Page 23 of The Silversmith

I sat, lips parted, gaping. That was my mother he spoke of. I should be angry, but just like yesterday… it felt good to feel defended.

I made the choice not to mention my mother again. The last thing I needed was for Smyth to have it out for her. She was far from mother of the year but I wasn’t sure she deserved whatever wrath this man had in store.

“Eat,” he commanded again.

Gemma and Ezra watched from the other side of the table, trapped between horror and amusement.

“You better do it, Ary.” Caz’s voice was muffled through his own bite. He pointed at my plate of food with his fork. “I’ve seen him lose it over a lot less.”

I sighed and complied. He and the others had gone to great lengths to ensure I was well fed. And he was right—my mother was not here.

The venison’s flavor was rich with the herbs and greenery the deer had eaten. Hints of sage filled my nostrils, and I breathed in the luscious aroma like my life depended on it. It was an effort to keep from groaning while my taste buds worshipped the gift of warm, buttered bread. I shoved away the shame of being helpless and found comfort in feeling full.

“I should have tried to hunt, or… something.” I infused my voice with gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough for this. All of you. I should have tried harder. I should have—”

“Rather than denigrating yourself for failing to thrive alone in a violent, frozen wilderness, you should perhaps wonder why you were left to,” Smyth uttered, his rumbling voice firm and cold. “There is no need to thank us for ensuring you are warm, fed, and cared for. Those are bare minimums.”

Ezra and Gemma opened their mouths to protest, probably to defend my mother, Simeon, whoever else had made the call to hide me here. But they took one look at my pale, bony form—even with the warmth and life the food and fire brought to my face—and thought better of it.

“Besides, you need your strength. You begin training tomorrow, bright and early.” Smyth leaned against the wall beside the hearth, arms crossed. He tilted his head forward, brown eyes blazing. “With me.”

Sleep was again a reluctant companion that night. My thoughts were preoccupied with images of a poised warrior prince destined to be my husband, simmering flames, twisting vines, dancing wind, rushing waters, spiraling, tally-mark tattoos, and a pair of hickory eyes…

***

The inside of the coffin was gold and decorated with carved, delicate vines and flowers. Roses. Odd, because one could assume the interior quality of a coffin wouldn’t matter to a dead person.

Above me, a frosted-glass top distorted any view of the outside. Something small and warm was nestled beside me, breathing rapidly, but evenly. I couldn’t see what it was, and it was too tight of a space to try and look. I focused on my own breathing, but the air felt thin.

Something moved outside the coffin, drawing my attention. A looming figure stood over where I lay trapped, watching me. I gasped. They shifted.

“Help,” I cried weakly, lightheaded. “Please. Let me out.” When I tried to lift my hand to push against the glass, I was too confined. The small thing beside me stirred and whimpered. “No, no, no,” I sobbed feebly.

My breaths quickened, but I drew in less air, like it was dissipating, like I was losing it. I screamed. And screamed. And wailed. And… gasped… and… the figure on the other side of the glass did nothing.

“Let me go—”

“Ary! Ary, please wake up!”

A feminine voice, sharp and warm. Familiar.

I jerked in the coffin to find myself still trapped.

“Ary, stop! Oh holy gods, stop!” The voice again, from somewhere else, somewhere… far away. Panicked. Crying.

A shrill wail erupted from the tiny thing beside me. But I couldn’t help it, soothe it. I couldn’t even help myself.

From that distant place with the panicked voice, I heard a deep rumble—a demand. I screamed, hoping they could hear me from inside this casket.

“I can’t get her to wake up,” replied the familiar woman on the other side. “Please… please help her…”

Strong, swift footsteps.

Then, a lifeline.

“Come back to me, Aryella.”

My eyes shot open. I sat up, spine ramrod straight, salty tears vying for control against the night terror’s grasp. Gasping for air, I anchored myself to the warm, strong presence keeping me steady.