Forging Silver into Stars

By the time dusk falls, I’ve spent my afternoon slicing and measuring and pouring and kneading. I’ve been expecting Jax to show up to tell me what happened with Lord Tycho, but he hasn’t appeared. Worry has started twisting in my gut. Did Jax tell him off again? Maybe he offended the young lord so badly that Tycho rode out of Briarlock for good. Part of me wants to scowl at the thought—but another part wonders if maybe that would be better.

I rub at the pendant under my shirt. I keep thinking of my mother and what she’d think of all this.

Nora edges up beside me, taking a damp rag to the wood to wipe it down. “You’re waiting on Lord Tycho?”

“Definitely not.”

She smiles. “I still think he’s very handsome.”

“Yes, you were very subtle.”

She’s quiet for a while, and when she finally speaks, her voice is small. “I know he has magic, but what if he fancies you?”

“Oh, Nora. Why would he fancy me?”

“Well, he has been here several times.”

I suppose that’s true. And she’s right that he’s rather striking. But I consider the magic in his rings, his loyalty to the king, and I shiver.

Nora is missing all the spots where flour has caked to the table, so I take the rag out of her hand to rub harder at the wood. “You know what Da did. And Lord Tycho is far above our station.”

“He said he was born—”

“It doesn’t matter where or how he was born,” I say firmly. “He’s clearly someone of consequence now.”

But I remember the intensity in his eyes when I said, It wouldn’t be right. And he so evenly responded, It wouldn’t be wrong.

I glance at the window, which only reveals the lightly falling snow beyond. An animal shrieks somewhere in the forest, and I shiver again.

“Maybe he fancies me,” she says. “He did call me Lady Nora.”

I laugh. “You keep right on believing that.”

She steps away from the table and twirls, but her patched hand-me-down skirts are too heavy to flare very much. Then she drops into a ridiculous curtsy. “Why, yes, Lord Tycho,” she intones, “I would gladly take your hand in marriage. We shall have twenty-five children—”

I burst out laughing. “Twenty-five!”

“He seems quite virile—”

“Clouds above, Nora,” I snap, as if he could possibly hear us. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Of course I do,” she says pompously. She curtsies again. “For I am a lady.”

“I’m not sure I know many ladies who’d be commenting on … well, that.” I glance at the darkening window again. “I don’t think he’s coming back anyway, so you can save your marriage acceptance for someone else.”

“Do you want to get married, Cal?”

For a second, I think she’s being playful, so I almost give her a glib answer. But when I look over, her expression is serious, her eyes searching mine.

“I don’t know,” I say.

She grabs the broom from the corner. “Mama always used to say you were wasting your time pining after Jax. I never understood why. I think he’d make a good husband, too.”

She says this so simply, but the words hit me like a rock. Nora was barely eight when our mother died, and it’s rare that she mentions her. “Mama … what?”

Nora begins sweeping. “When you’d go up the lane to bring him sweetcakes, she’d always say it to Da.” She glances over. “Don’t you think Jax would make a good husband?”

“No. I mean—yes. He’s very—” I stumble over my words. Jax is a lot of things. I spent way too much time thinking of the way he brushed flour off my cheek. Or the way he fled here after he burned his hand. “Jax is my friend. Our friend.”

“I suppose he’ll never have a soldier’s pension,” she prattles on, musing while she sweeps. “But you’d never want for new baking pans. And we could make him fetch the eggs every day!”

“So generous.” I snort. “So now I’m marrying Jax?” I say, amused. “I thought I was marrying Lord Tycho.”

“Marry them both.” She winks at me. “I’ve read of such things.”

I stare at her, torn between laughter and shock. “What on earth are you reading?”

“Mama’s old books,” she says. “She has so many.”

Yes, she does. Stacks and stacks, high enough to line the back wall of my bedroom. When she wasn’t on duty as a soldier, she’d be curled up in the bakery window with an old romance while Da was doing the mixing and measuring and baking. He used to tease her that we’d have plenty of kindling for the ovens, but he never dared. I had no idea Nora had started reading the love stories on her own. I want to chastise her, but I’m hit hard with a memory of reading with Jax after he hurt his leg. We weren’t much older than Nora, and I remember giggling with him over the racy bits in some of Mother’s books.

“Is that really what it’s like?” I remember asking him.

He’d blushed so fiercely. “How should I know?”

It makes me smile now to remember it.

The door is thrust open roughly, making the bells jangle. I suck in a breath, wondering if it’s Lord Tycho.

Instead, I get Lord Alek. My heart stumbles in my chest. “Nora,” I hiss. “Go upstairs.”

“You go ups—”

“Go!” I snap. I keep hold of my rag and move closer to the end of the table, where I keep my knives. Lord Alek is through the door, followed by two guards, and he glances after my sister, who’s scurrying up the steps.

“Is your sister running from me?” he says.

“No, my lord,” I lie. “I sent her to fetch some more rags. We were just about to close for the night.”

“Then I’m just in time.” He moves closer to the table, and I swallow. My left hand is flat against the wood by the knives, my right hand slowly moving the damp rag.

I remember thinking Tycho moved like a soldier, but this man moves like a predator. There’s no easy smile, no light in his eyes. Just sharp features and tight movement. Even his red hair is thick and dark, making me think of the color of dried blood, his eyes blue and piercing like someone took the essence of ice and locked it in his gaze. When he draws close, I want to edge away.

“What would you like?” I say evenly. “I have fresh meat pies. One raisin loaf from this morning. Maybe even—”

“That’s not why I’m here.” He steps up to the side of the table.

My hand slips left, reaching for a knife.

He’s quick, though, and he reaches out to smack my hand down against the wood, pinning it there.

I’m quick too. I snatch a knife with my opposite hand.

He grabs my wrist, his fingers pressing into the bones and tendons there. I try to jerk away, but he holds fast. It turns into a struggle, and I swear, aiming a kick for his shins.

Then my back hits the stone wall beside the oven, hard enough to make me cry out. He slams my wrists into the stone over my head, pinning them there. Only sheer luck keeps the knife in my hand instead of dropping it on my head.

“Cally-cal!” Nora is yelling. I hear the guards’ boots shift against the floorboards.

“No!” I shout. “Nora, stay upstairs.”

“Stay upstairs,” Lord Alek calls more casually. “Your sister and I are only exchanging words.” He glances at the knife in my fingers. “Right?”

My breathing is too quick, rough and furious. I strain against his hold, but he’s too strong. He tightens his grip, and I have to bite back a whimper.

“Answer me,” he says.

“Yes, my lord,” I seethe.

“Now, tell your sister.”

“We’re just—we’re exchanging words,” I call. I draw a breath and try to keep my voice even. “Nora, it’s all right. Go pick a book for us to read together.”

I don’t know if she listens, but I don’t hear feet on the steps, and the guards haven’t moved farther.

“I drew no weapon on you,” Lord Alek says. “What stories has the blacksmith been telling you?” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Or have you been hearing lies from the king’s fawning lackey?”

“No one needs to tell me any stories,” I grit out. “I saw what you did to Jax.”

His eyebrows go up. “What I did to Jax? Jax, who accused me of treason? Who demanded a fortune in silver to hold a slip of paper?” He leans closer. “If he doesn’t like such dangerous games, he shouldn’t play.”

Damn, Jax. I knew he was asking too much. Risking too much.

“What were you going to do with the knife?” Lord Alek says.

I glare at him. “Let me go and I’ll show you.”

He laughs lightly. “I like you better than that greedy blacksmith.” He pauses. “This is quite a welcome for a man who once saved your life. Was I wasting my time?”

My breath catches, because for a moment, I don’t know what he’s talking about.

And then, in a snap of realization, I do. I remember the flash of red hair, the loud clash of his sword stopping another.

She’s a child! Get her out of here.

“The Uprising,” I say. “That was you?”

Alek nods. “I find it fascinating that your friend accuses me of treason when you were right there on the palace steps yourself.”

I try not to struggle, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “So were you.”

“I had my own reasons for being there,” he says. His blue eyes search mine. “You were there, but you didn’t breach the castle. Where does your loyalty lie?”

“I wanted to protect my sister.”

“That’s not an answer.” He pauses. “Jax made the choice to carry our messages, but why are you keeping his secrets?”

I swallow, and my breathing shakes. “He’s my friend.”

“So you’re willing to hang alongside him? Is that it?”

I think of Jax sliding silver across the table to me. I think of finding him in the barn, milking Muddy May. I think of him blushing over stories or forging iron or letting me cry on his shoulder after my mother died.

Where does your loyalty lie?

With Nora. With Jax. With the people close to me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I am willing to hang next to him. Just like I was willing to take that blade meant for Nora.”

Alek blinks, then withdraws a bit. His hands slide off my wrists.

“Maybe I wasn’t wasting my time,” he says. “Put down the knife.”

I hesitate, glancing at his guards, then set it on the table. “Fine.”

“Lady Karyl suggested that you were trustworthy,” he says. “But she had not met you.”

I resist the urge to rub at my wrists. “So you came to find out?”

“I did, in fact. I wasn’t sure I recognized you on the first night I came here. I needed to return to be sure.” He pauses. “But I don’t like when people work for nothing more than silver. It makes it far too easy for them to be swayed by the highest bidder.” He pauses, and his voice takes on a note of anger. “And I watched Jax spend the day with the King’s Courier. It makes me wonder which side he’s playing here.”

Now it’s my turn to stare. “He … he did?”

“He did indeed. I was going to wait and seek my message privately, but I determined it would be better to claim it before it could fall into the wrong hands.”

Oh, Jax. What are you doing?

“Jax is trustworthy,” I say. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“Would you?” he says brightly. “I’m glad to hear it.” He pauses. “Tell me why.”

I fumble for words. “Because he’s been my friend forever.” That’s all I want to say, but Lord Alek is still watching me intently. Waiting.

“Since … since before he lost his foot,” I add. “Since we thought he’d be a soldier.” I hesitate. “Since before my parents died.”

“How did your parents die?”

The words pull at my heart, and I don’t want to answer him—but surely he can find out. “My father—he was part of the Uprising.” I swallow. “That’s why we were there.”

“Killed by the king’s magic, then.” He pauses. “And your mother? Was she involved as well?”

“No. She died in the war.” My voice is so soft. “The war against Emberfall. She was slaughtered by the monster.”

Lord Alek goes very still. “Our king was involved with that monster.”

I swallow. “That’s rumor.”

“That’s fact.”

“I don’t—I don’t know—”

“He’s a magesmith. His daughter is a magesmith.” His lip curls. “That monster was created by magic. His bond with our queen was forged with magic.” His voice drops. “Our country has been stolen by magic. Your blacksmith accuses me of treason. But our king commits the greatest treason of all.” His eyes hold mine. He’s so close, his voice so low. For the first time, I notice a light smattering of freckles across his nose, and it’s the first sign of anything that makes him look less severe.

Then he adds, “That monster killed my mother as well.”

My breath catches.

He nods. “And then the king and Tycho killed my sister. For daring to be the first to take a stand against magic.”

I’m frozen in place. “Your sister was the queen’s adviser,” I whisper. Father used to tell us stories of the woman who found artifacts that could bind magic. Iishellasan steel, like Tycho’s rings. There was supposedly a dagger that could kill the king.

“Yes,” says Lord Alek. “She was. And my mother was a general in the Queen’s Army. When that creature attacked, it tore through the officers first.”

“That’s what I heard as well.” My voice is a broken rasp.

He hesitates, and his voice is very quiet. I don’t know if we’ve simply surprised each other, but the air between us has somehow changed. “What was your mother’s rank?”

I have to clear my throat. It’s weird, and startling, to learn this about him. He must think so, too, because the way he’s looking at me is different. It’s no longer so calculating. Maybe that’s what makes me answer. “My mother—she was a captain.”

He frowns, his eyes tight. “So many good people were lost. Too many.” His jaw is tight. “The old queen would have retaliated. Was going to retaliate. But after she died, Queen Lia Mara allied us with them—with him—less than six months later.” He shakes his head and looks away. “My sister was a true loyalist—and she was slaughtered for it. When people air a grievance, they’re accused of sedition. When we speak out against the king, we’re accused of treason. Meanwhile, his power grows by the day. We’re lucky that he was not raised among the magesmiths, that much of his power still remains a mystery. And the people of Syhl Shallow are simply supposed to yield to this? We’re supposed to forget those who were lost?” He runs a hand across the back of his neck, and for the first time, I realize there are burn marks along the leather of his bracer, stretching up along his sleeve. “I come here to talk, and you pick up a knife because you think I am a threat. Yet you allow Tycho to sit in your window as if you’ve known him your entire life.”

I don’t know what to say. Tycho frightened me too.

“What happened to your arm?” I say quietly.

He blinks as if startled, then drops his hand to his side. “I demanded answers from the King’s Courier, and he attacked me with magic.”

He says this so evenly, but it makes my heart pound again, for an entirely different reason. Too much has happened. I’ve seen too many sides to this. Tycho may have saved Jax’s hand—but now he’s used his magic to attack Alek. Alek may have threatened Jax—but he once saved me and Nora.

I hesitate, then reach for his arm. “Are you burned? I have some salve.”

“First you were going to kill me, and now you’re going to mend my wounds?”

“I probably owe you for saving my life.” Those words sound too heavy, and I dodge his gaze as I add, “But don’t worry. I might still kill you.”

He smiles, then offers his arm. The bracer looks like it took most of the damage, but at the bend of his elbow, his shirt has burned away to reveal a three-inch stretch of reddened, blistered skin that reminds me too much of the injury Jax received from the forge.

I fetch my jar of salve from under the work table, then smooth it onto the damaged skin.

He hisses a breath, and I fix him with a look. “Oh, don’t be a baby.”

“Don’t be so cruel.”

“If you don’t like such dangerous games,” I say, imitating his tone, “you shouldn’t play.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes don’t leave mine. The air is heavy and quiet between us. I grow very aware of the weight of his forearm in my hand, the curve of the muscle under the burn I’m treating.

I swallow and let go, then swipe my hands on the rag. “There. Now we’re even.”

“Indeed.” After a moment, he takes a step back. “You say Jax is trustworthy. I think your friend is hungry for silver.”

“No! He’s just—we’re—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lord Alek pulls a folded piece of parchment out of his pocket and tosses it on the table. There’s a smear of blood across the cream vellum, just a drop on the black-and-green seal I’ve seen before.

My breath catches. I don’t touch it.

“Open it,” he says.

My heart is pounding. We’ve been desperate to know what’s inside these messages. Jax has been trying to re-create the seal for days. And now Alek just … wants me to open it?

“Go ahead,” he urges.

I hesitate, then reach out for the folded paper. I slip my finger under the seal, and the paper tears slowly, then gives all the way.

2  Full bolts of damask – purple

3  Full bolts of silk – white

7  Full bolts of muslin

1  Half bolt of cotton

I don’t read the entire list. My eyes flick back up to meet his. “It’s—it’s not a letter.”

“Surely not. A fabric order. Some of my customers pay dearly for confidentiality.”

“So—so these aren’t letters of treason at all.” I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“Not this one. I’m quite literally doing my job.” He pauses. “I’ll return in a fortnight, and you can tell me your decision then.”

Two weeks. I make a quick calculation on whether we have enough silver to pay the tax collector now—and whether that will allow us enough time to gather more to pay what we owe.

But then I realize what he said, and I frown. “My decision on what?”

“I’m not sure I can trust Jax. But you and I are a bit alike, I think.” He leans in, and his voice is very low. “A decision on whether to help me.”

There’s danger in his tone. This might just be a fabric order—or it might not. Or maybe only some of his messages are treasonous, mixed with regular ones to lessen the risk.

There’s no way to know.

Before I can say anything, he straightens. “You have my thanks for the salve,” he says. “How much for the meat pies?”

“Ah …” I scramble to make my thoughts make sense. “Five coppers apiece.”

“Done.” He glances at his guards. “Wrap them all. We can eat while we ride.”

They do, and he pulls coins from his purse and slips them into my hand. “Think on my offer. It’s not treason to question whether someone is loyal.” He folds my fingers around the coins.

I nod. “Yes, my lord.”

He keeps a grip on my hand, holding my fingers closed. “Don’t tell the blacksmith.”

I swallow hard. “But—”

He shrugs. “Your decision. Choose wisely. I make a very dangerous enemy, Callyn.”

Oh, Jax. I think of him telling off Tycho. I have no idea what he might have done to the man in front of me. But I knew he was playing with fire—and I might be, too.

I don’t know what to say.

So I nod. “I’m truly sorry about your mother. And your sister.”

Some of the arrogant stillness seeps out of his expression again, and for an instant, he’s not a terrifying lord, he’s a young man who understands grief and loss as potently as I do. “I’m truly sorry about yours,” he says softly.

Then he lifts my hand with the coins and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. Before I can react, he’s through the door, and cold wind swirls into the bakery, making the fire flicker. Somewhere in the distant forest, an animal shrieks again, and I latch the door. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure my sister can hear it upstairs.

Nora. I fly to the base of the stairs, but she’s sitting there on the top step, just out of sight. Her eyes are wide.

“Don’t marry that one,” she whispers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” But then I think to open my palm, and my breath catches.

No coppers at all.

Twenty silvers.

Don’t tell the blacksmith.

Oh, Jax. I drop the coins into my skirt pocket and ease up the stairs to my sister.