In the years I had been a smith, the sound of steel pounding steel had always been a balm. The steady rhythm punctured the prattling noise that filled my restless mind and gave me peace, gave me a moment’s reprieve when the thought-filled chatter was otherwise endless. Even sleep wasn’t as calming.
Not today, though.
I exhaled a weary sigh. My hammer vibrated as it connected with glowing metal. Sweat dribbled down my temples, but I had nothing to wipe my face with that wasn’t covered in dirt or ash or splatters of quenching oil.
“Fentyn must be proud to have such a capable apprentice.”
I lifted my gaze to the client. He was examining the new shoes I had already nailed on. Usually, Fentyn helped with the farrier work; today he had left for the tavern before the day had properly begun. I released another sigh before I realized the man was still studying me. Not that I could see much of him—the heavy cloak he wore obstructed much of my view. But occasionally the firelight would catch his hazel eyes. I wasn’t sure why they unsettled me. Maybe it was the yellow-gold that flecked them, bright even from paces away.
Maybe because I felt as though they were searching me for my deepest secrets.
He cleared his throat and I realized I hadn’t responded. I flipped the shoe I was working on, feigning concentration before I said, “I’m . . . I’m not sure.”
“Hmm.” That disconcerting gaze slid to the wall, to the swords and daggers that hung there. Project pieces, mostly; my experiments with shape, form, and design. “Did you craft these?”
I nodded at him, trying to focus on my work. One final client and I was released for the day. A gray mare waited outside, the rear smithy doors flung wide to allow for a bit of air flow. She stared at me as though she knew I was almost finished, and as I approached she patiently lifted her foot so I could nail the shoe on.
“Is Fentyn a . . . relative?” The man asked. His fingers trailed over a blade of folded steel.
“No.”
“You acquired such a coveted apprenticeship by luck, then?”
“Perhaps.” I hesitated a moment. “But my mother . . . my mother was a respected smith. And much of my family before her.”
I glanced up in time to see the man’s fingers tighten around the blade, as though I had confirmed some suspicion he had—an odd response, and I wondered vaguely if he had drawn blood. A heavy weight settled in my chest; unease, and warning. I thought of the dagger tucked neatly in my boot. If I needed to, I would use it. I tapped the nails a little faster, eager to see this client on his way.
The unease I felt seemed without merit, though, and the coin bag he tossed me as he left was plump with gold. I pulled the shoeing fee loose, plus two, and tucked the spares in my pocket. Taking the extra made me feel a bit dishonest but Fentyn was profiting without doing the work and I desperately needed the money. Most of the gold I brought home wouldn’t see morning regardless, if my father had any say in the matter.
My frown melted into a scowl. At least I had some time before I had to deal with him; I was supposed to start lessons with the Princess today. One of them fancied herself a fighter and I had been hired to teach her to defend herself.
As if the Princess could possibly need to defend herself.
I knew the guard that tailed her. Everyone did. Lithe, quick, sharp-eyed—Elven. No one was getting past him. When he had approached me on the family’s behalf I was a bit bewildered. I still wasn’t entirely sure why I was the one training her, and all he had offered by way of explanation was it wasn’t his job.
But I could humor the Queen. The amount of gold she was offering me was no small consolation prize, either; the offering for each lesson surpassed what I made on a good day of smithing.
Another hour passed before Fentyn deemed it fit for him to arrive at the forge, half drunk and sputtering about “his gold.” He snagged the stack of coins off the table and vanished into the back room without a coherent word.
I felt a bit less guilty about the extra gold weighting my pocket after that. A days labor and the drunk hadn’t even given me the wages we had agreed to. Not that it was the first time.
Alcohol was a bane and I would have no part.
The door of the smithy banged shut behind me. If Fentyn heard me leave, he had no interest in having me stay later. Likely he was already sprawled over a chair, clothing skewed, coins wrapped tightly in his greedy fist.
I huffed a laugh at the image in my mind; his grey braid dangling, body wracked with shuddering snores. A heavy weight brushed into my side. The weight of my coin purse lifted. Anger heated my cheeks but I pushed it off, spinning to grip the arm of the man passing by me.
“Is this how you treat your betters?” he snarled.
My fingers tightened into thin, flimsy fabric, and gripped an arm barely bigger around than my wrist. “Put the coin back. I’m not even five steps out the door. Were you waiting for me?”
“You know it doesn’t work like that, boy.” He paused. “And yes, I was.”
“What right do you have—”
“The roof over you head,” he interrupted with a snarl.
I spun my father to face me, or as much as I could. Tattered rags covered his body and he leaned to one side, evidence of his limp—a show that he was poor and worthy of pity, one no one of sound mind believed. He spent all of our coin on the drink, and all of Thrais knew it. I gritted my teeth. “You can’t keep every coin I earn, old man.”
“You’re right.” I didn’t trust the sneer on his face. He pulled open the bag he had filched from my waist and flipped a coin loose. “Your share, son.”
Fury filled my veins, became an angry drumbeat thundering in my chest. I curled the coin into the palm of my free hand and shoved my father away from me. He stumbled a step but I kept moving. If I didn’t, I would be late; and more importantly, he wasn’t worth the extra energy. Not especially when I had a Princess to train.
“Don’t you turn your back on me, boy,” my father called at my back.
“Go drink away my earnings and leave me be."
He didn’t follow. I didn’t expect he would, and with each step toward our home my temper cooled. A lifetime of picking my battles had taught me patience, but it was always a thin line. He knew the only reason I tolerated him still was guilt and money. Besides, tearing the old man apart would only earn him the sympathy he so desperately wanted, and possibly lose me my apprenticeship; and if I stood a chance of escaping him, I needed gold more than I needed to blow off steam.
I needed a home.
***
I shifted uncomfortably, hands held behind my back. The Captain of the Guard, Devlyn, had left me inside the front doors so he could fetch the Princess.
Many in the town, myself included, had seen the outside of the palace; but the inside surpassed even the grandeur I had imagined. My gaze danced around the room, focusing on the smooth stone floors and the lavish art that hung or rested on nearly every surface. The foyer was suffocating. I felt like a smudge or blemish that desperately needed wiped from such a beautiful place, as though even the tiny space in which I stood was tainted by “the commoner.” I didn’t even know if the royalty thought of us this way. But as a poor apprentice blacksmith who had barely had time to change his shirt and wash his face, it was as though the very foundation was shouting that I wasn’t worthy to be standing here.
“Camion, I presume?”
My attention fell to the Princess, descending the last few steps. She was almost a foot shorter than I, and her small frame swam in an oversized cotton shirt. My brow pulled together at the lack of formal clothing, trailing to her tan breeches and polished riding boots before I had the sense to dip into a bow.
“At your service,” I offered.
When I straightened she stood before me, blinking up at me with lavender eyes that glittered with anticipation. I glanced up at her guard, studying me with the most intense stare, before I realized I hadn’t addressed her formally. My mouth popped open, awkward sounds leaving my throat as I tried to form words.
“Call me Natylia,” she said, her growing smile sending a flush up my neck. She had heard those sounds, then. Heat spread to my cheeks. “And this is my guardian, Jyn.”
The Elf lifted an eyebrow, but tipped his head, sending a strand of his black hair spilling from the knot the rest was tied up in. He tucked it behind a long, pointed ear without breaking eye contact. “We’ve met.”
"Oh, right."
I swallowed my growing unease, urged forward by the flush that now colored her own cheeks, and said, “Where do you want to train, Your—Natylia?”
“The grounds,” she said, as if that explained everything. She was past me in a heartbeat. The scent of rainfall filled my nose, chased by a gentle note of honeysuckle. I fought the urge to inhale deeply, then blinked when I realized what I had almost done.
Jyn hadn’t moved, watching my bewildered expression while the corner of his mouth twitched. I sighed and followed his lead.
Natylia was already waiting. A wooden practice sword was shoved into my arms the moment I caught up. “Let’s go!”
The excitement in her tone was infectious, but I shot a glance at Jyn when she formed her stance. His careful countenance broke then, at her uneven footing and poor posture.
“You don’t want me to fight you like this,” I said to her.
“And why not?”
“You’ll lose. Immediately.” Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jyn settle into the grass, arms crossed over his chest and a grin stretched plainly across his face. “We should work on your stance first.”
“Scared of me, huh? I understand, me being a Princess and all.”
I couldn’t contain the snorted laugh that slipped free. Maybe these lessons wouldn’t be so bad after all. Strands of black hair fell into her face, covering up the delicate freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. Inwardly, I shook myself. Not the time to be noticing these things.
Clearing my throat, I said, “No, but you’re wholly unprepared for combat. Of even the practice variety.”
She lunged at me. I wasn’t ready for the attack, but her form was so poor I disarmed her with a flick of my wrist. She went sprawling into the grass, glaring daggers at Jyn who was rolling with laughter.
“I’m coming for you next,” she growled at her bodyguard, wiping clumps of dirt and grass from her hands.
“Please do.” He laughed. “The grass is looking a little long over here, a couple more of those and you’ll save the gardeners some work.”
Their banter put me at ease. I had worried the Princess would be stiff, unforgiving of wasted time, overly hard on the mistakes she made while learning. Natylia was proving me wrong.
I bent for her sword, holding the hilt to her. She studied me through narrowed eyes, slender fingers looping the wooden weapon.
“Aren’t you going to laugh at me too?”
“I’m laughing on the inside.” I held my breath, waited to see how she would react. Jyn burst into fresh peals of laughter, but Natylia rolled her eyes.
“All right fine, teach me what I did wrong.” But the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Everything,” I joked, my confidence growing. “You’ve had no formal training, correct?”
“None.”
“Then we’re right where I’d expect you to be.”
“You expected me to be terrible?”
“I expected you to be . . .” I trailed off at her raised eyebrow. “Well, yes, I expected you to be terrible.”
She scoffed, but was patient as I taught her the correct stance. I showed her how to balance her weight, how to tighten her core, how to properly grip her weapon. Jyn had produced a book from some unknown location and was now pouring over the pages, utterly disinterested in his charge’s posture. After a while of this I began walking her through combat maneuvers. With each change of stance she seemed a bit more confident, and I couldn’t help but get excited about what this could mean for her training.
In theory, she was actually quite good. She learned quickly, and even when sweat began to bead on her brow she kept trying. Her form was improving with every slow-motion drill I led her through.
Then she lunged again. This time, in the midst of demonstrating proper footing, I wasn’t prepared for the attack. The solid wood point of her practice blade rammed into my stomach. I grunted, spinning for my own sword to disarm her with. Before I could get my fingers around it she hit me again, a solid blow to my back that sent a shiver of irritation and amusement through me.
This slip of a Princess was not going to make a fool of me on her very first day of training. I swung my sword around, ignoring the throbbing, and knocked her blade from her hands. She didn’t frown this time. No, instead she did a dance, smirking defiantly.
“So, still think I’m terrible?”
“Striking a man when his back is turned is actually pretty terrible, yes,” Jyn called.
I straightened, tossed the wooden practice sword to the ground, and took two long strides forward. In three swift motions Natylia was on her stomach, her arms craned behind her back.
“Rule number one; don’t let your guard down.” I laughed, releasing her wrists.
She rolled onto her back. “And number two?”
Sunlight caught those lavender eyes, and for a moment, I lost all thought. I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful, the flickering amethyst color like purple stars in the daytime sky. But they weren’t stars, and I was hypnotized.
She clambered to her feet, stepping closer and staring up at me, before I regained myself.
“Rule number two?” she repeated.
“I was hoping to make something up,” I said, offering her as much of a smile as I could muster.
Natylia laughed and the sound sent a fluttering through my chest.
Oh.
This Princess was trouble walking.
But if I was honest with myself, after all that I had been through, maybe she was the good kind of trouble.
And maybe I was okay with that.
(Characters and story ©Tyffany Hackett and Archangel Publishing)
