“I’m Thoren,” he says, a steely glint in his eyes.
“And you?” Petra asks me.
It’s unsettlingly clear that the room has quieted down again.
There are many listening ears.
Malak calls me ‘Vandawolf’. He chose that name because it means ‘of the wolves’, but in the Einherjar language,Vandameansvicious.
I make myself a vow: I won’t reclaim my real name—the name my father gave me—until I’m free again.
Until then, when it comes to the Blacksmiths, I will be the vicious wolf.
To Petra, I say, “You can call me ‘the Vandawolf’.”
Chapter 30
My brother and I keep to the shadows and make it back to the castle without being stopped.
A woman we haven’t met before waits in front of the half-lowered portcullis; the handle of a basket hooked over her arm.
She clutches two sashes of white material in one hand and a lamp in the other. Her focus flits between the Blacksmith guards who stand on either side of her and back to us.
One of the guards gives her a nod and she steps toward us.
Like the other humans, her hair is brown and her frame is thin. But her eyes are soft and more sad than angry as she gestures us forward. “Quickly now. Follow me. Before the gate closes.”
We’ve barely passed through the large, arched opening when the portcullis slams down behind us.
The woman continues speaking at a rapid pace. “I’m Maybelle. Whatever you did to be assigned to House Ironmeld, do not speak of it. Every part of this castle has ears.” She flashes me a haunted look. “We all do what we must to survive.”
Ahead of us is a wide courtyard. Around it on three sides are dark corridors with tall, black pillars.
In the courtyard’s center is a large, black table made of what looks like the same metal that Malak’s hammer and medallion are made of. It’s the same metal from which his anvil in the orchard appears to be constructed.
On one side of the table are two large, metal cages, both big enough for a bear to stand up in. Or a human.
On the other side of the table is a large, titanium bowl, waist-height, and glowing with wine-red flame. As we approach, I make out the crimson-colored rocks within it.
The honeyed scent filters through the air, but this time, it carries a chill with it, a malevolence that makes the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms stand up.
“That is Lord Ironmeld’s forge,” Maybelle says. “It is always lit. Do not go near the fire. Those flames are—” She shudders as she walks. “They are hungry. They will destroy your body. Likewise, do not touch any part of that table.”
She veers wide of it, the basket she’s holding knocking violently against her thighs, and I realize it’s because she’s shaking.
“That metal has soaked up too many screams,” she says, her voice strangled. “Most recently the cries of two innocent children.”
Children.
Thoren is tense beside me and I feel his anger.
Maybelle takes a shuddering breath and repeats her warning. “Do not touch it. Or any of Lord Ironmeld’s metal, for that matter. You may be able to risk contact with another Blacksmith’s hammer or even their medallions, but not Lord Ironmeld’s.”
Hurrying onward, she leads us toward a tower that sits in the southeast corner.
On the way, she points out a place from which comes the faint smell of food. “That is the kitchen. There will be food theretwice a day—between the first and second bells in the morning and again in the evening. I have some bread for you to eat now.” She pats the basket. “Also your night passes.”
When she stops in front of an ornate, wooden door, she hands us the sashes of white material. Unlike the plain, white sashes we saw on other humans, these have black hammers embroidered along their length.
