Page 16 of The Blacksmith’s Wish

There was far too much joy waiting for her this day to waste it on a man who would never be a part of her future.

*

The rattle of the cart’s wheels over the worn path matched the quick rhythm of Effie’s heartbeat. She perched on the edge of the bench beside Beitris, skirts gathered in her hands to keep them from catching the wind, her gaze fixed ahead as though she might will the village to appear sooner. The warm breeze flowed to them, carrying with it the faintest hint of smoke and roasting meat from afar.

“Are ye anticipating seeing someone?” Beitris teased, nudging her lightly. “Sit back before ye tumble off in yer excitement.”

“I am sitting,” Effie insisted, though she did shift a fraction back onto the bench. “Just hopeful that we are not late and in time to help yer parents.”

Liam chuckled from where he guided the horse, the reins loose in his steady hands. “Aye, because nothing of importance begins without Effie McRay to see it done properly.”

“It should not,” Effie replied without shame, lifting her chin. “Else who would ensure Beitris’s mother’s stall is the finest in the square?”

Beitris laughed, the sound bright and easy. “My mother has managed well enough without ye these many years.”

“And yet this year will be better,” Effie said, her grin widening. “I have ideas.”

“That is what I fear,” her brother muttered, though his smile betrayed him. The cart crested the small rise just beyond the village, and Effie leaned forward despite herself.

Tokavaig had transformed.

Colorful banners fluttered from every post and doorway, snapping gently in the breeze. The village square, usually so orderly and familiar, had become a lively maze of stalls and tables draped in bright fabrics. Smoke curled lazily into the sky from cookfires, carrying the rich, mouthwatering scents of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and spiced cider.

Music floated above it all, fiddles and pipes weaving together in a tune so lively it set her toes tapping before they’d even arrived. Laughter rose and fell in bursts, mingling with the chatter of voices, louder and more plentiful than any ordinary day. People filled the square, villagers and visitors alike, moving in clusters, their clothing a swirl of color and motion.

“Oh!” Effie breathed, unable to contain it. “Look at it.”

“I told ye it would be lively,” Beitris said. There was warmth in her voice, as though she shared in the wonder of it. The cart rolled into the edge of the square, slowing as Liam guided the horse through the growing crowd. A pair of children darted past, chasing one another with ribbons tied to sticks streaming behind them, while a group of men carried barrels toward the ale tent, laughing as though they’d already sampled too much of their wares.

Effie scarcely waited for the cart to stop fully before hopping down, her boots meeting the packed earth with a soft thud. She turned at once, reaching up to help Beitris descend, her excitement bubbling over.

“Come, we must find the perfect spot for yer mother’s stall before someone claims it for themselves,” she said, already scanning the rows of stalls.

“Effie,” Liam called after her, amusement clear in his tone, “the spaces are assigned.”

“Assigned poorly, I am certain,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

Beitris only laughed, allowing herself to be pulled along. They wove through the bustling square until they reached a stall near the heart of it, where a sturdy table stood waiting, baskets and cloths neatly stacked beside it.

“There,” Beitris said. “Perfectly fine, I think.”

“Perfectly fine is not perfect,” Effie declared.

She set to work at once, shaking out a cloth and spreading it across the table with a practiced flick, smoothing it with both hands until not a wrinkle remained. She arranged the baskets with care, angling them just so, leaving space for the meat pies that would soon arrive.

“Liam, ye will need to fetch water,” she instructed without turning. “And perhaps flowers, and maybe some ribbons… and something small. It needs color.”

Liam crossed his arms, watching her with a grin. “Aye, mistress of the stall.”

Beitris leaned close, lowering her voice. “She has taken over, has she not?”

“Completely,” Liam replied.

Effie stepped back, hands on her hips as she surveyed her work, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the bustle and the sun. Around her, the music swelled, a new tune striking up as a small crowd gathered near the dancers already beginning to form.

The air was alive, full of promise, laughter, and the kind of magic that only came but once or twice a year.

Effie turned, her gaze sweeping the square, drinking it all in. “Aye,” she said softly, her smile wide and unrestrained. “This will be a perfect day.”