CHAPTER NINE
Verena
CALLUM GUIDED ME FORWARD, over the threshold and into the forge.
Though,guidedfelt too generous.
He had all but shoved me through that doorway. Not unkindly, but with the urgency of someone who had run out of patience.
I stumbled inside, even as every instinct begged me to flee.
The heat struck me quickly, the tang of melted iron and ash coating my tongue. The walls were lined with an arsenal of tools, blackened hammers, metal tongs, all clustered in rows. Even the ceiling above was heavy with dangling, rust-bitten horseshoes.
A furnace sat in front of me, its belly glowing like a dragon ready to strike.
That’s where Wells stood, bathed in flame. He hadn’t yet grown into full Fae height, barely a year awakened, and still wore that young-boy innocence like it mattered.
His clothes were charred and blackened, dark strands of hair soaked to the back of his neck.
He didn’t notice us. Or couldn’t see us. Not with the iron mask covering the entirety of his face.
His hum drifted through the room, every strike of his hammer ringing in rhythm with the forge’s roar, sparks scattering like lunethmoths.
Callum nudged me forward, and I hesitated. Then, reluctantly, swallowed the edge of fault rising, and forced myself a step closer.
I had to face him.
He wasn’t a child anymore, despite the purity that had never left him, and neither was I.
Wells turned to us at last, orange flames reflecting off his mask, the weight of the furnace still shielding him.
My hand lifted, stiff and awkward as I gave a pathetic wave.
He removed the mask, dropping it with a clang that resounded like judgment. Soot streaked every line of his face, and still, beneath it all, he looked devastatingly young. Too young.
The hammer stayed tight in his grip and movement wavered behind my eyes.
This was abadidea.
I shifted back, bumping into Callum’s chest, and his hand curled around my arm, a grip I couldn’t shake.
Don’t,his voice pressed into my mind.Run, and I’ll have him melt the damn thing down.
The hammer fell at last, its weight cracking against the table, sparks against my bones.
Callum only smiled wider. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Duke said you were finished with my request.”
My brows narrowed. “Why am I here for this, couldn’t you have just brought it to me?”
Callum shrugged, infuriatingly casual. “No.” His hand slipped free of my arm. “You want it, you get it yourself.”
I rolled my eyes, masking the way my stomach twisted.
“Of course,” Wells replied. His weary brown eyes carried the strain of things never spoken. “Got it right here for you.”
He searched the cluttered tables where a collection of blades sat, some cooling in sand, strands of hair falling across his face with every move.
His fist hit the wood once, a muted bang, before he muttered, “Must be in the back. Sit tight.” Then he slipped away, through a half-hinged door.
