As I continue to meet her eyes, she falters back a step, her focus flickering from the flames to where I remain so close to them.
And then to the night pass that marks me as Malak’s property.
Her face turns red as she shrieks, “Go! Get out of my sight!”
Gladly.
Malak’s orchard is as quiet as always as Thoren and I make our way toward its center.
Thoren casts me worried glances as we approach, a far cry from the way he would arch his eyebrows at me on the hunt and tell me not to worry.
He and Braddock had already heard about the fire at the Academy by the time I returned to the coal house. The other miners all avoided coming anywhere near me—even more than they normally did—and Nero steered well clear of me.
All he grumbled was, “Malak’s decision.”
Now, I’m about to face the consequences.
Malak works at his anvil, his black hammer tapping at another fine chisel, his head bent to the small piece of black metal he’s working on. It’s in the shape of a tooth, but it’s too tiny to really tell, especially against the backdrop of the black anvil it rests on.
Skirra rests on the ground beside the anvil as he usually does when we come to give our report, but he still looks well-fed and his eyes are bright, his breathing normal.
He gives a yip when he sees us.
I marvel at his calmness the same way I marveled at his resolution to stay with us when he could have escaped with the white wolf Kori. Not for the first time, I wish I could know Skirra’s mind.
We stop a few paces from Malak’s anvil, and I hold my breath, waiting for an instant reprimand or worse, but he doesn’t look up.
“Report,” he says.
I begin, as I always do, with the start of the day and work forward in time. I describe how we were assigned to haul coal and briefly mention the crates and how much coal there was in each.
I’m about to move on to the trip through the city when Malak raises his hand. “Stop.” His dark eyes meet mine as he looks up.“You took a full crate to the Academy while Thoren took half a crate to House Copperstream?”
I nod. “That’s correct.”
A dark cloud descends over Malak’s face and the tools in his hands seem suddenly forgotten.
I haven’t told him about the fire and yet something has clearly angered him.
“I’ve heard enough.” His lips twist. “Vandawolf, you will stay. Thoren, you will leave. Be sure to take three apples to your sweetheart tonight—I’ve heard she enjoys them.”
Thoren stiffens before he backs away, but he’s slow to obey.
“Go!” Malak roars at him.
The worry in Thoren’s eyes increases a thousand-fold, but I give him a nod. If he stays, I’ll be concerned about protecting him. This way, I only have Skirra and myself to worry about.
Thoren has barely disappeared along the path when Malak snaps. “A full crate to the Academy? Did they think I wouldn’t notice?”
He smacks his right fist down onto the anvil, his teeth visibly gritted before he looks up at me again.
“Do you know the beauty of this place, Vandawolf?” he asks, raising his fist to our surroundings.
Blood drips down the back of his hand from the knuckles he split open.
I don’t think he wants me to answer, so I stay quiet.
He smiles, but it looks like a grimace. “The beauty of this place is that nobody can hear me.”
