EDRIA
Itell myself I'm not thinking about him.
I'm thinking about the wheel fitting I need to finish before Thursday, about the grain supply, about whether Finn remembered to bank the forge fire before bed. I'm thinking about Velis's demand for fifteen blades and how many extra nights that will cost me. I'm thinking about Malrec's grey eyes moving over my forge like he was pricing everything in it.
I am not thinking about Nyrius.
Sorella doesn't believe me, which is the problem with having a friend who notices things for a living.
The tavern is warm and loud on a Thursday night, smelling of wood smoke, spilled ale, and the mutton stew Sorella keeps simmering from midday onward. I'm halfway through my first cup before she leans across the bar with her amber eyes bright and her coiled hair wrapped up in a deep red scarf, wearing the expression she reserves for information she's been sitting on all day.
"So," she says. “You’ve spoken to him twice?”
“Who are you talking about?"
"The dark elf lord." She refills my cup before I've asked. "He came back to the forge twice. People are talking."
"People in Oxwood talk about everything. Last month they spent a week on Aldric's fence post."
"Aldric's fence post didn't come back a second time." She plants her elbows on the bar. "He delayed his entire hunting party to come sharpen daggers that didn't need sharpening."
"How do you know they didn't need sharpening?"
"Because Perrin's grandson was watching from the alley and said the blades looked fine." She grins. "So why is a dark elf border lord finding excuses to stand in your forge?"
"Because he finds it entertaining to annoy me."
"And do you find it entertaining?"
I drink instead of answering, which she correctly reads as yes.
"Edria." She drops her voice, but the grin stays. "I've seen how you get when something bores you. You don't get that color in your face."
"It's the forge heat."
"You walked here from home."
I set my cup down. "Sorella."
"I'm just saying he's not terrible to look at, for a dark elf." She tilts her head. "Very tall. Good jaw. The white hair is striking."
"Please stop."
"I heard he paid double for the horseshoes."
"He overpaid to make a point."
"What point?"
"That he could." I trace a scratch in the bar top with my thumbnail. "Rich men do that. It's not interesting."
"Coming back twice is interesting."
"He's bored. His hunting party is stuck. I'm a novelty because I don't bow and scrape." I pick my cup back up. "Once thenovelty wears off, he'll move on to the next border village and forget Oxwood exists."
Sorella considers this. She hears excuses all day long, and mine are no different. "Maybe," she says. "Or maybe the way you described watching him walk back from the village yesterday means something different than novelty."
I open my mouth. I close it.
