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

“He didn’t say, just said dinner. Though he seemed pretty insistent.”

I didn’t have to ask; I had been invited to the Monroe’s for dinner exactly once a year every year on my writ day. My writ day was still cycles away. My suspicion told me that his invitation had something to do with a truesilver blade sitting upstairs. That Monroe knew about Nahdril didn’t surprise me. He was my patron, and one of the most powerful men in Belen. He had eyes and ears all over Forhd that he paid to know these things, and finding a priceless weapon in a burial cache was certainly something worth knowing.

I looked down at my clothing. It was stained in sweat, ash, and more than a little blood. “I’ll just need a few minutes to grab some things,” I said. “Come inside if you like.”

He shook his head. “Could do with the fresh air if you catch my meaning. Rohger was pouring heavy last night. I’ll meet you out here when you’re ready.”

This was hardly the time to be heading off to the country. I hadn’t seen Lira in days. Seeing her and showing her Nahdril was at the top of my list. I also needed to start on Dallon’s order. No telling how long it might take to get the materials I needed. Four days had already slipped by. I didn’t want to risk missing my deadline, but I could hardly object to my patron and landlord either.

I went upstairs and assessed my wardrobe. All my clothes were in desperate need of laundry, one more task needing my attention. I sighed as I changed back into the blue slacks I wore when last at the estate. They still had all the delightful aroma of horse and road dust, but they were better off than the pair I wore forging. I changed into the cleanest of my three shirts then grabbed a few other personals I would need for the road.

I cleaned my wound and redressed the bandage on my hand. It was healing nicely with the poultice of mint, sage, and lemon I prepared. The cut wasn’t deep, barely a scratch. There was no sense maiming myself for quin’s sake. I would need to restock my medicinals soon; fortunately, Windshear was always good for finding herbs. I put on my gray jacket, buttoned it halfway to the top, then took a moment to adjust the copper stars on the collar.

I grabbed Nahdril on my way to the door, then frowned. I couldn’t just carry the naked blade through the streets, and I certainly wasn’t going to leave it behind, not with the expectation that Monroe wanted to see it. I knew him to be a scholarly man, interested in histories and myths as much as myself. Perhaps his interest was academic, but the gnawing feeling in my gut told me otherwise; this wasn’t a simple social call.

Lacking options, I folded Nahdril back into the black cloth from the House; it seemed understanding.

I took the remaining loaf of bread and cheese from the pantry then stopped at the side table where I kept my ink and pen. I scribbled out a note for Lira, explaining my upcoming absence and promising her an expensive dinner, somewhere other than Turns, as a thank you when next we met.

I closed the note, folded it over, and addressed it with her name, Lira Valerius. I folded the letter into a messenger’s triangle, tucking a copper into the fold to ensure some privacy.

“Ready, lad?” Fedorick asked as I stepped outside.

“Let’s have done with it,” I said, “Just swing me by a messenger post. I need to drop off a letter.”

“That to your misses, then?”

I nodded.

“The Valerius girl, right? Doesn’t she live in Eastquarter?”

I nodded again.

“I’ll just take you around then, mate. No need paying a lackey to do it; she’s on the way.”

I tipped an imaginary cap to him and stepped inside the carriage.

We pulled up to her home a few minutes later. A house guard with a bushy red beard stood at the garden gate. He held a spear with a thick bronze head, dyed or stained in crimson red.

This complicated things. I planned to just leave the note in the post box attached to the outer wall. A member of the staff lurking about would invite questions, questions I didn’t want to answer. My previous encounter with Lord Valerius looped in my mind. He would have told his guard about me or warned him about me more accurately.

I sighed. I should have just used a messenger; at least then, my letter would have arrived with some formality, and without my face attached. A copper would have been cheap compared to the bribe I would likely pay here.

I left Nahdril in the carriage as I approached the guard. I couldn’t imagine strolling up to him with a blade as naked as nethers would be very helpful, let alone one forged of truesilver. I held the letter outstretched in hand and reached for my rapidly emptying purse with the other.

“I am here to see the lady of the house,” I announced, shaking my purse lightly. “Is she in?”

“The lady Valerius is out,” the guard replied, “but I can take the message for you if you need, sir.”

How surprisingly helpful, I thought, and sir no less. I touched the stars on my collar. I was only a first sword, the lowest rank in the Imperial Corps, but I still outranked the house rabble.

House guards, not to be confused with sigil guards that patrolled the House, were either privately contracted or in the case of public officials, assigned from the general recruitment pool. Those seeking to fulfill their ten would often perform a tour of duty as a house guard; it was relatively safe work, but carried none of the clout one would need to make ten; I thought it a terrible waste of time. But as quin