Page 32 of The Silversmith

“How would you know that?” I asked quietly.

“My queen,” he reminded me nonchalantly, and pressed on. “Blue jays represent courage and intuition in the face of fear. Confidence when confronted with insecurity. Do you know what Aryella means?”

“No.”

“It means ‘lion of the gods.’” He covered the distance between us and squatted down in front of me so that our eyes were level. My pulse raced at his closeness, less than a step away, and the way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath, how the wind seemed to move with him, like he commanded the air itself.

“I won’t lie to you, Ella, I’ve seen and felt a lot of things that make me doubt the existence of the gods, but if they’re out there, you’re proof. So forget Simeon and Elowen, forget Elias Winterton, forget everything and everyone else.” I inhaled sharply when he placed one strong, warm hand over my heart, the other cupping my jaw. “You are magnificent. You forge your own path. And your voice—a lion’s roar—will send those who try to control you cowering at your feet.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

Indeed, I struggled to breathe with him so close, so… warm and strong and sure of himself. And this—his gentle assertiveness—was the reason I was drawn to him. He spoke as if my duties as queen meant nothing to him. As if he saw through the walls I’d put up before I could remember why I’d put them there, before I could begin to understand any of this new life. He saw me. The others cared for me, but around him, I didn’t feel the weight of expectations. With him, just him, I felt light. I felt seen and known and real. I felt capable. I felt free.

“What’s your middle name?” I asked softly.

“I don’t have one of those, either.” He saw my face fall, chuckled softly, and squeezed my hand. “I don’t need one. I’ve known who I am for a very long time.” His thumb caressed my cheek. My lungs came close to collapsing at the warmth, the care of his touch, his intoxicating scent, that mix of leather and cedar. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry about me?”

I nodded and smiled at the gentleness glowing brightly in his eyes. He smiled back—that half-smile I was beginning to admire so much. My lips parted and my breath quickened. His eyes darted to my mouth, and I thought he might—

“Perimeter’s clear!”

At the sound of Ezra’s voice, Gavin cursed under his breath and withdrew so quickly, I could’ve been a live flame. He ran his hands through his dark, shoulder-length hair and put what felt like a mile between us.

As if he shouldn’t be touching me, shouldn’t be so close, and he damn well knew it.

Chapter ten

He disappeared for over an hour. After returning, he hardly looked at me for the rest of the night. I tried not to let it bother me, to not feel as if I’d said or done something wrong that upset him or angered him.

I gave my best effort to forget about it and mostly succeeded. I slept hard and without nightmares, thanks to my unyielding exhaustion.

On the morning of the second day, we would pass by the town Caz and Ezra had gone to in search of food, but we weren’t to enter it. Another, larger village was a few hours beyond that one—Freyburn, it was called—and we would be able to seek a fresh meal and shelter there for the night, as well as stock up on additional clothing and supplies that we—me, in particular—lacked.

I was nervous and eager as we drew closer to Freyburn that evening. Eager for warmth, a fresh meal, and a good night’s rest.

We approached the village around dinnertime. Wooden structures—some broad and tall, others small and homey—were covered in a dense layer of snow, heavy and wet. Fresh. Perfect for snowball fights and building figures and animals like I had with Ollie the winter before he passed. The faded colors of wood were dulled by the thin white blanket but provided a perfect backdrop for the wreaths and holly boughs that villagers placed thoughtfully over windows and thresholds.

“Preparing for the solstice,” Caz explained, walking beside me. “It’s also the day that Simeon and Molochai liberated our lands from the hands of the Rexus dynasty.”

My eyes widened. “They still celebrate, despite… everything?”

“We do.” Caz gestured to a group of children laughing and playing in front of a small oak cabin on the corner of a gravel road. “Molochai has taken enough from us. And many of these more remote villages remain mostly untouched, especially this far north.”

I smiled as a little boy, no older than five or six, formed a snowball in his small hands and tossed it at his older brother, only to squeal and dash away when the playful throw was returned.

“Some of the eastern seaports, like Brinnea,” continued Caz, “have lavish celebrations of their own, but you won’t find this farther southwest.”

Southwest of Avendrel, into Tugaf, where Molochai’s forces were far more dense and in control. Where the monsters lurked. The map Finn had shown me had marked the Winterton Caves as a barrier between those hellish, southern lands and the moderate safety of the north. For this reason, I was grateful we headed east to Brinnea to meet Simeon rather than to the Caves. I needed time, and I was grateful my father—my real father—knew it.

I watched the children—those two boys, and a few more down the road—and fought the sorrow that tightened my throat and nipped at my eyes. What could have been, for Ollie.

“Come with me.”

Gavin’s deep, commanding voice startled me out of my thoughts. He gently nudged my lower back, guiding me toward a line of shops down the village’s main street.

“Keep your hair tucked under your hat,” he leaned down to tell me. “It’s too easy to identify.”

We stopped before a shop with wide windows that exposed a warmth inside I craved. Snowflakes, glistening with dancing torchlight from the street, stuck to holly leaves framing the glass.