Page 8 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

Not by a long shot.

Caw. Caw.

I rub my tired eyes and look up, shielding against the rising sun shining over the moisture left behind from last night’s rainstorm.

An Aella eagle soars through the sky. The incredible creature circles once, its wings casting long shadows as it dives, flying toward the barracks’ aviary in the center of town.

Fingers point in the sky, and the murmurs begin as my neighbors wonder what missive the Fae have sent this time. More astlerium? Faster shipments of the precious metal our men already mine at break-neck speed?

Whatever it is, the Elders will fall over themselves to comply. They always do.

And none of us protest. No one wants to give the Fae a reason to return.

I sigh and lower my arm, then twist my hair into a loose updo for the long walk ahead.

Verdanthians are handed endless rules by the Elders, all in the name of safety. Most of them make sense. But the most absurd? The town smithy—easily the most important building—sits on the outskirts, so near to the Forbidden Forest that I swear glowing red eyes track my steps every time I pass.

You’d think the place where all the mined astlerium is stored, refined, and prepped for shipment to the Fae would be better protected, maybe even at the center of town.

But no.

With our homes and shops made of wood and hay, the Elders say one stray ember from the smithy could destroy everything.

I suppose it’s not a ridiculous fear. But honestly? A tipped candle seems more likely to burn the town down.

Not that my opinion matters. I’m just a woman. A healer. The Elders know best.

I snort and hike my pack higher, sidestepping men and women preparing their booths with wares to sell in the market.

I should be doing the same.

Instead, I’m dragging my aching feet across Verdanthia, bracing myself to make the steep climb up the uneven path that leads to the smithy—a path that’s continually repaired but swiftly re-damaged when wagons weighed down by refined metal travel over the surface.

I round the corner of the abandoned house at the town’s northeastern edge and halt. Two soldiers ride past on freshly brushed horses, finishing their perimeter check. Their polished saddles gleam in the morning light. I step aside quickly, my heart skipping, to avoid being trampled.

Soldiers claim they’re extensively trained to ride the creatures before being assigned one for patrols, but with the number of contusions and fractures I’ve treated from people knocked over by a horse, I’m not so sure their training is sufficient.

I lift a hand in greeting, searching the small openings of their helmets between the forehead and bridge of their noses. They look familiar, but their names escape me.

According to Lev, most of the soldiers our age took leave for the next few days to enjoy the upcoming celebrations. Dian’s even organized a gathering at Odden’s Tavern following tonight’s town meeting. I’m not sure I will join them. It depends on how today goes.

The soldier riding closest to me dips his head in acknowledgment. His horse huffs in my direction. I wait for them to pass, readjust my hold on the strap looped over my shoulder, and begin my ascent.

Smoke plumes in the air in the distance. The breeze brings the smoldering scents to my nostrils. I cough and raise my scarf, not interested in experiencing a breathing attack hours before the festivities are set to begin.

Sweat trickles down my spine by the time I crest the hill ten minutes later.

I prop myself up against the exterior wall, catching my breath, once again cursing myself for not being in better shape. Inside, the clang of metal striking metal reverberates through the air. Wood cracks and sizzles from the large fire in the hearth.

“Anton!” a familiar feminine voice screeches. “How many times have I told you? You cannot add saltdusk into the crucible until you start to see the separation of metal!”

“I did see separation.”

“Then you are blind, Anton. Blind as a Cardovian fox,” Ferria snaps. “Why I waste my time with you is a mystery to all six Gods!”

Rather than leave Anton to endure more of my sister’s feisty temper, I rap my knuckles against the doorframe and step inside. “Good morning, everyone!”

Ferria’s head whips around, her wayward red curls flying. She stands with her hands on her hips, a scowl twisting her lips. Soot streaks her cheeks and forehead. Her worn leather apron doesn’t look much better, but the soft gray dress underneath appears miraculously unmarred.