“You go wallow, Sam. I can’t eat another forkful, let alone a whole piece, so I’ll go for a walk.”
Leaving through the kitchen door, I turned my feet toward the outskirts of the village. Perhaps movement would shake loose whatever thought had lodged in my subconscious.
Seven
Alan
???
I spotted Minawhen she walked past the final row of houses before the fields. Her blond hair glinted with silver highlights in the sun, and I had a sudden vision of a necklace—gold with silver accents and a sapphire pendant—that made me long to return to the forge. But even if I went back, I didn’t have the materials to make the necklace.
I would not turn around. I would talk to Mina tonight. Slowing, I studied her path. It would take her directly to the stream on the western edge of the village. I altered my route, taking care to stay far enough back not to attract attention. I didn’t want anyone who saw me to wonder if I was following her.
The path ended in a series of wide, flat stones forming make-shift steps. The descent down to the bank of the stream wasn’t so far that Mina should be hidden from view, but I didn’t see her as I approached the steps. All I heard was the burbling of water drifting up from below.
I rushed to the steps, wondering if I had followed a little too slowly. Though the stones slanted at a steep angle, they were firmly anchored in the ground, their rough, pitted surfaces providing plenty of grip. I made it down halfway when I spotted her.
She sat on a boulder, leaving her head well below the level of the path. She had her eyes closed, her fingers pressed against her temples. Her lips had twisted into an expression that might have been pain.
Had she been hit with a sudden migraine?
Her head jerked up, eyes snapping open. There was no hint of pain now, and I didn’t miss the way her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her belt knife in the instant before she recognized me.
I froze. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her fingers tightened on the knife for a second before she let go. She stood up, tugging on the tabs of her sky-blue bodice, then smoothing out her skirt. “I was distracted.”
She spoke to me, but it was the same as when anyone else in the village did. There was a distance, as if she wouldn’t have answered at all if she could help it.
Damn. Damn.Damn. Whatever Powell had done was affecting her now, too. My own fingers tightened, the gold hidden in the palm of my hand digging into my skin. I should make my excuses, turn around, and return home. I could pack my things and leave Skorsa. Forget about upholding the Smythson name. Forget about the bitter taste of letting Powell take my entire life from me.
But I couldn’t forget about whatever magic cursed me. Mina had been the only person in years who had looked at me as if I had any worth. If even she now saw nothing more than disappointment, then what chance did I have away from the village?
“Sorry,” I repeated, still not quite ready to turn away and concede defeat. She had recognized my talents when I gave her the necklace for Mistress Wrison. Maybe... maybe she could still be persuaded to see the truth. I had never shifted anyone else’s opinion of me, but I also hadn’t tried for months. Years, really. At first, I hadn’t noticed what was happening, too caught up in the grief of my mother’s death, an unexpected blow only a few years after my father’s. Then I hadn’t understood. Hadn’t believed.
Then I had believed all too well. It was too late. But if I had spoken out immediately, would things have been different?
I held out my hand, my fingers still loosely fisted around the bit of gold I had shaped in secret. “I saw you walking in this direction and figured I ought to make use of the opportunity to give you back your gold.”
She stepped back, her eyes flashing with life. “Absolutely not. I meant it. I want you to make...”
The words trailed off, and she rubbed at her temples once more.
I stepped forward, hope swelling. I flipped over my hand and uncurled my fingers.
Mina stared.
I had made a ring. The band was solid gold, engraved with tiny thorns and leaves. Instead of a jewel, I had used the pink gold to craft a miniature rose, no bigger than my pinky-nail, blooming from the band. It was intricate, but one had to take a close look to truly see all the details.
It was probably too subtle for a woman like Mina to favor.
She reached for the ring in a daze. When she noticed what she was doing, she started to pull back, but I dropped the ring into her hand. Instead of thrusting it back at me, or throwing it to the ground with a contemptuous laugh, Mina held it up to catch the last rays of the sun. She twisted it this way and that, taking in every detail.
“You made this?” Her words were an accusation, and that burst of hope shriveled. I tried to console myself that I at least had confirmation that she appreciated my work, even if she wouldn’t accept that it was mine.
I pivoted. There was no use trying to change her mind. I knew how those conversations ended.
“Wait.”
