Malrec's expression doesn't change, but his eyes move to my hands, then back up. "You don't seem concerned about the interaction."
"Should I be?"
"Most people would be."
"Most people would have kept their mouth shut to begin with." I pick the mattock back up. "I didn't, so here we are."
He's quiet for a moment. The fire pops behind me, and outside someone's cart wheel squeaks past on the lane.
"You're annoyed," he observes.
"I'm busy."
"You're annoyed that I find your reaction to him interesting." He says it lightly, pleasantly even, which is worse than if he'd said it sharp. "That's telling, don't you think?"
I tip my head back to see him through the smoke. "I think you're a magistrate asking questions about the dark elf party’s horseshoe stop, and I think you're wasting both our time."
He doesn’t look away and shrugs one shoulder. Then he smiles—thin, polished, reaching nowhere near his eyes—and dips his chin.
"Thank you for your time," he says, and leaves.
I stand very still until I hear his horse move off down the lane. Then I set the mattock down a second time and roll my shoulders back.
The forest iscold and windless when I make the drop.
Velis is already there with three men instead of two, which puts me on edge before he opens his mouth. The bundle I've brought is larger than last time—ten blades instead of six. I spent two extra nights on them, and my hands show it.
He counts them fast. "I need fifteen next time."
"I need more time for fifteen."
"Then start earlier." He passes me a heavier purse. "Demand's up. Word is spreading about unrest near the elf borders. People are arming themselves."
I turn the purse over in my hands. The weight of it should feel like relief. "What kind of people?"
"The nervous kind." He glances up. "Same as always."
"Velis." I sigh and weigh the coin purse in my palm. "If I'm making blades for people planning to start a war?—"
"You're making blades." His voice is flat, uncomplicated. "What people do with them after isn't your problem."
"It's somebody's problem."
"Not yours." He nods toward the path. "Fifteen next time."
I walk home with the purse in my pocket and Velis's logic sitting badly in my stomach. I know what I'm telling myself. I know how well it works, right up until it stops working entirely. The medicine cost went up last month. Finn goes through twovials before the cold season breaks. The numbers in my head don't balance any other way.
It doesn't make the unease go away. It just makes it easier to carry.
I'm cutting back through the lower field path when I see the firelight.
Nyrius's camp is set on the flat ground past the mill creek, half-screened by tree line. Four or five tents, horses picketed in a line, a fire burned down to coals. I stop walking. My first instinct is to go wide and around, but the detour adds twenty minutes and my feet already ache.
I move slower. The camp is quiet—a single guard walking the perimeter, the others still. I keep to the shadow of the fence line and watch the guard's pattern before I move across the open stretch.
I'm nearly past when I feel it.
Not a sound. Not movement. Just the pressure of being watched.
