Page 91 of The Silversmith

Ezra and Finn carried Caz to the bed of the carriage, padded with blankets and hay. They both rolled their eyes when Caz cheerfully questioned what he’d done to deserve such “royal treatment.”

He wore a fur-lined brown jacket borrowed from Damond and a dark-green hat. I climbed up next to where he sat reclined and began to mindlessly pat and prod the bale of hay resting behind him.

“You’re fussing, Ary.”

He smiled up at me with his straight, bright smile, but my throat tightened at his complexion. Too pale.

I ignored his comment and tightened his wool cap over ears that poked out beneath a mess of ebony hair. Definitely in need of grooming by the time he returned.

“Is Your Majesty tucking me in?”

I snorted. “You know I hate being called that.”

But indeed, I was wrapping his whole body—besides his injured leg, which had a single, loose covering over the bandage—in blankets.

“I’m fine, Ary.” He took my wrist and lowered it. I sat back on my knees. “Thank you.”

Gemma called and motioned for me to come down from the carriage bed. To the east, the early sun was trying to peek out over the horizon.

Turning back to Caz, I swallowed back tears and said, “Please tell Marin I’m sorry.”

“I can try, but she might slap me. Both for getting my leg blown off and letting you apologize.” Caz grinned when I laughed.

“Ary,” Gemma called again, more impatiently this time.

I carefully wrapped my arms around Caz’s neck. “Be safe.”

When I pulled back, he winked at me. “Not very fun, but sure.”

With one last eye roll, I hopped down from the carriage to face Gemma. She stood confidently in her black fighting leathers with knives sheathed on her belt. She wore a thick gray sweater covered by a worn leather jacket. No hat, but a black scarf was wrapped around her neck, thick enough to pull over her mouth for additional warmth.

“I’m worried,” I began. “The temple will draw their attention, and you might bring them right to you.”

“No second guessing.” She took my thin fingers in her leather-gloved hands and squeezed. “It’s the right call.”

My eyes widened, remembering her conflicting comment from last night.

“It is.” She sensed my hesitation. “If they catch up to us, you won’t be there for them to find. We’ll move fast.”

I tightened my wolf-pelt shawl around my shoulders with my spare hand. She turned away, but—

“Gemma?” I held her hand and lowered my voice. “I asked him to speak with you. I trust him, and I want you to trust him, but…” I winced. “What did he say? Did he threaten you?”

She laughed once, shaking her head. “No, Ary. No threats. I just didn’t know that…” Her long fingers wrapped around mine again, and her breath was a ball of mist when she huffed. “He won’t hurt you.” Emotion brimmed in her eyes as she drew me in for a tight hug.

I returned the embrace, a few tears of my own spilling onto her shoulder.

“Come when you’re ready.” She pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “Do what you need to do to… find yourself. We’ll all be there, waiting for you.”

With one agile leap, she climbed into the front seat of the wooden carriage, her long fingers tightening around both reins.

I hugged Finn next, who was clad in all-black leathers as well.

Then Ezra, dressed similarly. He walked to where Gavin stood by the white mare positioned to lead them. Despite the height Gavin had on Ezra, my cousin sneered up at him, unafraid. I was grateful Gavin let Ezra say his piece with no more reaction than a lifted eyebrow.

Ezra climbed onto the white mare and gave me one last worried glance.

He looked forward, and they departed westward, toward Avendrel, beneath the orange and ocean-blue hues of Nyrida’s densely wooden dawn.