Forging Silver into Stars
: Chapter 23

The world shifts into spring like it’s revealing a poorly kept secret: bitter winds and icy mornings yield to sunlit afternoons and bursts of greenery that appear overnight. I’m always glad when milder weather sneaks into Briarlock. My fingers don’t freeze to the bone while I’m trying to milk May, and Nora doesn’t give me as much trouble when I tell her to fetch the eggs. I’ve held two more messages for Lord Alek and Lady Karyl now, with forty more silvers to show for it. The coins are in a wooden box I keep hidden beneath my mattress, and I feel guilty about every single one.

I haven’t told Jax. I know where the coins are, and as soon as this is all done, I plan to give him his half. But every time I see him, which hasn’t been often, I think of our last meeting. He didn’t betray me, but disappointment and loss lurk in my thoughts anyway.

It doesn’t help that Jax has been keeping his distance, too.

Maybe it’s better this way. I can’t shake the memory of Lord Alek’s threats, and I worry that the nobleman is going to swoop down from the trees and wrap a rope around Jax’s neck if I dare to speak to my friend.

Or … maybe not. Alek’s visits have been brief, but not unkind. He always buys whatever the bakery hasn’t sold for the day, and while he’s arrogant, he’s never condescending. On his second visit, when Nora scurried up the steps upon seeing him again, Lord Alek called up the stairs after her. “Surely you have a bit of your sister’s bravery. You clearly share her beauty.”

“She shares my common sense, too,” I said to him, loudly enough for her to hear. “Which means she won’t fall for pretty words from bold men.”

He looked at me without a hint of humor. “Those aren’t pretty words.”

Nora poked her head down the steps. “I think they are,” she whispered loudly, and he smiled.

She didn’t run from him the next time.

Lady Karyl is more aloof, but she also buys a few sweetcakes when she comes for her messages, and on her second visit, she buys twice as many. She also comments sternly on Nora’s posture. “You are speaking to a lady from one of the Royal Houses, girl, and I understand your mother was an officer in the Queen’s Army. You should stand tall.” Then she took my sister’s shoulders in hand and made her stand up straight.

I expected Nora to mouth off—or to wither from embarrassment, like I was doing. But my sister nodded solemnly and said, “Yes, my lady.”

Later, when Lady Karyl was gone, Nora said, “She reminds me of Mother. I like her two-colored eyes, don’t you?” My sister has been standing more properly ever since.

I don’t want to like either of them, especially because I know how they treated Jax. It’s hard to reconcile the way they treat me with the stories of how they treated him. But just when I start to think I should wash my hands of all of it, business for the bakery begins to flourish. I’ve never seen so many customers, ranging from the lowest commoners to wealthy nobles who flip silver onto my counter without thinking. Some are travelers, boasting about their intentions for the Royal Challenge, whispering about the queen’s new pregnancy. A new baby is always cause for celebration, but there are worries about the birth of another magesmith, and I hear them all. The bakery is a bit off the beaten path, so random travelers and gossip can’t account for all this new business.

Then one morning I hear one well-coiffed woman mention to her companion, “Alek was right. These pastries are divine. Well worth the journey.”

Her companion murmured back, “Did you hear him say her father was a part of the Uprising? I told my husband that the Truthbringers would find more allies in these remote towns. I simply feel safer knowing we’re far from the king’s magic.”

I looked up in surprise when she said that, and the woman caught my eye and gave me a knowing smile, and then a nod.

For a frozen moment, I wasn’t sure what to do. But I knew what my mother would do.

I nodded back. “Yes, my lady,” I said quietly. “I do too.”

If I hate anything, it’s that I feel like I can’t trust my instincts about anyone lately. Tycho was so kind, and he clearly has the favor of the king. But he used his magic to heal Jax’s hand! Like it had never happened! Just because of a few rings? Who else has them? What else can they do? It’s terrifying to think that the king isn’t the only one who can wield such power. It’s not as if Tycho has only ever used it for benevolent reasons. I saw the burn to Lord Alek’s arm.

And while no one would ever label Lord Alek as kind, he hasn’t been cruel to me or to Nora. He saved our lives! He could’ve abandoned Briarlock altogether, instead of bringing his business to me when Jax’s actions upset him.

The warmer weather doesn’t stop the rain from falling, and it doesn’t stop the chores in the barn. I’ve been so busy in the bakery that much of what I could accomplish in the daytime has now been shifted to the evening. Mucking stalls is miserable in any weather, but particularly so when I have to push a wheelbarrow through the mud. The barn is only half done, and I’m all the way soaked, my hair a sodden rope hanging down over my shoulder. Once the sun goes down, the nights are a reminder that winter isn’t a distant memory yet, and I’m shivering while I push the wheelbarrow back inside to clean out the cow’s area. A persistent dripping is somewhere in the corner behind the henhouse, and I don’t want to investigate to find out how bad it is. It’s a miracle that the barn hasn’t fallen down entirely.

A scratch at the wood overhead makes me freeze and look up. Somewhere out in the night, I hear an animal screech, and I jump. We had foxes get into the henhouse last year, and I always worry about wolves in the woods. A gust of wind blasts the barn, and it seems like every wooden panel rattles around me. Another leak starts in an opposite corner, a persistent drip-drip-drip.

I scowl. Maybe the barn will crash down on me right now and spare me a lot of trouble.

A nagging thought in the back of my head screams that I could pay for repairs from the money I’d set aside for Jax.

I tell that nagging voice to go away.

Another gust of wind, and that animal shrieks to the night again, the sound faintly echoing against the mountains, followed by a loud roar of thunder. Muddy May stomps nervously.

“It’s all right,” I murmur to her.

The barn door creaks, and I’m sure Nora is bolting out here because she’s scared of the thunder, though she’d never admit it. But when I turn to look, a man in a hooded oilcloth cloak is coming through the door. I only have one lantern with me, so I can’t see his face, but the shadows and the thunder and the darkness serve to make him a thousand times more terrifying.

I suck in a breath and grip the pitchfork, lifting it menacingly.

He steps closer and shoves back the hood. Lord Alek’s red hair looks black in the lantern light, raindrops gleaming on his cloak. The corner of his mouth turns up in a bemused smile. “I’ve never been attacked with a pitchfork.”

I lower the pointed end and swallow. “I didn’t expect you to come to the barn.”

“Nora told me where to find you.”

I wince at the thought of the muddy courtyard, the door that barely slides. “You could have waited in the bakery, my lord.”

“I know.” He steps closer. “The rain has never bothered me.”

Spoken like someone who can afford an oilcloth cloak. I shiver and turn to shovel another pitchfork full of straw. “Do you have another message for me to carry?”

“Not today.” He pauses, looking around. “Your barn has fallen into disrepair, Callyn.”

He says this disapprovingly, so I shove the pitchfork at another soiled pile. That persistent dripping sounds like it’s mocking me now. “Well, I’m a baker, not a carpenter.”

“And the world is luckier for it.” He looks around again. “I’ll send a worker to do the repairs.”

He says this so casually, but I stop and stare at him like he’s addled. “What? Why?”

He stares at me like I am. “Because I can?”

I turn back to the mucking. If he doesn’t have a message, I’m not sure what he’s doing here. Not knowing leaves me off balance and uncertain. “I’ll get to it eventually. Don’t trouble yourself, my lord.”

“It’s no trouble. I can’t tell people about a wondrous little bakery in Briarlock if they arrive and it looks as though the farmhouse will collapse at any given moment.”

I flush. “Ah, so it’s to keep up your reputation. Perhaps you could simply stop telling them.”

“Are you displeased with your newfound popularity?”

“I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity.”

His voice sounds closer, and I look up to find him right beside me. My heart beats a steady thrum in my chest to find him so close. He’s taller than Tycho, taller than Jax even. And while Lord Alek isn’t strikingly handsome, there’s something about him that makes you look twice. Maybe it’s the dark look in his eye or the strong set of his shoulders—or maybe it’s the casual arrogance that seems to say that he might not be dangerous right now, but he just needs a second.

I shiver again, and this time I’m not sure if it’s the cold or if it’s him.

“You’re not dressed for this weather,” he says.

“I’m fine. I just need to finish the barn chores.” I suck back another shiver. “If you don’t have a message for me to hold, then why are you here?”

“I have deliveries in the neighboring villages, and I thought to stop.”

“Nora could have wrapped some meat pies for you.”

“I wasn’t stopping for the food, Callyn.”

I can’t read his tone, so I frown. “Are you stopping to make sure I’m keeping your secrets? I haven’t told anyone anything.” I set my jaw. “Not even Jax.”

“Oh, I know.”

I glare at him. “Are you spying on me?”

A wicked light sparks in his eye. “Not me personally.”

Ugh. I make a disgusted noise and turn away from him.

“I’m still trying to figure out why you’re doing this,” he says. “You’re not greedy for silver like your friend. Yet you’re not opposed to the king. At least … I don’t think you are.”

“My thoughts on the king don’t matter. It’s not as though I’ll ever meet him.”

Lord Alek scoffs. “Trust me, he’s not worth your time.”

I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, and it sticks to my rain-damp forehead. “Well, your thoughts aren’t much of a mystery.”

“With all your recent business, have you heard the gossip about the queen?”

“That she’s pregnant again? It’s all anyone wants to talk about. That and the competition.”

He shakes his head. “More than just her pregnancy. She’s hardly been seen. I have friends in the palace who say she’s very sick.” He pauses. “That she hasn’t been eating. That she grows weaker by the day.”

“I’ve heard that can happen.”

“Wouldn’t you think her magesmith husband could put his magic to good use?”

I freeze. I don’t know the answer to that question. I think of Tycho and his magic rings, how he mentioned that the king would be quicker at healing, more thorough. He said something about how King Grey saved a pregnant woman once, or regenerated a man’s missing eye.

Why would he leave his wife—our queen—to suffer?

I don’t like all the answers that rush to my thoughts. I stab the pitchfork into the straw again. “I don’t know how his magic works.”

“No one does,” he snaps, “and that’s the problem.”

“Well, you’re not going to find the answer here in my barn.”

“Maybe not answers about magic.” He pauses. “But you see a lot of customers. I think the people should know.”

“Oh, so you want me to spread the word?” I say, then frown. “I’m not a gossip mill.”

He swears, his composure breaking for the first time. “This is not idle gossip. I am not telling you that our queen prefers red jewels over green ones. Our queen is unwell. The king is attempting to distract the people with a competition that will span both borders, while Queen Lia Mara suffers behind closed doors.” His gaze darkens, and standing turns to looming. “I wish to bring the truth to the people, and you act like I’m trying to sow discord.”

Lord Alek takes a step closer, and I tighten my grip on the pitchfork.

He glances down at my “weapon,” before his blue eyes lift to blaze into mine. “You’re afraid of me, when I’ve been nothing but kind to you.”

Honestly, I don’t know what I am. My heart is slamming against my rib cage. Talking to him is so different from anyone else I know. I lift my chin and steel my spine. “I’m not stupid. You said you make a dangerous enemy. I know what you’ve done to Jax.”

“Your greedy friend who was demanding twice as much silver to hold my messages?” Lord Alek takes another step closer to me. “Jax is lucky I didn’t take off his hand to match his leg.”

I swallow. My hands have gone slick around the handle. “You’re right, my lord. How could I possibly be afraid of you?”

“You’re as mouthy as he is, but it suits you better.” He steps even closer, and I lift the pitchfork. He smiles.

Before I’m ready, he grips the handle and tries to jerk it out of my grasp, but I don’t let go. His eyes flare in surprise, but I use his momentum to slam it into his chest, and he falls back a few steps. I redouble my grip and shove hard.

He recovers quickly, wrenching the pitchfork to the side, and for a long moment, we grapple for it. I’m stronger than I look, and I think I take him by surprise. Eventually, though, I’m no match for his size, and he twists it out of my grip one-handed. I’m gasping, trying to recoil, but he catches the neckline of my blouson and pulls me forward, his fist tight on the wool.

“Here’s what I think,” he says, as if I’m not scrabbling at his wrists to get him to release me. “I think you want to honor your mother’s memory, but you’re afraid.” He pauses. “I think you know she’d agree with me. I think she’d be doing more than just holding messages.”

“I think I’m going to stab you when I get the chance,” I grind out.

He laughs. “I rather doubt it, Callyn. I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to tell people about the queen and her sickness, because it’s the truth.” He leans in. “And because I think you’re more like me than you want to admit.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“You’ve attacked me twice, and I’ve never even drawn a weapon.”

I swallow. My fingers slow against his bracer.

“You’re keeping secrets from your friend,” he continues. “A friend you said you were willing to hang beside. So clearly you’re having doubts about something in your life.”

Alek isn’t wrong.

Oh, I’m a horrible friend. My hands fall away. “Please let me go.”

He does, and it’s so sudden and so unexpected that I stumble back.

“I’ll return soon,” he says. “Think on what I said.” He unbuckles the cloak at his shoulder, then holds it out. When I don’t move, he says, “Take it. As I said, you’re not dressed for this weather.”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with my attire.”

“Attire is quite literally my business.” He smiles. “Besides, it would be inconvenient if you were to catch a chill, fall ill, and die.”

“Inconvenient,” I echo.

“Of course! Who else would try to stab me with a pitchfork?”

“I’m sure someone would be eager to oblige.”

His smile widens, but then it slips away altogether. He gestures with the cloak again, but I don’t take it.

He sighs, shakes it out, and sweeps it around my shoulders. It’s heavier than I expect, and warm from his body. It smells good despite the rain, like leather and cinnamon. I hate that anything about it is reassuring and inviting.

While I stand there thinking, he’s working the buckles at my shoulder.

I can’t remember the last time anyone buckled a piece of clothing onto me, and I stand there, trapped in a moment that feels unexpectedly … caring.

“I didn’t send people your way out of charity,” he says equably. “I sent people your way because your apple tarts and meat pies are some of the best I’ve ever eaten, and my business puts me in contact with many who’d patronize your little bakery. And I’m not repairing your barn out of charity either, but because you’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy and loyal. I’ve told you before, and I will tell you now: I’m not a traitor. I care about our queen, and I care about the threat of magic to all of Syhl Shallow. There’s a reason the magesmiths were not allowed to settle here, and a reason they were nearly all killed off by the king of Emberfall decades ago.”

Once he’s done, he steps back. “And finally, I did not stop here today to use you. Tell people of the queen or not. I simply thought you should know.”

I nod.

He brushes a finger under my chin, so light that I might have imagined it. “I stopped here today to see you. No more, no less.” He smiles. “The attack with the pitchfork was simply a bonus.”

I’m not sure what to say.

He glances at the corner of the barn, where the dripping has gotten worse. “Expect someone to repair the roof in the next few days.”

I have to clear my throat. “Yes, my lord.” I hesitate, wondering if I can bring myself to thank him.

He doesn’t wait for gratitude. While I stand there deliberating, he’s already through the door, lost to the windswept darkness.

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