Page 63 of The Silversmith

“Did he make you go with him?” His shadow rose up behind him as he turned. A menacing, overwhelming spirit of rage.

“What?” I huffed out. “No, of course not.”

“Was it his idea?”

“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was.” I stepped forward. “I wanted to see the temple.”

“Then ask me to take you there!”

“We were across the street, Gavin!” My voice slipped on his name. “For gods’ sake, we were just across the street.”

He lifted his scarred palm from his side. It was trembling. He was trembling. It was like watching unbreakable steel shake from the force of a world-ending quake. “And I told you five steps, Aryella! Five!”

“Those people were just thieves, not Insidions. Ezra and I were handling them perfectly well before you got there.”

“Were you? Because it looked to me like you were about to get a rusty blade through your neck, and I could’ve…” He reached for my face, then pulled back, helplessly dropping his hand to his side. “I could’ve lost you, Ella.”

The terror in his voice pricked my heart with a blade of its own.

At first, I was touched, but then I realized the earth-shattering sadness I saw in his eyes was the same I’d seen when he spoke of losing his wife. But I wasn’t her. I would never get to be her. He cared for me, and this had only stirred up his past fears, the trauma he’d experienced from her loss. I understood fears all too well. We all had them.

“Gavin,” I said softly, resting a small hand on his elbow. “Just because you lost her doesn’t mean you’re going to lose me. I know you care about me, but I’m not your wife. I am your friend.” The words rolled numbly off my tongue. Empty, but true.

He stiffened like I’d struck him with a bolt of lightning. His body was still waiting to crumble, held together by a glitch in time.

“And you do not get to punish other people for my choices just because they scare you.”

When he turned back, his eyes had cooled into something dark.

A shield of apathy.

“I see,” he uttered.

His voice was detached in a way I could physically feel—like a shard of me had been broken off and submerged into a bucket of ice.

He brushed past me, body frigid.

I preferred his anger to his cold.

***

A hush fell over the back room of the tavern when Gavin emerged from the storage with me in tow.

Standing amongst our friends, Gavin’s friend leaned against a set of stairs and wore a sly, relaxed grin. His brown eyes twinkled. He didn’t flinch in Gavin’s presence. Based on those things alone, I decided I liked him—and his tavern—immediately.

“I’m Damond.” He lowered himself into a dramatic bow, eliciting a light laugh from me. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness.” He nodded to Gavin. “I’m his—”

“He owes me a favor.”

Damond chuckled, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Damond.” I forced a smile and offered him my hand. Bold—I couldn’t remember offering my hand so readily to anyone. “And just Ary is fine. Please.”

“Whatever you’d like, just Ary.” Damond flashed me a crooked grin and took my hand in both of his. “Shall I take you to your lodgings?”

The stairs to the upper level of the tavern protested beneath our feet as we climbed. This place was old, if the shallow indentations on the steps from lifetimes of use were any indication. A hallway, dimly lit with oil lamps, veered off to the left, revealing three bedrooms and a bathroom, complete with a black clawfoot tub, toilet, and sink, all connected to the city’s aqueducts.

At the end of the hall to the right, Damond opened the door to a large room with only four single beds and a well-used fireplace.