I entered the small shop attached to the forge, the bell over the door ringing. Over by the cabinet with the hideous examples of gold smithing, a man fiddled with the placement of the goblets. He looked over his shoulder at me, then turned back, closed the cabinet and locked it. Only after he slipped the key into his pocket did he face me fully.
He looked me up and down, and I recognized the inspection for what it was: a catalog of the quality of my clothes. Each item was priced and my worth summed up in a glance. I knew exactly what the man would see. Clothes a little nicer than those worn by most women in Skorsa, but not by much. My bodice was a sapphire brocade, my skirt plain gray wool. The gold chain holding my charm was nothing extraordinary on its own, and the diamond was hidden from view—not that anyone thought it more than a crystal here.
I forgot about the ring, but from afar, even it barely garnered any attention.
I matched the smith’s scrutiny. Gerald Powell was tall and long in the face, with beady, dark eyes. His beard was just starting to go gray, though otherwise his hair was all a mousy brown. He had the build of a blacksmith going south. This wasn’t a man who still swung a hammer for hours every day.
“You must be Conrad's niece, the merchant girl.” His voice was reedy and nasal.
My finger rubbed over the ring once more, but I didn’t need the reminder. I was all too ready to paint this man as the villain in whatever the story of Alan’s life was. Instead, I needed to caution myself not to leap to conclusions.
I nodded and looked at his feet rather than give into the urge to glare. I modulated my voice, trying to sound as meek as possible. “I am, sir.”
“What do you want?”
I pulled out my knife, angling it so he could clearly see the broken tip. “I need a new belt knife, Smith Powell.”
“Alan!”
I winced at the shrill shout. Out in the forge, the muffled sounds of hammer on metal stopped. A few heartbeats later, Alan poked his head through the side door.
He spotted me and... well, I wasn’t sure what his reaction was, because he froze it before it happened. There had been the slightest widening of the eyes. Then... nothing.
“The girl wants a new belt knife,” Powell told his stepson. “When can I fit her in my schedule?”
Alan stepped fully into the shop. “Let me see what she needs.”
He came closer, his eyes fixed on the knife in my hands until he had crossed far enough into the shop that Powell wouldn’t see that his gaze had shifted. The look he gave me was full of mistrust.
Suddenly, I didn’t know what I was doing here. What had I hoped to learn?
Alan gestured at the knife, but I didn’t hold it out toward him. Maybe I didn’t need to learn anything here. But I needed to talk to Alan. And apologize to him. But not with his stepfather watching. I stepped closer, until I could feel the heat of his body and smell the smoke of the fire. When I was certain his shoulders blocked my face from Powell’s view, I mouthed the words, “Stream. Tonight.”
His head jerked as he took the knife from me and stepped back as if I had burned him. I wanted to ask what the motion meant. Was it a nod? A denial? Was it even an answer at all?
But I could see Powell once more, and the narrow-eyed look he gave me and then his stepson sent a shiver down my spine. Oh, yes, whatever was going on here, he was the villain.
Alan held up the knife, inspecting it. Then he handed it back to me and turned to Powell. “It will be done in four days.”
Powell scowled, but said nothing. Alan walked back to the forge without another word or glance in my direction.
When the door shut, the smith crossed his arms. “It’ll be eight coppers.”
Nearly a half silver. An outrageous price for a simple belt knife, but I didn’t haggle. I could afford it. Better if the smith underestimated me. Let him see nothing more than a naive girl with no money sense. If he thought he was taking advantage of my purse, then maybe he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t overlooking how he used Alan.
Nine
Alan
???
I was asnervous as the first time I had ever snuck out to meet a girl. The memory of that instance brought an unwilling smile to my face. Whatever happened with Mina, it couldn’t be worse than that long-ago night.
I had climbed out my window, ripping the trellis my mother had coaxed roses to grow over from the side of the house, landed in the mud, and looked up to find my mother staring directly at me through the kitchen window. After apologizing, promising to fix the trellis the next day, and returning to my room, I had changed my trousers and tried again. Somehow I didn’t sprain my ankle or worse, but I was late. Which was how I discovered that Kayla Hervor had made appointments to meet several boys behind the general store that evening, their arrivals staggered.
As a consequence, I was probably one of the only men of our age group in Skorsa who had never kissed Kayla. Well, me and Cole. He had never been taken in by her flirting, his gaze never straying from Gemma, who looked at him the same way.
Tonight, I didn’t have to sneak out through my window—though I had reinforced the trellis plenty after that experience. I waited until Powell made his way to the tavern and walked to the stream. Rather than going up to the path I had followed Mina on the night before, Imade my way to the nearest part of the stream, then followed it upriver.
