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

I added a few logs from the bundle to the side and placed them on the embers. They would provide us some warmth as we slept, just enough to keep away the chill. I took the dowel and buried it in the hot coals until the tip carried a small flame. I touched the dowel to the pan of the lamp, and flame burst from the oil-soaked wick. I adjusted the dial and headed upstairs.

By the time I reached the top and opened, Crylwin was already down to his linens and sprawled out on my bed. His clothing and boots were thrown lazily on the floor—his broadsword tucked under his arm like a familiar lover.

I frowned.

My bed was sized perfectly for a petite guest and me. It certainly wasn’t intended to share with a man near my equal in height. Not quite the bedfellow I had hoped for this evening. I prodded at his naked foot.

“What?” he asked.

“You can sleep in Ada’s room.”

“Fuck you,” he said, burying his head in my pillow. “I saved your life tonight.”

“I didn’t think Cyllians believed in quin,” I teased, hoping to prod his ego enough to surrender my bed.

He didn’t answer. I let out a long sigh and unbuttoned the front of my jacket, placing it and my boots on the table. I grabbed an extra pillow and blanket from the cupboard in the washroom then headed down the hall leading with the oil lamp.

I opened the sliding door to Ada’s room. It was quiet, peaceful. I sensed no spirit here, no restless quin lurking among the shadows. I still didn’t feel welcome. This was his room. His things reminded me of him, and I didn’t want to be reminded. I missed him, and sometimes it was easier to forget than to feel the pain.

I placed the lamp on the side table and adjusted the dial to the lowest setting. I knew it to be a waste of oil, but I would leave the light burning tonight. I laid my head on my pillow and tried to calm my nerves. At least his bed was comfortable. I felt my thoughts jumble into fragments as sleep stalked closer.

The beginnings of a dream were dashed as Crylwin called from down the hall. “You awake?”

“No,” I groaned. “What do you want?”

There was silence at first. “How was it?”

I searched for words to describe the feeling I had deep within my heart. How could I describe her? Her feel, her taste, her smell, it would be like trying to teach him to read a book without ever knowing the letters.

I threw a few words together to appease him, but before I could say anything, he spoke, “I bet it was nice.”

Chapter Ten

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

I awoke to the sound of bells. This was concerning because Forhd was not so rich a town as to afford bells. Despite this fact, the sound echoed between my ears unpleasantly. I groaned, forcing myself upright. The world was a cruel place as I leaned my legs off the bed and prepared to stand.

After a moment, the tolling reduced to a low, quiet hum. Light poured in from the oculus hanging above. It was past midday. I walked the hall and looked into my room. Crylwin was gone, and to my surprise, the bed made. I considered going back to bed, but the thought was short-lived. I knew the best thing for curing the ills of a great night was a good meal and a long soak.

I gathered my things: purse, writ, and a pair of leather sandals that Ada made for me. I wrapped myself in a thick linen cover, once around the waist, then over the shoulder. I packed away the shirt I wore last night and a pair of slacks dyed dark blue, a gift from old Monroe on my last writ day.

I went to my washroom and opened the wooden box containing my bathing soap and oils. Sandalwood was my typical scent, but the bottle had been empty for several cycles now. I had been using a citrus oil I picked up at the chandlers in its absence. It left a residue on my skin and smelled too strongly of oranges, but it did a fair job at a penny a bottle. I glanced briefly in the mirror. My ragged reflection confirmed a morning spent in grooming and leisure was necessary.

I slung my satchel over my shoulder and headed downstairs. When I reached the door, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under it. I reached down to pick it up. It had no wax seal and was folded over itself into a triangle, signaling that it had arrived via the messenger network. I opened the note, and the paper tore at the top corner as expected. It read:

Come to the House. Urgent.

–Lira

Did her father do something? Was she in danger? I thought to grab the sharpened piece of flint I kept under my bed when I looked down at the note again. House was capitalized. Alcohol soaked memories resurfaced. She was working today. What could be so urgent? Maybe she was eager to discuss last night? My heart raced. Perhaps she wanted to talk of something more?

I considered changing back into more appropriate clothing, but based on what I had seen in the mirror, it was far more urgent that I get a bath first. I would see her right after, adequately cleaned and dressed.

It was hot today, despite last night’s chill. Immediately I began to sweat. My mouth was dry, so I stopped at Leeman’s for some refreshments. I selected a few ripe oranges and a thick piece of dried meat from within a ceramic jar. I took them to the counter where a white-haired lady was arranging a bushel of carrots.

“Two bits,” she said to me without looking up.

I nodded, then realized I only had hard coin after the exchange