He focuses back on his task and we step away.
Skirra rises to his feet and I want nothing more than to go to him, but my instincts tell me not to.
Thoren picks two apples on the way out, holding one in each hand as he walks ahead of me.
By the time we reach our room, night has well and truly fallen. Last night, we dragged the blankets off the bed and onto the floor, because the mattress was too soft for us. We’re used to sleeping on furs on the ground.
Thoren collapses onto his rug on the floor without speaking.
My head hits my rug and sleep claims me within seconds.
The next day passes much the same.
We chip away at the coal all day, during which time Thoren openly uses his real name and Nero takes to bellowing it loudly.
That evening, I give my report to Malak, skipping nothing.
He dismisses us without any significant remark.
Thoren picks two more apples from the orchard on our way out, and as soon as we reach our room, we collapse onto our rugs and fall asleep.
But tonight, it feels like only moments later that I awake with a jolt, lurching upright.
The room is still pitch dark. It must be the middle of the night, but something woke me…
My focus flies to Thoren’s spot on the floor only a few paces away.
It’s empty.
He’s gone.
Chapter 32
My heart is in my throat and panic threatens to swallow me.
Anything could have happened to Thoren. Anyone could have harmed him. Malak. Another Blacksmith. A human.
I find myself reaching for the hunting knives that aren’t there. The bow and arrow I would normally scoop up.
I force myself to breathe and focus, quickly crossing the floor to his bed.
The rug he was lying on is neatly folded. There are no signs of a struggle within the room and a fight would have surely woken me.
The tidy state of his bed indicates that he got up of his own accord and took a moment to fold the bedclothes.
Or someone folded them for him.
But again, a struggle would have woken me.
Father drilled into us that we should never leave any place without telling each other.
He also taught me to assume the worst.
My thoughts keep splitting between the possibility that someone dragged Thoren out of here and that he crept out on his own.
Then my focus passes across the space on the floor where he left the apples before he lay on his rug.
They’re gone.
