Page 121 of The Silversmith

The bathroom had a white-tile floor and a shower. Gemma had told me about showers. More wealthy, advanced cities—including the Caves and the Barracks, where Elias trained his army—found elevated sources of water and then built pipes into the walls with pressure to allow for showers instead of baths. And the water was heated through wood-powered furnaces. I savored the ability to cover my healing wound with a bandage to prevent it from getting too wet, as opposed to fully submerging in a bath. When I was finished, I slid into my dress and looked at my reflection in the wall’s full-length mirror.

It had been only weeks since we’d left my old home. I couldn’t believe it, because surely—compared to that pale, bony, lifeless creature who’d lived in Warrich—this was someone else. A stronger, fuller young woman. Despite the wound in my side, I was visibly healthier than even our first night in Tovick.

I had gained a bit of weight thanks to Gavin’s religious insistence that I devour as much nutrient-rich food as I could. But I’d needed it, and even a few pounds had made a difference. The natural curves I’d noticed in Tovick were accentuated now. I’d never thought I was ugly, had never really cared much either way. But I smiled at what I saw. My green eyes were bright, my cheeks and lips were full of color. More… alive.

I really felt beautiful in this dress of sea-green silk. My silver-blonde hair—washed, dried, and brushed—draped over my shoulders in loose, natural waves. The dress had thin shoulder straps and hugged the curves of my waist. The sleek fabric hinted generously at the shape of my breasts. And beneath the silk on my chest, the subtle hints of my peaks pointed in the chilly winter air against the dress’s cowl neck when I moved. The look was elegant and daring, sensual yet regal.

Admiring myself in the mirror, I felt hopeful that he might give in to the desire between us. Tonight was my—our—last chance.

My pulse stuttered and dashed at firm knocks on the door. Three, so I knew it was him.

“Come in,” I called.

I turned when the door opened behind me. He was wearing black from head to toe. His beard was trimmed and his clean, dark hair was tied partially back in a knot. If it weren’t for those few wild features—escaped hair at his shoulders, the few scars decorating his neck and slashing over his right eye—he could be a prince in his own right. A king, rather. Instead, he stood in the doorway looking like a tragic, fallen warrior. Staring at me like I was the last thing tethering him to this world. No trace of a smile on his handsome face.

“I thought…” Immediately, I questioned my choices. “This might be the first and last winter solstice I’ll truly get to celebrate before… everything. And… dinner.” I twirled once, blushed, and frowned when he still wasn’t smiling. “But maybe it sounded better in my head.”

Stupid. This was a stupid idea.

A muscle bobbed in his throat as he stared.

“Are you going to tell me not to wear it?” I laughed nervously.

“No,” he answered, his voice hoarse.

“I found one that wasn’t very expensive.” I smoothed the fabric over my torso and hips. “When I get to the Caves and have my own money, I can send some to pay you back.”

He flinched. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then I’ll find another way to make it up to you.”

“You’ve made it up to me by letting me see you in it.” He cleared his throat. “One glance in your direction, and every man in this city will be begging to fall on a sword for you.” My mouth went dry as I watched him drink me in, his own lips parted. “You are exquisite, unbearably so. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Aryella, and you make it… difficult to breathe.”

“That’s not good.” The words almost got stuck in my throat, the palpitations of my heart like flapping wings that dragged my voice and breath to the pit of my stomach. He made me just as breathless as I seemed to make him. “You should breathe.”

Looking down at his hands, he chuckled, and out of the pockets of his black jacket he pulled tiny, violet-blue flowers with bright yellow centers. Forget-me-nots. They were fastened into a delicate crown, green stems intertwined in continuous loops. He crossed the room and rested it on my head.

“There.” He grinned down at me, looking satisfied. “A crown for my queen.”

I smiled, felt the warmth in my cheeks, and—not caring that I was blushing—leaned over to fasten the strap of the heels I’d purchased. When I moved, he inhaled sharply and took a step away from me.

My eyes darted to the reflection of us in the mirror. I realized I had bent down right in front of him—brushed my hip against his thigh. That he was tearing his gaze away from my body. From the curve of my hips and backside hugged by the silk fabric of my dress.

I swallowed, my stomach plummeting, and stood. “Gavin, I—”

“We should go,” he uttered coarsely, averting his gaze, angling his body towards the door but offering me his hand. “We should go now, Ella.”

“Wait.” It was too cold to wear a dress like this on its own. But I had the shawl made of wolf pelt and knew that would do. The winter night air here was chilly, but not frigid. And I would be warm with him.

I reached back to where I’d laid the wolf’s fur on the bed, tucked it over my arm, and we left the inn for dinner.

***

The white brick tavern was right on the edge of the sea, accessed by a wooden walkway elevated just above the shore—sandy in some places, rocky in others. We were placed between a small evergreen hedge and the tavern. Our table was warmed by an outdoor bonfire. The flames roared at my back from a central firepit surrounded by a few more tables, each seated with two or more people.

Brinnea felt frozen in time, as if Molochai could never touch this place. As if he hadn’t since the day Christabel died and he ransacked the city. It had been rebuilt, and with Simeon here more frequently than not, Brinnea’s wards were the strongest. To Simeon, Gavin said, Brinnea would always be home, which was also why the Wintertons and our army stayed out. The less attention drawn to it, the better. It was the only piece of Simeon’s ideal world still intact, and he had kept it quiet and out of Molochai’s mind as best he could.

It was his last piece he had of his sister.