He paused and risked meeting my eyes a second time. I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
He looked back at the necklace in his hands immediately. “There’s more than enough gold here to make two chains, one rose, the other regular gold. Twisting those together instead of alternating the links would add an extra dimension. Or perhaps two chains of each.”
“I want Aunt Eliza to feel comfortable wearing it any day, not just special occasions, so nothing too ornate.”
“Of course. I’d make the chains quite thin. Even with four chains, it will still be delicate.”
“I’m sold. Everything you’ve said sounds wonderful, so I’ll trust your judgment. When should I come to pick it up?”
Alan hesitated. For a moment, I thought he was about to shove the necklace back at me and refuse. Then he squared his shoulders, drawing to his full height, which was a bit taller than I had first thought. “I’ll have to finish it before Powell returns from this trip in three days. Why don’t you stop by the day after tomorrow?”
I hadn’t expected him to finish it anywhere close to that quickly. I still had nearly a month in Skorsa and didn’t need the necklace before I said my goodbyes. Then again, it was probably for the best if I found out sooner rather than later if I needed to send for something in Haiwella.
Instinct said I would not need a backup plan, though.
???
Leaving Alan stillstaring at the necklace in his palm, I stepped out of the shop. Bright sunlight momentarily blinded me, and I walked directly into a body when the door swung shut behind me. Hands gripped my arms. I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the light, and recognized Sam helping me regain my balance.
Though the entire village thought us to be cousins, there was very little resemblance between us. Sam took after his father, with darkskin and hair. I was supposedly related to his mother, who at least had the same hazel eyes as me, though she was golden-tan with auburn hair to my fair skin and blond locks. Without my charm to twist thoughts around, a blood tie between any of the Wrisons and myself would be laughable.
Sam glanced at the sign hanging above the shop door, then back at me. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing visiting the blacksmith’s, Mina?”
I smiled. Sam had started treating me as a younger sister the moment I arrived in Skorsa. He alternated between being protective, exasperated, and suspicious—just like my younger brother back home. He was only a year older than me, but he still managed to imbue his concerns with the authority of age, something Noel never managed.
“Salvaging the thank you present I bought for your mother back in Haiwella.” I let Sam steer us past the tavern. “I bought her a wonderful necklace, the height of fashion back in the city.”
Sam winced.
“I know,” I laughed. “She’d never wear it. I hoped the smith might do gold work as well as iron.”
Sam continued to lead us to the edge of the cobbled square, greeting everyone as they wrapped up the day’s business. Cutting across the square by the fountain took less time, but Sam never took the shortest route—which explained how he had ended up outside the smithy in time for me to bump into him. The direct route between the village hall and the Wrison home passed nowhere near the forge, which stood halfway around the square in the opposite direction.
“He claims to.” Sam rolled his eyes before rushing forward to help a woman trying to balance a baby and a loaf of bread while being pulled forward by a toddler. He rescued the bread before it hit the ground and gave it to the toddler, who accepted this new responsibility with solemn focus. Then Sam came back to my side, continuing as if nothing had happened. “Master Powell is a fineblacksmith, for the most part, but his goldsmith claims lack substance. Every time a man starts courting someone, Powell tries to convince him to buy one of his so-called rings as a betrothal gift.”
“Those are betrothal rings?” I shuddered at the thought of some poor woman being stuck wearing one of the clunky, misshapen pieces. “Well, I realized quickly enough that he wouldn’t be of any help to me. Luckily, I ran into the other smith. What’s the relationship there, anyway?”
“Alan?” Sam shook his head. “He’s only a journeyman. Master Powell is his stepfather. Alan’s father was a talented blacksmith, but I think Alan only gained his journeyman status because it is the family business. He hasn’t earned his mastery. He’s rather a disappointment to the Smythson name. The men of that family have been the blacksmiths of Skorsa since the village was first established. It’s a good thing for us that Powell moved out here and married the former smith’s widow.”
Someone who had crafted the delicate chain Alan had showed me hardly deserved the label “disappointment.” I had only Alan’s word that he had made it himself, but his suggestions for the new necklace supported the theory that he had artistic vision. Besides, someone had made it, and Sam had confirmed that Powell produced the amateurish rings. It didn’t sound like there were any other smiths in the village.
“You know,” I mused as we turned the corner leading to a row of houses just north of the square, “it’s in the smith’s best interest to make Alan seem incompetent if he only married into the position of village blacksmith. Surely Alan should have inherited the forge?”
Even if he was only a journeyman, he was still of age. By a handful of years, in my estimation.
“Well, yes, but Powell has precedent to claim the property through his marriage to the late Mistress Smythson. The law might no longer make a wife’s property automatically her husband’s, but the village council won’t force him out without another capable smith ready to take over.”
I gaped. Sam's default reactions to all people involved doubt and cynicism. This easy acceptance of Powell sounded nothing like the Sam I had come to know. Work with his magistrate father and listening to arbitrations had trained him to never take people’s words at face value. Nor did he trust appearances.
That cynicism had worried me at first. Then I had realized that he never judged a person without finding the truth and never acted on his doubts without proof. Sam researched everything, spoke to everyone, and noticed all the little details most people missed. His distrust wasn’t limited to boasts, either. He looked past the demurs of the meek to see the deeds they hesitated to claim as well.
My first day in Skorsa, he had introduced me to almost everyone as he showed me around. After each introduction, he gave me a private critique of their character. Old Gordy drank too much, but on young children’s birthdays, there was always a treat on their doorstep, and he didn’t have the coin for a pint. Mistress Rennwaithe sold beautifully embroidered handkerchiefs, though she could barely stitch a straight line, and her nephew beamed every time one was bought.
Sam suggesting that Alan attained his journeyman status because of nepotism wasn’t a surprise. But I expected a critical evaluation of Powell, too. Surely, he saw the same things that aroused my suspicions about the situation.
Only he didn’t. Nor did he list all the facts that proved Alan lacked skill. He didn’t even offer an opinion that the forge should be sold to Powell officially. He just accepted that an outsider deserved to take over a Skorsa business from the of-age, rightful inheritor.
“What if Powell doesn’t want to lose the forge, so he ruined Alan’s reputation?” I asked when it became clear Sam planned to say nothing further.
