Page 55 of The Silversmith

A sob wrenched itself free from my throat and everything else spilled out.

“Their throats were slit, and they had X’s carved into their chests. And it was done without reason, like—like a means to an end and I was glad they didn’t suffer, but it was so, so senseless.” I shuddered, the words a blur. “His sweet little face was so full of warmth and hope and joy, but when I found him, he was cold and lifeless. But… eerily peaceful.”

Gavin brushed a tear from my cheek, listening.

“I tried to understand. I’ve been trying to come up with a reason. For Phillip, maybe he had gambled or angered the wrong person when he was drunk. But Ollie?” I cried. “Why Ollie?”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes were red with pain. “I’m so sorry.”

“And that’s been my nightmare the past year,” I pressed on, despite my trembling. I hadn’t known how desperately I’d needed to get this out. “But then lately, I’ve been having different nightmares where my body is trapped or I’m bleeding and crying and my soul is in multiple places at once and I can’t find any of them. No matter what I do, I’m hollow. I hear things—like memories, but they’re not memories—and they’re confusing and terrible and they hurt.” I inhaled shakily. “It’s like love and joy have been ripped out of me. Something is taken, but I don’t know what. And because I don’t know what’s been taken, I don’t know where to look for it. I’m just left empty, like I’m not even a whole person.”

“You are whole.” He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “This world is cruel and evil, Ella. People will take from you—they have taken from you—but you are whole.”

The hollow cavern in my chest eroded by grief at the thought of their deaths filled with warmth. With him.

“Maybe.” My breathing steadied on him. “It’s not all cruel and evil.” I cupped his bearded jaw in my small palm. He stilled when I touched him. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Maybe I wanted to hear about his nightmares. Maybe I felt less haunted just knowing he had them. Solidarity in terrible dreams. I shuddered—whatever haunted him had to be worse than I could imagine.

“What do you do to get them out of your head?” I asked.

“I hold on to the first good thing I can think of.” He gave me a soft smile. “Lately, that’s been you. Safe, warm, fed, happy. And you, Ella… you pull me out of my nightmares and return me to my dreams.”

The way his words and touch made me feel threatened to shatter an internal cocoon trapping pieces of me I didn’t know existed. Pieces that felt dormant. I wanted him to shatter me, only to gather me up and keep me safe. Put me back together and keep those broken pieces for himself.

“Do you think I’ll ever find out who killed them? If it wasn’t Molochai…”

He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his eyes somber. “I believe you will.”

“Ezra mentioned someone called the Butcher of Nyrida.” When I said the name, the color left Gavin’s face. “He said it probably wasn’t him, that it would have been… messier. But I think it had to be someone terrible. Do you think they’ll come to kill me?” I swallowed. “Or my friends?”

“I will die before I let that monster touch you.”

Rage swelled inside him, seeped out, and wrapped me in a protective shield.

“Thank you.” I placed my hands on his chest. His thick muscles tensed and hardened like stone beneath my fingers. I pulled back—feeling like I’d been shocked—and shifted to lay down. But when he started moving away—

“You can stay close,” I rushed out. “If you want.”

He didn’t leave my side until morning.

I knew because I hardly slept. I was wholly preoccupied with the life-altering awareness that I was forming a dangerous attachment to him. One that inevitably had to break.

Chapter fifteen

We all ate breakfast together the next morning. Togetherness overshadowed all we had seen that previous day and allowed me to forget who I was, just for a little while. Or rather, who I had to become.

And what that meant for my heart. A heart becoming drawn to someone other than the man I was meant to marry. A man at least ten years my senior. A man tasked with teaching me to protect myself—to kill. A man taking me to my real father, who had likely hired him in some capacity. A man with a wife who was gone but lingered.

The skin around my thumbnail was thin from my nervous biting as l tried not to think about it. After all, I had counted the days since we left, and I didn’t forget what day today was. I could put off the worry, just for today.

Today, I was nineteen.

I felt a brush against my heavy knit sweater and sighed as an extra layer of warmth that smelled of him engulfed me. His jacket.

So much for not thinking about him.