“Not until I have answers,” Kalith snaps.
My father narrows his eyes. “What answers do you seek that I could possibly give you?”
“I’m searching for my daughter,” Kalith replies. “She disappeared from within our city walls last night.”
His daughter?
His statement confirms Father’s theory that these Blacksmiths were out searching for the woman, but this man looks nothing like her. His hair is a completely different color than her silvery tresses, although I haven’t seen her eyes to know if they could be green like his.
Even if sheishis daughter, it doesn’t mean he cares for her.
I remind myself of the marks of a beating she bears across her back and legs. Somebody did that to her, and surely, a father would know about it—yet there were no signs of salve or balm or any other treatment to indicate she had been cared for.
Kalith continues speaking, his lips pinched. “She is feeble. Unable to defend herself. We fear some harm may have come to her.”
Father’s expression remains calm, although his question is cutting. “How does a father fail to protect his child?”
Kalith stiffens again, but this time, he glances back across his shoulder.
Unnervingly, so do the other four men, even though taking their eyes off us is a reckless move on their part.
I’m suddenly aware of another male figure, standing much farther back within the forest, right where the shadows gather.
It’s another Blacksmith. It has to be. Concealed in the background like I feared they could be.
He’s too far away to discern the details of his features, but I make out broad shoulders and a square jaw.
Unlike the first five, he’s swathed in an inky-black cloak, which would normally make him easily visible in these snowy surroundings, but he’s staying close to the trees and somehow…impossibly… blending into them.
Skirra is suddenly fixated on that man. The wolf edges farther forward despite the danger of the Blacksmiths closer to us, the low pitch of his snarls telling me he’s even more on edge now.
Just like earlier today, I wish I had his wolfish eyes, this time to discern the details of the sixth man’s features across the distance, to see what weapons he’s currently carrying, and to understand what kind of threat he poses.
Even without Skirra’s senses, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, a prickling sensation invading my skin.
I don’t miss the way my father shifts a little, adjusting his stance, his arrow now aimed slightly between Kalith and the man in the shadows. The other Blacksmiths won’t be able to read father’s stoic expression, but I know his reactions well.
He’s worried now.
Really worried.
Kalith and the other four men return their attention to us.
This time, Kalith surges forward, defying my father’s threats and taking three steps toward us. He’s now only fifteen paces away.
His tone is sharp. “I’ll ask you plainly, Einherjar, and I suggest you answer truthfully: Have you seen my daughter?”
As he speaks, the others look at me as if they will enjoy spilling our blood, whether or not they have reason to.
“I’ve seen many Blacksmiths,” Father replies. “But as for your daughter, I can’t say for certain. Does she have silver hair?”
I wasn’t expecting my father to mention her specifically, but I remind myself to trust him. He won’t do anything that jeopardizes our lives.
At my father’s question about the color of the woman’s hair, the man in the background jolts away from the tree he was leaning against and begins pacing across the shadows, his cloak billowing around his form.
“She does,” Kalith replies sharply, his shoulders stiffening and his gaze flickering back to the man in the shadows before he returns his attention to my father. “So youhaveseen her?”
“Yes, we saw her,” Father says. “Hours ago. She was waist-deep in snow at the edge of the pit where you throw your dead.”
