Amira’s ember glowed bright, its warmth cascading all through her. The blacksmith’s apprentice, Garen, stared at her in shock. He’d seen her silver light, and she’d wager it was the first time he’d met another mage. After a moment he bent down and retrieved his hammer, clearly shaken.
“It’s all right,” she said as gently as she could. “I know what you are. I am too.”
Dardan tugged at her arm and hissed into her ear. “Amira, we should do this later.”
The older blacksmith came around to face them, glaring irritably. “What is this about?”
Amira turned to the man. “Forgive me, master smith. Might I speak alone with your apprentice?”
The blacksmith—what was his name? He’d said it, but she hadn’t paid attention. He squinted at her, not looking at all pleased. “We’ve got work to do now, ma’am, if you don’t mind. We close at sundown. You can come back then.” He glared at the apprentice. “You, get back to work. I don’t pay you to stand around gawking.”
Dardan pulled at her again, and reluctantly she followed him. So close! She prayed the boy would still be there later. The memory of Tyndam Town pricked her.
“That could have gone worse,” Dardan muttered once they were outside. “You can’t just rush in without thinking, every time we find… someone.”
He was right, Amira knew, but he had no idea how hard it was. She’d told him again and again, and he still didn’t understand. She’d been living with the ember for months, and knowing that there was someone out there she could really talk to about it—it was magnetic. She held tighter onto his arm and let him guide her back to the inn. She nearly shuddered with elation and anxiety.
When they reached the inn, she let go of his hand. “I don’t want to just sit around all day. Let’s explore the village.”
Dardan sighed. “People will ask questions.”
“Let them. Maybe it’s time my power became more public.”
“No!” Dardan almost shouted. He cut himself off, embarrassed. “Just because Count Barnard reacted well, do you think that means every common shepherd and farmer and blacksmith will? Barnard is a learned man, trained to deal with unexpected situations. Half the people in this town, in any town, would panic and try to kill you. Kill us.”
“I used to be a commoner, dear. We’re more resilient than you think. If they know me first, it’ll be easier. So let’s at least introduce ourselves.”
He stared down at her, those plain dark eyes crinkled with worry. It was that more than anything that had made her start to love him. He worried so much, and all for her. But despite what had happened in Tyndam, she could take care of herself.
“Just be careful. Promise you won’t tell anyone about…” He glanced up at her forehead. “About that, until you warn me first. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you’re going to do.”
Her spine stiffened a little. “I don’t need protection. I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you!” he said loudly, then drew a calming breath. “But I need you to trust me as well. Aren’t we in this together now? Forever?”
Sometimes she forgot they’d actually gotten married. For months she’d expected a big country wedding in Hedenham Town’s square, so to carry it out on the spur of the moment in a strange town had been thrilling and confusing. Her rings were a reminder, but everything that came with it was harder to grasp.
“Promise me,” he said, when she hesitated.
“Fine, yes, I promise,” she said. She bounced on her toes, still eager to explore. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s eat,” Dardan said. “We didn’t have breakfast, remember?”
Amira blinked, and realized that the anxiety in her belly was, at least in part, simple hunger. In the inn, they breakfasted on eggs and sausage and more fish stew. She wolfed down her food and waited impatiently for Dardan to finish, tapping her foot. He ate slowly, smiling at her the more she frowned. Was he teasing her? Finally they went out for a walk.
Most of the buildings in Stony Vale turned out to be made of the same limestone as the mountain that loomed over them, the sharp peak the townsfolk called Caddair Tuol, which meant “Great Watcher” in Old Caelan. Amira saw all the usual landmarks of a small village: a building with the magistrate’s hammer painted on the wall, and the constabulary’s shield below it; an unobtrusive temple next door; a weathered malthouse beside the inn. Amira half considered going into the malthouse to see how they’d deal with a trousered woman entering what was supposed to be a men-only establishment, but Dardan would panic, so she forgot about it. There was a greengrocer, a shop selling kitchenwares and dry goods, and no less than three fishmongers. They passed a weaver, a cobbler, a stonecarver, even a little trading house.
She led Dardan on a circuit of the village, stopping to chat at each shop. Amira did most of the talking, leaving her husband to glance around nervously. The townsfolk were all pleasant enough, though of course Stony Vale had its share of grumpy malcontents. One of the fishmongers chased them out when it became clear they weren’t planning to buy anything. The cobbler gave Amira the hairy eyeball and followed her around his shop, perhaps expecting her to try to steal the shoes he had on display, even though they’d never fit her.
But the greengrocer was pleasant, and even offered them a bite of roasted turnip left over from his luncheon. A flock of goodwives descended upon them when they came outside, curious about these odd travellers and asking for news from parts beyond. Amira and Dardan’s explorations had not gone unnoticed, and the townspeople were talking.
“Is it true the king’s dead?” said one of the goodwives, a tiny black-haired woman in a brown woolen dress.
“King Viktor has died, yes,” Amira said consolingly.
The little woman burst into tears, and one of the other women, not terribly old but with hair already going gray, patted her on the back. “She’s always like this,” the gray-haired woman explained, rolling her eyes; not cruelly, but as if treading old and wearying territory.
“I’m sorry,” wept the little woman, “it’s just so awful! I always heard he was such a good king, so kind and brave, and to hear he’s died…”
Another of the women bulled forward. She had a pointy face and constantly smoothed her skirts. “I heard tell the Vaslanders are coming down into the valleys again,” she insisted, though she mostly seemed to be addressing the other goodwives. “They’ll trample all over us like twenty years past if a stop isn’t put to them.”
“You weren’t but five years old the last time Vaslanders came over the mountains, Caroline,” the gray-haired woman said. “Anyway, that’s miles from here, and why would they come down into Seawatch? The capital’s far west. That’s what they’d be after.”
“I’m sure King Edon will take his army to oppose them,” Dardan said, catching Amira’s eye. She frowned, not wanting to think about that monster, but Dardan was right. The Vaslanders wouldn’t be able to stand against him, not with his power.
The women chattered a while longer before scuttling away. The sun was well past its peak, and Amira grew anxious to return to the smithy, even though it would be hours yet before it closed. Dardan finally relented and agreed to wait there with her, but first he wanted to go to the inn and check on the horses. She begged off and went straight to the smithy. Annoyingly, he made her promise yet again not to tell anyone about her power.
Amira perched on a low stone wall across the road from the smithy. She watched as various townsfolk went inside to place orders or pick up completed ironwork. After a few minutes, she saw a wrinkled, white-haired man walking down the lane toward her. He wore stout wool, no more adorned than any other she’d seen in Stony Vale, and carried a staff in one hand. A sword rode at his hip. The taller, younger man beside him had a sword as well, and in addition wore a mail shirt under a white tabard with a shield picked out in black thread on it: a constable. Amira waited, hoping they would pass by, but they came to a stop before her.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the old man. ?
??I’m Magistrate Baxter. This is Constable Adams.” The taller man nodded crisply. “And who might you be?”
“My name is Amira,” she said with a bright smile. “This is a lovely village you have here. We’re thinking about settling, if there’s land available.”
“You and your…” The magistrate looked down at her hands for a moment, and seemed to notice her rings. “Husband?”
She nodded. “He’s at the inn, looking after our horses, though I expect he’ll be along shortly.” We have horses, and therefore money. We’re no ruffians to be concerned about. She hoped he took the hint.
Magistrate Baxter glanced up at the constable, then looked at the smithy across the way. “You have business with Master Walker?”
“Yes. A personal matter.”
The magistrate’s eyes lingered on the sword at her hip. “Ma’am, you’re free to roam, but I’m going to have to take your sword as long as you’re in the village. Strangers don’t get free rein here.”
“Is one woman with a sword so much of a threat?”
The constable took a half-step forward. “You can hand over your sword or leave the village, it’s up to you.” Amira didn’t like the way his eyes bored into her.
The sword wasn’t much use to her, despite Dardan’s sporadic attempts to teach her how to use it, but she appreciated the looks of respect it got. With a sigh she slid the scabbard from her belt and handed it over. She also had a dagger hidden in a sheath at the small of her back, the way Liam had always worn his, but the magistrate didn’t ask after it, and she didn’t offer.
“This is a peaceful town, and I keep it that way by not taking chances.” Baxter handed the sword to the constable.
“And what if I’m attacked?”
“Like I said, I keep the town peaceful,” the magistrate said gruffly. “Don’t start any trouble, and you won’t have any trouble.” He turned to the constable as they walked off. “To the inn,” he said under his breath.
She hoped Dardan would be as accommodating when they confronted him. He probably would, though he’d argue more. Unarmed, he’d feel unable to protect his wife, and that would gall him. She supposed she could have followed them to the inn, to make sure Dardan didn’t do anything foolish, but she didn’t want to risk the blacksmith closing up shop while she was gone.
Sure as the sun rose in the east, ten minutes later Dardan came stomping up to her. “Are you all right?” he demanded. “The magistrate took my sword, and he said he took yours too.”
She nodded. “I’m fine. He missed the dagger. And of course…” She tapped her temple. Dardan relaxed a hair, but he stayed grumpy, muttering imprecations into the breeze as they waited.
———
The sun slid ever downward. Amira could hear hammers ringing within the smithy, and wondered which was the master and which the apprentice. Garen came outside at one point to dump a bucket of soiled water on the dirt. When he straightened up, he caught sight of Amira and froze. She turned her head to the side again, to let him see her light, and when she turned back to catch his eye again, he flinched and ran back inside.
Finally the sun slipped behind a stony ridge to the west. Orville, the master smith, came out into the evening, and upon seeing Amira strode over to her. He wore a shirt and a heavy leather coat now. “What do you want with Garen, exactly?” he asked.
“I’m…” She stopped, and looked up at Dardan, who stood beside her with his brow furrowed. “We have to start with someone.”
“You have to talk to the apprentice first,” Dardan said.
“Master Orville seems a grounded man,” Amira countered. “I think we can trust him.”
“I wish I knew what you two’re jabbering about,” the blacksmith sighed at them. “My wife’s waiting at home.” He poked Amira in the arm. “Don’t you cause that boy any grief,” he said, and walked off, casting dark looks back at them.
A minute later, Garen came outside. He looked like a man about to be taken to the gallows; his coat hung on him like a shroud.
The smithy did actually have a door, sliding on wheels from behind the outer wall. “That’s a cunning device,” Amira called out to Garen as he clacked it shut.
“Master Orville designed it himself,” the boy said. “Needs grease, but it’s sturdy.” He put his hands in his pockets. “What do you want?”
“To talk. I know what you saw.” She ran a finger down the side of her head. “I see it too, in you. Oh! I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Amira. This is my husband, Dardan.”
“Dardan Howard,” he said, glancing at her sidelong while proffering his hand to the boy.
The apprentice took it. “Garen Stills.” He shuffled his feet a little, but his eyes pierced her.
“You had headaches, didn’t you? Bad ones? And then they stopped, and you could… feel the warmth.”
He bit his lip, and nodded.
“May I ask when that happened?”
“The headaches stopped about two weeks ago.” He seemed reluctant to speak. Maybe because they were out in the open.
“No one else knows, do they?”
He shook his head firmly. “My mum was worried sick about the headaches, till they went away. Missus Walker, too. But they didn’t know…” He looked down, and Amira saw a little bead of silver light zip from his forehead to the ground. Then there was a piff, and a little cloud of dust rose from the dirt.
“I think we can help each other,” Amira said, buzzing with excitement. “I think we must help each other. You’re one of the few I’ve encountered who can do this.” Garen watched her, saying nothing. She had to get him to talk. “Is there somewhere private we can converse?”
The apprentice thought for a moment. “I’m… I’m going to dinner at master’s house,” Garen said. “Maybe… you should come.”
Amira glanced up at Dardan and raised her eyebrows in question. He sighed and nodded. “We’ll have to see how they react. This is very risky, Amira. Take it slow.”
“I know,” she whispered to him. “I will be careful. I promise.” She stretched up and kissed him quickly, then looked at Garen. He watched them warily, his eyes white orbs in the gathering dusk. “Thank you. We would be honored to accompany you.”
The boy nodded again, and strode off at such a pace that Amira almost had to jog to keep up. She managed to pull up alongside him, and kept between him and Dardan. She didn’t want Garen to feel penned in.
He led them through the quieting village, away from the looming mountain and to a row of houses that ran up along a rocky slope. Hearths burned bright in them all. Amira was glad when she stepped out of the cold, salty wind, and into Orville Walker’s house.
The door opened into a small sitting room, with a dining room behind it. A spicy, fishy smell came from the kitchen on one side, and another door led away down a narrow corridor, probably to the bedroom. There was no sign of children, no cribs or toys. Either the blacksmith and his wife had none, or they’d already grown up and gone off to seek their own fortunes.
The woman who bustled out of the kitchen at Garen’s call stopped and blinked at the unexpectedly large party in her sitting room. Amira recognized her as one of the goodwives they’d met earlier: the sensible, graying woman. “Hello, Garen dear,” she said. “I see you’ve brought some guests.”
“Yes, ma’am, this is um… what was your name? Mira?”
“Amira Howard,” she corrected him gently. “And this is my husband, Dardan.”
“How do you do, ma’am,” Dardan said, doffing his hat and bowing.
The woman chuckled. “Oh my, very well, thank you. Orville!”
The blacksmith came out from the kitchen as well, looking unhappy when he saw who stood in his house. “Mm,” he grunted.
“They…” Garen stopped. “Um.” He blushed, looking around as if he hoped someone might pop out of the walls to help him.
Amira stepped forward. “Ma’am, master smith, you have a lovely home. Your apprentice was kind enough to invite us along for
dinner, although I understand if this is an imposition.”
“You talk like a noble,” Orville muttered.
Amira’s stomach dropped, but she held her smile. The smith’s wife clucked at him. “Orville, dear, be polite, they’re guests.” For now went unspoken. “My name is Helen.”
“Can they stay for dinner?” Garen asked. “If… if that’s all right?”
“Well. I suppose so.” Helen eyed Amira’s trousers again. A woman dressed like a man had probably seemed more amusing out in the village than it did in her own house.
Helen conducted them all back to the dining room. Through some clever footwork, she managed to direct Amira to one side of the table and Dardan to the other. Orville sat at the head, with Garen at his left hand, while Helen went into the kitchen to fetch plates.
Orville looked around suspiciously, even at Garen. Amira kept quiet, mulling over how to open the conversation, wondering if Garen would even be willing to talk about his power. She’d hoped for a chance to speak with him privately. Trying to explain their powers to too many people at once would be awkward at best.
This close to the sea, fish was part of almost every meal. Tonight it was sea bass baked with mushrooms and spices, and roasted turnips on the side. There was plenty to go around; Amira could see Dardan’s manners struggling against his appetite. He always did eat a lot. But he manged to confine himself to a reasonable portion.
“So,” Helen said once they’d all been served and begun to eat. “What brings you to Stony Vale?”
Amira glanced at Garen, who stared down at the fish, poking at it with his fork. He wasn’t about to jump in with an answer. “Yesterday’s storm, actually,” Amira said. “A wagoner told us we could find shelter here closer than Seawatch.”
“Hah. That’s all they think we’re good for, up there,” Orville crabbed around a mouthful of bass.
Helen pursed her lips. “What my husband means is that most folk haven’t a reason to come here, off the main road as we are.” She turned back to Amira. “But you’ve outstayed the storm.”
“Yes. Well. Garen?” Amira stared at him until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He was a handsome boy. A man, really, the same age as her if she guessed right, though he clearly hadn’t had the benefit of city life to sharpen him.
He brushed nervously at his hair before he spoke. His words came out strangled, and he cleared his throat. “Missus—Missus Walker, I—” Now he looked at Amira again, eyes beseeching her.
Now or never. Dardan watched her as well, worry stalking every squint of those dark eyes. “Your apprentice is a very… special young man,” she began.
“I’m beginning to think he’s a bit touched,” Orville said.
“Orville’s always saying what a good apprentice he is,” Helen put in.
“He does?” Garen said, blushing.
“Now you’ve done it, woman. He’s not supposed to know that.” But Orville grinned a little at his wife. She smiled thinly back.
“I’m sure his smithing is excellent,” Amira said, “but that’s not what I meant.” She leaned forward. “Garen, can you light a candle for me?”
He blinked. “You mean…”
Amira nodded at him. The room was lit by sconces on each wall, but the candles in the middle of the table were closer at hand. She blew one of them out. “Go on.”
Orville and Helen watched curiously. Orville seemed on the verge of making another crack, but he held his tongue.
Garen stared at the candle and pursed his lips. Amira saw the familiar silver bead lurch forth from Garen’s forehead, wavering drunkenly as it approached the wick. This was a smaller target than before, when he’d just thrown his bead at the ground. Garen stuck his tongue out a little as he concentrated, and the bead grew in brightness for a moment. Suddenly the wick flared alight.
Helen gasped, and Orville shoved back his chair and stood up. “What in the—”
“Please, it’s all right! It’s all right.” Helen was in reach, and Amira took her hand. Dardan, she saw, held quite still. He no longer reacted to Amira’s power with astonishment, but having another mage using that power right next to him seemed to have unnerved him a little.
“How did you do that?” Orville demanded, jabbing a finger at his apprentice.
“I—I don’t know, sir. There’s a… there’s a light, like a little weld I see in my mind’s eye. And if I push it out…” He nodded at the candle.
Orville glared at Amira. “How did you know he can do this? Who in the black spirits are you?”
It took a while to explain her ability and how she’d come to discover it. She left out that she and Dardan were nobles, and everything about Edon.
Instead she said that they were from the west, and that she had been searching for other mages since she discovered her power. She said mages could tell another mage just by looking, but didn’t elaborate about the silver light. Orville and Helen were too bewildered to ask for details.
She was elated to have found another mage to speak with. If the Walkers didn’t panic and throw her out, that is, or denounce her as a witch to the magistrate. She demonstrated her own power to them as well. She blew out all the candles in the room, then lit them in rapid succession. She boiled a cup of water, and charred a piece of roasted turnip. The Walkers, and even Garen, watched in amazed silence. The apprentice stared keenly at the silver beads she made.
“All I want,” she finished, “is to spend some time with Garen. I think we can learn a great deal from each other. It is as with any trade, or skill, I suppose. One smith working alone can only grow in his craft so much, but two can learn from, and teach, one another. And who knows? Perhaps this ability will make Garen a better smith.” She smiled warmly at him, and he blushed again.
Dardan spoke, finally. “Please forgive my wife. She has a great deal of enthusiasm. If you think it would be best if we simply left Stony Vale, never to return, then we will abide by that. In such case, all we ask is that you do not tell anyone about Amira’s ability.”
Amira grew angry. Why was he encouraging the Walkers to throw them out? “If we did leave,” she said quickly to Garen, “I cannot guess what would become of you.” She hoped that he, and the Walkers, would take the message: Garen might be better off if they stayed. Even if the smith and his wife bore no love for Amira and Dardan, they clearly were fond of Garen, and would hopefully see the value in him learning to control this new power better.
“Excuse us,” Orville said brusquely and stood up again. He gestured toward the kitchen, and Helen dutifully stood and followed him out. Amira could hear them speaking in low tones, but it would be impolite to eavesdrop.
Instead she looked at Garen. “They will make up their own minds about what is to be done with us. What about you?”
Garen shook his head. He’d become marginally less tongue-tied as the night went on. “I don’t know, ma’am,” he said. “Smithing, forging, hammering. That’s what I’m for.”
“Leave him be,” Dardan said. “He’ll have to think it through, same as you did.”
“The circumstances are different,” she snapped. “There’ll be no ball here.” No Prince Edon to wreak havoc. Dardan just shrugged.
The Walkers returned in a few minutes. Helen brought in lemon pie and served up slices, saying nothing. Orville seemed annoyed and declined his.
Everyone else tucked in, and when their mouths were all full, Orville spoke. “You can stay. Whatever this nonsense is, I figure it’s better if Garen knows how to use it proper. Send a raw boy into a forge by himself and he’ll burn his hand off before the day’s out.” He glared at them all, especially Garen. “But you two strangers’ll need to find your own lodgings. And Garen’s still got to work at the smithy like normal. He can come train with you in the evenings, after dinner, wherever you end up staying.”
“Or on my day off,” Garen proposed.
“You still need to see your family,” Orville admonished him, then glanced at Amira. “The boy stays here mos
t nights. His family’s an hour’s walk out into the farms.”
“I could ride there with you on those days,” Amira said. “Using the power accurately while on a moving horse is a challenge all its own.”
“I don’t have a horse,” Garen said.
“We have a spare,” she said. Dardan was glaring at her now, but never mind him. “It’d speed the journey, and it would be lovely to meet your family.”
“Amira,” Dardan bit out through gritted teeth. She sighed. Didn’t he realize how important this was?
“It’s time for bed,” Orville announced suddenly, standing up. “I’ll show you two out.”
Amira was prepared to argue, but Dardan stood up just as quickly and spoke over her. “Thank you kindly for your hospitality, master smith, Missus Walker. The pie was delicious.” He came quickly around to Amira’s side of the table and took her arm. She barely had time to stutter out her own thanks before Dardan dragged her out the door into the dark. Orville did not exactly slam it behind them, but it did clatter.
A quarter moon hung above the western horizon, barely augmenting the starlight. Amira shook off Dardan’s arm. “What was that about?” she demanded.
“Offering him a horse? To go visit his family? Are you mad?” She could barely make him out in the glow of hearthfires leaking through windows, but his posture was unmistakably threatening. “I told you to take this slowly! Have you never even heard of caution, woman?”
“Who knows where Edon is now?” she reminded him, bitterness leaking into her voice. “Do you? I have to teach this boy, Dardan. To learn from him. I will not lose him like I did in Tyndam.”
“Are you still upset over that? Amira, it’s been weeks! I’ve told you before, there was nothing you could have done.”
She shoved her hand into her mouth to muffle her scream. How could he not understand? In Tyndam she’d finally recognized the hole that had been growing within her. Katin, her best friend, her vala, could do nothing but watch while Amira explored this ability on her own. Even her growing love for Dardan had only filled the abyss a little. She didn’t believe Edon would ever give up trying to find her, control her, possess her. She couldn’t fight him alone.
And she couldn’t shout all this at Dardan in the darkness. He’d never listened before anyway. “I’m going to the inn,” she hissed at him, and stomped away.
She lay awake in bed for what felt like hours, eventually wondering if maybe Dardan had gotten tired of her and fled the town. She had just begun to drift off when the door creaked open and Dardan came in. She pretended to be asleep as he sat down on the bed beside her, and ran his fingers over her hair. “I love you,” he murmured.
That’s not enough.
CHAPTER 25
KATIN