The cobbler laughed, though it did not reach his eyes. “It is not a difficult thing to do, to fall for someone you grew up with.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And they do not hide it well, though they seem adamant in their refusal to admit their feelings to each other or to themselves.”
Calix, apparently having no interest in conversations about romance or courtship, ran ahead to the central well and worked at the rope, pulling up a bucket for himself. On this day, the market consisted of barely more than half a dozen stands, so it was easy enough to keep an eye on the boy.
“Aureus worries too much about the shop to consider a relationship for himself, and he is blind to her affections.”
“Is it that he worries about the shop, or that he worries about you?”
Frowning, I considered stepping down the few short steps to the market square. “Perhaps it is both.”
Leaving the faint hum of the market, we made our way to the road and set off at a leisurely walk toward the cliffside. Calix followed dutifully as I had anticipated, keeping a respectful distance back.
“What is it you wished to speak of?” I asked, bypassing idle chat.
Ruairc kicked at a stone as he walked. It skipped ahead of us, stopping in a crack where a puddle of water gathered from the prior night’s rainfall. “Your brother gave me your dagger.”
I balked.
Before I could respond, he held up his hand. “Though I am not a blacksmith, I understand the mending of things. When I saw it, I asked why you did not carry it, and Aureus would not confide in me. Yet he did offer it to me to repair when I proposed the idea.”
Unease twisted my stomach, and I stopped walking. “Speak plainly.”
“Very well.” Ruairc drew a bundle cloaked in burlap cloth from a leather bag strapped over his neck. Unwrapping the layers, he revealed my dagger, though it was not my dagger.
“You repaired it,” I observed on a breath.
“Yes. That is what I wish to speak to you about, and why I have decided to step down, to no longer court you.”
A short distance off, I caught Calix’s gaze. The boy seemed to have some form of intensified sense of hearing. Whether that was simply his observational skills, or whether he could read lips, or whether it was an effect of what he was, I could not say.
When I gave no reply, Ruairc continued. “It has always been in my nature, I believe, to fix that which is broken. As I did with your dagger.” He did not offer it to me, only held it in his hands, his eyes lowered to it. “It is a common blade, really. I’ve seen several similar ones before, just like it. It is because of that, that I was able to repair it to such a likeness of its original state. Yet … When I did, I realized how incredibly wrong I had been to do so.”
“This is what you came to tell me, that my dagger is exceptionally ordinary?” I fought to keep my impatience from my tone.
Ruairc raised his gaze, and I met his honey-brown eyes. “I’ve always measured things by their usefulness or adequacy. I deem an object valuable using my standards alone, but … perhaps it’s not my place to—”
Shaking my head, I cast my eyes to the coastline, where seabirds hovered and squalled. “A dagger is only useful if it’s sharp, Ruairc. That is my measure of value.”
“Evera, look at me, please.”
Reluctantly, I did.
“How many times have you used this dagger over the years? Countless times, yes? What have you used it for?”
Considering, I crooked my lips. “Cutting ties for orders for the shop, splicing plants in the garden. The handle I have usedto mash dried leaves on occasion, or to loosen the seal on a stubborn jar.” In truth, I used the blade often for everyday tasks. And although it was not well-kept in the sense of being sharpened, I kept it clean and sanitized, for the off chance I might need to use it, as I had when removing Neirin’s stitches.
Ruairc’s low laugh disturbed me. He looked out at the sea, giving me his profile, and I saw in him what I had not seen in many years. There was a warmth to his smile, and not just that, but a familiarity. A comfort. A pang of regret struck me for the way time and the course of aging had affected what once was a close friendship.
“To loosen the seal on a stubborn jar,” Ruairc repeated, drawing me back to the present.
“Yes,” I said, a bit defensive, if only for the unexpected shift in my feelings.
“That explains the condition of it.”
I huffed. “What is your point?”
“My point, Evera …” He took one of my hands, holding my dagger and the cloth it was loosely wrapped in at his side.
My eyes fell to where our fingers intertwined, but I did not draw back.
