Page 34 of The Silversmith

“What do your tattoos mean?” I asked, voice timid. Hoping I wasn’t prying too much.

He studied me, carefully weighing his words before he spoke. “They’re a reminder of what’s passed.” And before I could press for more— “Do you want or need anything else?” He took a silent inventory of all we’d gathered and gave a satisfied nod. “I’m sure the others have found a table for dinner by now.”

My stomach growled at the mention of food. “I’m ready to go.”

We—he—paid for the gloves, boots, scarf, hat. Added in a new coat and long, wool stockings before I could object. He knew my size. I supposed he had been with or around enough women to accurately guess.

The shop owner shot me at least five warning looks before we left, and the last thing I heard before Gavin led me outside was a frantic, “You’re always welcome here, dear!”

Beside me, there was an annoyed sigh and a muttering of something unintelligible that the cold wind swept away with the open door.

I bit my lip and smiled. I was afraid of many things, but not my wolf slayer.

***

The tavern was loud and smoky. The six of us sat together around a weathered wooden table in the corner, reinvigorated by the shelter and warmth of the indoors.

Our hostess was a tall, busty redhead whose confidence I immediately envied. Her berry-red lips curled into a seductive smile at all four men in our group. She even went so far to place a set of long, thin fingers on Finn’s shoulder while she gave her suggestions for our meal. Much to Gemma’s chagrin.

Finn smartly shifted out from beneath the hostess’s touch, not daring to look her in the eyes. She then switched her attention to Gavin. My cheeks heated as she dragged her sharp eyes and seductive smile up and down the length of his intimidating form.

Before she could open her mouth, he uttered coldly, without a glance in her direction, “Will I be paying you to serve us a meal or ogle like a bloodthirsty succubus?”

The woman—shocked—cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. And then proceeded to take our dinner orders, not a coy little grin in sight.

Even Gemma was pleased with Gavin’s bitter words for once.

I just hoped the waitress didn’t spit in our food.

After the host finished with our orders, Finn and Caz told stories about their time in the Barracks—a large army base about a day’s walk north of the Caves.

Every spring, my betrothed, the army commander, took a new batch of trainees to the Barracks to complete the final phase of their training and initiate them into the army. The trainees were exceptionally strong men or women who had turned eighteen the previous year. Elias had gone himself three years early, at fifteen, and had taken over leading the tradition for the past nine years. Caz had initiated that same year, then Finn two years later. Gemma went three years after Finn, and Ezra two years later.

“It’s called Commencement,” Caz explained from two seats to my right while we waited for our meals to be served. “Elias and his top commanders come up with a series of challenges—different each year—and each trainee must pass each one in order to matriculate into the forces.”

“What happens if they don’t pass?”

“Besides lifelong humiliation?” Finn shrugged. “They can choose some other role in the community, or they can repeat the following year.”

“The last task is usually some form of combat against his second or third commander,” Ezra chimed in. “You fight them, and they decide if you did well enough to merit their yield. Most of us do, eventually. There’s the rare occasion that Elias steps in himself, though that hasn’t happened since—”

“Hendrix Sharpe and Otis Stoll.” Finn tilted his drink toward Ezra. “Both my year.”

Gemma snorted. “That’s only because those two and Hendrix’s smarmy brother Micah were hanging around Alec Gerard, and Elias was trying to scare them from becoming his cronies.”

I made a mental note of those names to be sure and keep my distance once I arrived. “What’s wrong with Alec Gerard?”

The four of them traded apprehensive glances. Even Gavin, the image of disinterest, had a darkly curious gleam in his eyes.

“Elias used to have two sisters. One older, one younger,” Ezra explained. “I told you what happened to the younger one, Willa.”

I nodded, shuddering. Slaughtered, along with her parents, by the Butcher of Nyrida.

“The older one, Helena, was being courted by Gerard. It ended abruptly, with some suspecting that he did something… unsavory. But there was no proof, and weeks later, Helena died during a run-in with some Insidions on the southern border between Avendrel and Tugaf. Her death was unrelated to Gerard—he wasn’t even there when it happened—but it was too soon after whatever happened between them to give Elias or his grandparents an opportunity to figure out what occurred.”

“Not that Winterton would do anything,” Caz offered, brushing his black hair out of his eyes. For the first time, disgust tainted his usually cheerful gaze. “Gerard’s too valuable a fighter to be thoroughly punished.”

But… Elias’s sister. I frowned at the mug of honeyed green tea warming my hands—courtesy of Gavin’s demand to our nervous waitress—and watched the steam curl up and disappear.