Page 131 of The Silversmith

As I lay awake, I decided to plan for the morning. I would tell him we needed two horses and that we were to head directly toward the Caves. Whenever we stopped to rest, I would require my own space, and when we passed through Tovick, I wanted Damond to take over as my escort.

Maybe the cleanest break would hurt the least.

I had just finished wiping my eyes again when I heard a knock at the door. The chair creaked beneath him as he rose. Two long strides, and he was wrenching open the door with annoyed fervor.

“Smyth?” A timid male’s voice came from the hallway.

“Felix?” Gavin grumbled, then cursed before mumbling something unintelligible to the man on the other side of the door. I tried to remember if Gavin had mentioned a Felix in any of his stories, or if the others had spoken of one from the Caves, but I couldn’t recall the name.

I didn’t bother sitting or turning to face Gavin, but he must have known I was awake, because his footsteps neared. “I will be right outside. Please stay here.”

But after thirty seconds, I rose from bed and tiptoed to the door where I could hear their voices in the hallway. Cringing, I turned the door handle as silently as possible to expose a crack. Gavin’s back was to our room. He towered over Felix, but they were angled so that I could make out half of Felix’s thin face and frame, his blond curls and pointy nose.

“He knows you have Simeon’s daughter, and he’s camped three hours south, by foot. He wants a trade.” Felix nodded in the direction of our room and shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. “He’s got your wife, Smyth.”

Gavin’s muscles tensed, a subtle change in his stature that signaled insidious danger rising to the surface. “Is that so?” he finally replied, a sheet of ice covering what I knew was a tsunami of rage beneath.

Felix swallowed hard, nodded, and said in a low, shaky voice, “Just give the girl up. You’ll get what you want, and this will finally be over for you.”

Gavin’s left hand flexed at his side. After a long, terrifying pause, he uttered with a distant voice, smooth and cold, “Let’s discuss this outside, Felix.” He gave one nod towards the end of the hall where a door led outside to the woods behind the inn.

I held my stomach with one hand and my mouth with the other to keep from throwing up. Beads of sweat and tears burned every surface of my skin. Silent sobs wracked my chest. I should have known. How stupid I had been to say I didn’t want to know. He’d said he wasn’t going to give me up, but he’d lied to me once…

Through my blurry vision, I made out his worn leather bag that sat on the floor beside the fireplace. I lunged for it and began to dig. For anything. For proof that he wasn’t going to betray me—give me up to Molochai of all people, as Felix had suggested he should. For proof that he was, because at least there would be no questioning. Then, I could run. And in my heart, maybe I could eventually mend and make peace with it.

The leather, cedar scent I loved wafted from his bag, undeniably him. There wasn’t much in the worn leather sack other than clothing and hygiene essentials—no different than mine or anyone else’s belongings. With a frustrated grunt, I flipped the bag over to empty it fully.

An old, leather journal fell to the ground at my feet, and out of the journal, a stack of papers bound with twine.

Letters, each one older than the last.

I began with what looked to be the most recent one.

Day 146,797

Smyth,

My father never returned, so I am writing on his behalf now. I think the old sorcerer murdered him before he could get to her. I will continue to search, but I won’t challenge him, and I pray you won’t ask me to.

Felix Morton

Day 146,243

I believe I’ve located her, sir. I am going to infiltrate and attempt to retrieve her for you. Perhaps you will finally be reunited with your wife.

Nigel Morton

There were many more, and they all said some variation of the same thing. These men, the Mortons, had all looked for his wife, but not a single one of them had been able to find her.

My legs shook. Too weak to stand, I knelt before the fire and paged through the letters toward the bottom of the stack.

Day 96,114

I’ve had no luck these past few months. I don’t suspect I will find any more than those before me. But I will keep searching for her, as I know you will too. I pray for your sake that she is still alive somehow.

Peter Morton

Day 83,902…