We're not friends.
The assassin moves closer, examining my work. "What are you making?"
I don't stop hammering. The rhythm helps. It keeps me focused.
Shade looks at Garrett. "Why is he sulking?"
The wolf moves closer to me, then seems to think better of it. The creature's ears flatten against its head and it retreats back to Shade's side.
"Leave it alone," Garrett says to Shade. "He's got reason to be upset."
A groan comes from the cell. Hrolf stirs on his stone bench, blinking awake. He sits up slowly and rubs his face. The dwarf yawns and stretches. "He's been like this for three days. Won't even talk to me. What happened?"
Garrett glances at me, checking if I'm going to stop him. I don't. Let him tell it. Maybe saying it out loud will make it feel less like a nightmare.
"The fae…" the knight begins under his breath.
"Landon?" Hrolf frowns. "What about him? Did he heal Arescaine’s wife as promised?"
"He's her mate."
The hammer in my hand strikes metal with greater force as he says it.
Hrolf jolts. "His wife's mate?"
Garrett nods. "Their mating bond is healing her. They're connected now in ways that…" he falters, searching for words.
Hrolf looks at me as understanding settles.
"Yes, that would be upsetting," he says dryly.
"But she's alive and healing now," Shade points out.
The Grimsbane's blunt logic cuts through all of it.
Yes,I admit quietly. Everything else is complicated but I'm grateful for that.
Rhianelle is alive.
As long as that's true, I can endure anything else.
A hand falls on my shoulder. Hrolf's grip surprisingly gentle for someone with such rough hands. "How are you holding up, lad?"
I'm being shredded to fucking pieces.
"I haven't broken yet," I reply.
"That I believe." Hrolf moves around to look at the breastplate taking shape. "This for her?"
"Yes."
"Good work. The measurements look right."
"I just want to make good armor for my wife," I say after a beat. The resolve in my voice surprises me. That's all I can do now. Make sure Rhianelle has protection when I can't be there to provide it.
Hrolf's expression softens.
"Let me help," he says, rolling up his sleeves.
