelter together, and we found comfort in each other as we struggled to navigate our new lives after being sold as properties. Lately, though, things have been different.
I shake my head; I have other things to worry about than a moody Em.
My mind drifts to the umbra and how its tendrils touched me. Did it know it was me who was there? I doubt it could have distinguished my features in the darkness outside—not unless the creature has impeccable night vision—but maybe its touch marked me somehow. And then there’s the question of selling this information or not. Can I afford not to sell it? No, I decide. Not this close to turning twenty-one. I may burn either way, but doing nothing makes it certain. Mrs. Cooker may pretend to still have hope, but mine is long gone.
Weaving my way back through the crowd, I decide to bring it to Llyr, as usual.
chapter three
PULLING OPEN THE HEAVY WOODEN door to Llyr’s workshop, I breathe in the familiar scent of leather and fire. Llyr is busy working on one of his blades, and his long white hair—tied with a leather strap at the nape of his neck—slides from side to side on his broad back as he works.
“Morning, Laïna,” he says without turning around, never failing to recognize me.
Falling into the main stance of a property—hands clasped before me, gaze low—I wait for him to turn so I can greet him.
A moment later, he sets down the knife he was working on, turning his tall frame—still lean and muscular in spite of his age—toward me. “Laïna, my dear,” he says with a wink. “Have you got another story for me?”
“Maybe...” I sign, and despite the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, the corners of my mouth lift beneaththe veil.
After Em and I learned how to write, we started creating stories for each other with happy endings—hoping if we just wrote enough, it would one day come true for us as well. I’ll never forget the sheer horror I felt realizing my latest story for Em had fallen out of my pocket during an errand to Llyr’s workshop, leaving it behind for him to find. To my surprise, the old man loved it so much that I kept writing him stories even after Em and I had long stopped believing in fairy tales and happy endings for ourselves. Those late nights whispering stories under our blankets feel like a lifetime ago.
Shrugging off the cold, I hang my felt cloak over a nearby stool for it to dry. Stepping closer to the forge, I allow its heat to thaw my frozen body.
Llyr gestures toward the cluttered kitchen at the back of the room. “Help yourself to a cup of warm milk if you’d like.” He glances out the window at the large, steady drizzle still falling from the sky. “It’s supposed to be spring, but I swear it’s getting colder outside by the day,” he grumbles as he adds another log to the fire.
Grateful for something to occupy my hands, I scurry toward the small kitchen to prepare myself a cup.
Perching on the end of one of his two chairs, I let the warmth of the mug seep into my icy fingers, lifting my veil just enough to take a sip of the warm milk.
I set my cup down, balancing it on the worn armrest, praying it won’t spill. “You’ve been away.”
He nods but doesn’t elaborate.
I take another sip of the milk, cherishing the slight sweetness coating my tongue, while listening to the rhythmic rasp of the whetstone against steel as Llyr sharpens one of his blades. When he says no more, I decide I might as well tell him why I’m here.
“I have information to sell,” I sign once I have his attention.
His chin dips slightly. “I will see what I can do. What have you picked up this time? Affairs? Politics? I can assure you, Mrs. Almenwas not pleased to discover her husband’s mistress.” He lets out a low chuckle.
I snort. He should have considered the consequences before having her on his lap all evening.
“It’s about the”—I spell out the strange word again—“m-o-o-n-b-o-r-n. Do you know—”
I startle as the knife and whetstone clatter to the floor, and my hands freeze mid-sentence.
“What Iknowis that to know of such things leads to certain death.” His voice is eerily calm.
Despite my better judgment, I lift my gaze to meet his. My stomach sinks. Llyr, whom I’ve never known to be anything other than stoic and calm, looks... shaken.
“The interesting question is, Why doyouknow anything about them at all?” There is an edge to his voice that has not been there before. “This is not information people discuss at social gatherings.”
Chewing my lip, I stare at the worn wooden floor, tracing its cracks in a futile attempt to avoid further attention.
“It is dangerous territory, Laïna,” he warns when I don’t answer. “There is little use in earning enough iron to buy your freedom only to get yourself killed.”
My head snaps up. Heknows?
“You thought I was not aware?” He scoffs. “Consider yourself lucky it’s me you’re asking. If anyone finds out, it will be you on the pyre next time.”
