"Instead he paid you double and told you not to leave town." He picks his spoon back up, then sets it down again. "That's not better, Edria. That's worse."
"He was entertained." I tear a piece of bread in half. "Rich men get bored. It doesn't mean anything."
"Dark elf lords don't ride back to places that bore them."
I don't answer that, because I don't have a good answer.
Finn waits until Papa gets up to bank the fire before he slides across the bench toward me, shoulders already shaking. He raises one hand, palm flat.
I stare at him.
"You dropped the shoe at his guard's feet," he says, barely containing it. "In front of the whole village."
"It was stupid."
"It was incredibly stupid." He's grinning so wide it looks like it hurts. "It was also the best thing I've ever heard."
I press my palm to his, just once, and pull my hand back before Papa can turn around. "It wasn't brave. It was reflex."
"Still counts."
"It doesn't count if it brings trouble down on the whole town." I glance toward Papa's back, lowering my voice. "People are nervous. Aldric could barely look at me."
Finn's grin fades slightly. "You think Nyrius will actually come back?"
"No." I say it with more certainty than I feel. "He's a border lord with territories to manage. He's not riding back to Oxwood over a smart remark from a blacksmith."
Finn tilts his head, unconvinced. He's fourteen and already better at reading people than most adults I know. "He said he was looking forward to it."
"They say things." I stand and start clearing the bowls. "Arrogant men always say things. It's how they remind you they're in charge."
Finn watches me for a while. "I don't know. He didn't sound like he was reminding anyone of anything."
"Eat your bread."
Malrec arrivesin Oxwood the following afternoon.
I see his horse first—a clean grey animal too well-fed for the roads out here, attended by two men who stand at a careful distance from everything around them. Malrec himself moves through the village with unhurried ease, eyes surveying everything. Narrow-faced, thinning blond hair, robes that cost more than most families here earn in a season. He stops at doorways, asks questions, listens with his head tilted and his grey eyes moving.
Sorella catches my eye from across the lane and gives me a look I know well.Watch yourself.
He gets to me eventually. I'm fitting a new handle to a mattock when his shadow falls across the forge entrance.
"You're the blacksmith's daughter." Not a question.
"And you're the magistrate." I don't stop working. "What can I do for you?"
He steps inside uninvited, glancing around at the tools and stock with the mild interest of someone cataloguing rather than admiring. "I'm asking after yesterday's visit. The dark elf hunting party."
"They needed horseshoes. I repaired them. They left."
"Lord Nyrius spoke with you directly?"
"He did."
"That's unusual." He folds his hands in front of him, patient. "What did you discuss?"
"He threatened to punish me for back-talking his guard." I set the mattock down. "I told him to go ahead. He laughed and left. There's nothing interesting there."
