Page 49 of The Silversmith

He sighed. “I promise you’ll have plenty of opportunities to test yourself.” He withdrew his arm from my grasp and stepped away. “But not this. Not right now.”

“You…” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists at my side, not caring that I looked and sounded like a petulant child. “You told me to never let anyone take my choices from me. Are you going to take them from me now?”

His eyes narrowed. He studied me like I was on display, standing in the small clearing of trees, set out just for him. He rested the axe against the base of a maple tree and again closed the distance between us.

My angry pants collected in small clouds of mist between my face and his chest, giving me away. I refused to look up, to give him the satisfaction of knowing how vulnerable I was beneath his glare. But I felt his lips brush against my forehead and my knees began to buckle.

“Of course not, Aryella.” I felt the deep hum of his voice infiltrate my body as he savored each syllable of my name, like he could taste each one. “But if you choose to willingly put yourself in danger, stay alone in the woods where every living, breathing thing wants to devour you, in one way or another…” His nose brushed against my temple. “There will be consequences,” I felt the friction of his beard on my cheek and the air around me thinned, “that you are far from ready for.”

I shuddered. Out of pleasure or fear. Maybe both.

And I decided not to stay behind the next day.

***

To my chagrin, the small, dilapidated village just west of Tovick tested me in more ways than I expected.

Freyburn had felt warm, despite the literal cold. That small city had been living and breathing and full of hope and joy, but this place was gasping for air.

Gavin didn’t insist I hide my hair beneath my cap like he had in Freyburn. The people in this dying village paid no attention to our presence. As if they’d already surrendered to whatever dreadful fate had chosen them.

I shuddered, remembering that feeling.

The few children present weren’t laughing or playing like they had been in Freyburn. The ones I saw were thin, their shoulders and eyes drooping with malaise, exhaustion, and hunger. Stacks of black smoke oozed from ashy chimneys attached to ramshackle houses, many of which crumpled beneath the weight of their own rot. Shops were boarded up, men and women alike lay covered in thin, holey blankets next to buildings, and two skeletal and mangy dogs trod over a pile of trash in an alley between a closed, shabby tavern and empty mercantile shop.

My eyes burned at the sight of a little girl across the path, curled up on a threadbare blanket next to a burnt-down building. Her old house, I assumed. Her eyes were closed, and she was shivering, covered only by a thin coat with no hat, no gloves, no scarf.

“No.” Gavin fastened his gentle but unbreakable grip around my forearm when I turned toward the girl.

I glared back at him, throat blazing with anger. “Either let me go alone or come with me.” My voice trembled. “Your choice.”

After a heavy pause, he unfastened his fingers from my arm and nodded toward the girl. The latter, then. The others watched as we crossed the path and I knelt down before her, ignoring the gravel’s sharp bite on my knees through my pants.

Hearing me approach, she opened her dull brown eyes and sat up, brittle bones struggling to support her weight. Her dark-blonde hair was matted and dirty.

“What’s your name?” I whispered and offered comfort with a gentle smile.

Her eyes widened. She shook her head.

“Okay.” I nodded, keeping my smile. “That’s okay, you don’t need to tell me.”

I started to remove the luxurious green-gold hat, gloves, and scarf Gavin had bought me in Freyburn, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Anything worth selling will get stolen off of her,” Gavin muttered. “Could make her a target.”

Indeed, I glanced around and noticed I was receiving a number of greedy glares from a few men and women close by. All eyeing the scarf around my neck and hat on my head.

My shoulders slumped, until I remembered that my old winter clothes were in my bag. Slightly tattered and fringed at the ends but still warm, still intact. They would help her.

To avoid startling her, I carefully lowered my knapsack from my shoulder and unbuckled it. At the bottom were my old hat, gloves, and scarf. I worked my throat through a swallow and tried to hand her the blue and gray bundle. “Will you take these and wear them?” My voice trembled with tears I tried to repress. “Please.”

Her small, pale fingers were shaking. Fearful eyes darted between me and the towering force of man behind me. A rough gust of wind ruffled her hair, and she flinched at the cold.

“We won’t hurt you,” I promised. “Please take them.” I gently laid the hat, gloves, and scarf in her lap. She was so pale, thin, and cold. She looked afraid to hope. “You’re cold. You-you don’t,” I stumbled out, realizing she reminded me of myself, “you don’t need to be so cold and—”

“Who are you?” The strained, smoky voice of a female on my right made me jump. “Get away!”

I stood to my feet, arms outstretched in surrender as a haggard old woman with a broken cane rushed unsteadily toward me. “I just wanted to help—”