“You don’t need to give these passes back in the morning like humans in other Houses do,” Maybelle says. “Lord Ironmeld expects us to do what he wants at all times of day. The guards may dislike having to raise the gate in the middle of the night, but they will do it.”
She nods and taps the sash around her own arm. “With these passes, you can move about the city freely. I suggest you wear them during the day, too. The other Blacksmiths will know whose property you are and leave you alone.”
She grabs my hand as I study the material. “Do not share these passes with anyone else thinking to help them move freely. Lord Ironmeld will find out and he will cut off your arm.”
She swings away from me, heaving a sigh as she pushes on the door with her free hand, holding the lamp high as she leads us along another corridor to another ornate door.
Within the room beyond it is a surprisingly opulent-looking bed with embroidered blankets and pillows and wooden furniture around the walls, all beautifully carved.
“What is this?” I ask warily. “This is not a room for the likes of us.”
“You’re right,” Maybelle says, handing the lamp to Thoren, who takes it and steps into the room, his expression wary. “I don’t expect you to know this, because few humans have seen inside these castle walls, but this tower belonged to Malak’s sister. This room is where her friends would stay. Until now, we’ve been forbidden from coming anywhere near this tower.”
“Yet he assigned this room to us,” I say carefully, meeting my brother’s eyes.
I want to ask Maybelle more questions, but once again, we’re in danger of revealing that we haven’t been in the city long enough to know what might have happened with Malak’s sister. He said that there were only a few Ironmeld Blacksmiths left, but he never mentioned her specifically.
Maybelle wrings her hands. “When Milena died, Lord Ironmeld lost all reason.”
She steps away from the room as if she’s having trouble breathing. “You’ll have to forgive the dust.”
She seems to have forgotten the basket of bread in her arms—and only remembers it now—pushing it toward me.
“Thank you,” I say.
Despite the way she’s poised outside the door, as if she would like nothing more than to leave this place, she pauses. “I do not wish to know what you did to be brought to this House, but… may I ask which House you belonged to before this?”
This time, Thoren is the one who appears cautious. “Why do you want to know?”
She worries at her bottom lip. “Only that my husband, Kedric, belongs to House Silverspun and it’s been years since I saw him. Or heard news of him. And if that’s where you’re from…?”
“I’m sorry,” Thoren says. “We don’t have news of him.”
The hope fades from her eyes. “Oh.”
I step toward her, suddenly the one who might ask dangerous questions. “If your husband belongs to House Silverspun, can you tell us anything about that House?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I know only what you must surely already know. Ayla Silverspun’s cruelty matches Lord Ironmeld’s. It was her own children whose screams fed his anvil while she stood by and watched.”
Ayla’s children. My eyes widen. Asha is her child—or one of them, as it turns out. “Was Asha one of those children?”
I immediately regret my question. It was too direct to ask about Asha by name.
Maybelle’s forehead creases and she leans back a little.
I don’t blame her for being cautious.
I expect her to refuse to answer, but she surprises me. “No,” she says. “It was the twins. Gallium and Tamra.” Her expression softens as she speaks of them. “Beautiful children. Kind and gentle. Nothing like the other Blacksmiths. It’s beyond my understanding how two such vicious Blacksmiths had kind children?—”
She jolts when there’s a faint clatter in the distance.
Quickly, she backs away from us. “I have to go now.”
“Thank you for the food,” I say.
She nods and hurries away into the dark corridor.
I turn to find Thoren standing in the middle of the room, the lamp lowered, shadows casting across his face.
