A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

It was my turn to wink.

She shook her head, braced a slippered foot on the edge of Crylwin’s chair, and not so discretely produced a purse secured to her inner thigh with a matching silk ribbon. I tried to remain respectful—focusing my attention on Crylwin while she handled her… business. I didn’t know Crylwin could blush.

She lowered her leg and opened her purse on the table. She counted out a handful of copper coins then tossed the bag into the center of the table next to Crylwin’s. I moved to protest.

She held her hand up. “In the North, if you drink on someone’s coin, you drink what they bring you. Those are the rules, correct?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’m not drinking that!” she declared, pointing to Crylwin’s empty glass of shock.

She stood, brushed the front of her dress primly and took her handful of coins up to the bar. The men stationed there parted like waves pulling away from the shore. I watched as a few brave souls engaged her in petty talk. I imagine the weather was discussed. She was gentle, considering their varying states of intoxication, laughing politely more than once. She came back a moment later with three glasses of dark, heady beer. She placed the glasses down on the table and selected the one nearest her. She remained standing.

“To Faerin!” she exclaimed.

Crylwin joined her, wobbly at first, then steady with glass in hand. I heard some shuffling of chairs as customers turned to watch. Some may have had their glasses raised too. I could see nothing but her.

“Few see a man for the true worth of their salt; they see them for the stars on their collar or the ones in their purse. Blessings to you, my dear Faerin, now may others see you as I do!” She raised her glass high in the air then brought it to her lips.

“Blessings!” Crylwin shouted.

Scattered applause followed, but I could not take my eyes off her. She met my gaze with an easy smile. I lingered there, and this time, she did not shy away.

We took our seats while Crylwin went to the bar to order us dinner. I took the opportunity to fill Lira in on the events at the House.

“Why would he just gift you two iron?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe he thinks I will make a good officer?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t doubt that, Fae. But why interview you personally? I’ve never heard of the governor himself performing admission audits.”

I shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter now. Just as he gifted them to me, I gifted them away.”

She placed her hand on mine. “You saved their life, Fae. All three of them. I’m not sure I could have been so generous.”

“You really think that? You’re the most generous person I have ever met. It was you that inspired me. You work in the camps all the time. When was the last time I helped there?”

“That’s different. You have some history there…. Well, not these camps… but you know what I mean. No one expects you there, not after what you went through.”

“And you think they expect a Cyllian to come and play the mother to them all?” I shook my head. “That was something I never saw at the camps. Your kindness goes far beyond just coin, Lira.”

She smiled. “Well, thank you. And I’m glad he took a liking to you. Still, the whole thing seems off. I just worry his attention may not be a good thing.”

“Concerns noted.” I made a show of pulling out my writ book and writing an imaginary note in it. She rolled her eyes before tending to her drink.

In truth, that little family owed their lives to her, not me. Consider it an inspired spark of conscience. I cared for my people, some ways less rationally than others. Lira cared more. She not only sympathized with the plight of the Ruk; she did her best to improve it. Much of her free time was spent at the shelters and vocational camps volunteering. She cooked, cleaned, and even cared for the sick—something few Ruk could believe if they didn’t see it with their own eyes.

Thanks to a few concessions, she helped teach there as well. The camps were under the jurisdiction of the Northern Purity Council and funded by the Venticle. That meant she had to teach by their doctrine—Venticle doctrine.

These weren’t like the camps in Cyllia that I called home. Here you were free to come and go, find work, and a place to sleep if you needed it. In practice, the council wasn’t driven to improve Rukish lives any more than the Empire and neither was the Venticle. The priests spoke of the Cause, their divine mandate to uplift the lowly of the world.

I remember the words of the priests. “Quin? Can it be touched? Can it be seen? No child, such things are not real. It is superstition; it is hubris; it is blasphemy. False words from false men. Our god lives of flesh and bone. He is just as real as this loaf of bread. He walks among us even now, a man just as you or I, a new face every day. Hidden, but felt by the righteous. He cares for you just as I do, just as the Empire does. Hungry? Here, take some bread while I tell you of our Lord God Sereventus and his plan for us all.”

The line for bread was always long.

That was where I first laid eyes on her—rallying against some unsuspecting priest done up in his mid-cycle best. I was ignoring the man’s words waiting for the line to move when I saw her. She was as beautiful then, dirty and covered in a day’s work, as she was now in silken blue. She stood there, scolding him amidst a crowd of hungry children. She was an impassioned voice of reason and understanding, critical of his words, the Venticle’s words. Critical of labor practices, declining food stores,