Page 84 of The Silversmith

Until one cloudy winter afternoon, three days before solstice.

I sat cross-legged near the edge of a short cliff looking out at the field I’d ridden the black mare through on my birthday. The field was now covered in a thin layer of snow that glistened rainbows beneath the winter sun’s rays. Like a blanket of fog reminding me that seasons changed and moments were not permanent.

Riding free—with that black mare—had not been permanent.

I heard the unmistakable footsteps, solid and swift, until they stopped behind me.

A coin landed in my lap.

“For your thoughts, Ella?”

I sucked in a breath at the sound of him, enduring a heavy, painful pause between us that spoke volumes of its own.

“Please,” he added, voice hoarse.

I looked up at him and nodded.

Relief poured out in a sigh as he lowered himself to the ground beside me, the stone scratching beneath the heavy soles of his boots.

Long minutes passed. Silent minutes that we spent sitting together, looking out at the field beyond the stables until he finally spoke.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

I forced a swallow. “Yes.”

He turned to face me. “If this is because of our last training session, the day after the assault, then I need you to know that—”

“It’s not. I know why you did it.”

“You do?” His gaze followed mine to my fidgeting thumbs.

“Yes.”

The cooing call of a mourning dove echoed in the woods behind us. I took it as a command from the gods to breathe. Breathe, so I had the courage to speak the truth.

“I don’t know how you can read me like you can, know my thoughts, or see my fears.” I tucked my knees into my chest. “I don’t have to tell you I’m afraid to meet Simeon in Brinnea for you to know it. I don’t have to tell you how uneasy I feel about those Caves and all the people there waiting for me, or how much I dread being someone I’m not. I don’t have to tell you anything for you to know me. You just do.”

Distant wind disturbed a flock of birds in a forest beyond the field. They rose and scattered in a synchronized dance. I could feel his stare locked on me, calming me from the outside in.

“I want to help these people,” I continued. “I want to fight. I’m becoming strong enough—I think—but I’m also starting to understand what—” I clenched my teeth, afraid to look at him. Knowing if I did, I wouldn’t be able to say what I needed to. “I’m starting to understand what I’ll be forced to give up, and that’s why I’ve been avoiding you. Because it hurts to know that they’ll make me give you up, won’t they?” My breath shuddered. I blinked out a tear. “My teacher, my… friend.”

Avoiding him had left an aching hole in my chest. When I was angry, I wanted to tell him. When I was afraid, I searched for the solace I found in his presence. When I was successful, I wanted his praise. When I was happy, I wanted to share it with him. I wanted to watch as joy lit up his face when I smiled. Despite his hardness and his violence, I craved him. His deep laughter and devilish grin. His safety and warm, gentle touch.

The way he made me want to fight.

I wasn’t sure I knew what love was, but I imagined it had to be something like this.

In just a few weeks, I had found in him a soul that connected with mine. As if our bond had been declared by the gods long before a clairvoyant queen’s prophecy. Sometimes I felt like he was an extension of me, and no amount of time or distance could clip the indignant cord binding us together.

But Gavin Smyth was and always would be a man mourning his lost wife. He didn’t follow the rules, and he would challenge authority. And the way he made me feel could not exist alongside Elias Winterton, the man I had to marry to keep my army, to beat Molochai, to save this world.

“When I go to those Caves,” I continued shakily, looking up at him, “they will make me say goodbye to you, won’t they?”

His thick throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he stared straight ahead. The hard planes of his face revealed nothing, but sorrow weighed heavy in his gaze. “Yes.”

I let silent tears fall. And, as if it was the last time I might ever get to touch him, I wrapped myself around his warm, steel arm and held on.

Indeed, I could make this the last time I touched him. I could keep my distance as I had over the last week and a half. Or I could cherish the time we had left, knowing it was going to hurt to say goodbye either way.