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

and silver hair. It was familiar, though I never recall seeing it before.

Then it was gone.

Chapter Thirty and Two

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

“Wake up,” a voice said, dragging me from my slumber.

I looked up at the oculus above. It was near midday.

Across the room, Crylwin was sitting in an oversized chair facing the fire. He turned to me, face pale. “I heard you killed five of those little bastards last night.”

I sat up in bed. “It was more like eight. I heard you killed ten yourself.”

He turned back to the fire, grinning. “More like twenty.”

I dragged myself out of bed to join him. The potion bottles stared at me suggestively from the bedside table. I flexed my leg and measured the pain. It hurt, but it was bearable. It would do as a good reminder over the next few days. I eased weight onto it and shuffled over to where Crylwin waited.

“Quill wanted me to give you this,” he said, tapping a wooden cane he held across his lap.

“Won’t that be the day?” I grumbled, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “It’s pretty nice craftsmanship, elderwood, I suppose?” He stretched the cane out to me.

I took the cane from him. “Looks like it, nice scrollwork too. A fine gift for any ada.”

Crylwin leaned back into his chair and smiled.

“Have you seen, Lira?” I asked.

“No, really, I’m fine, mate. Thanks for asking. Just an arrow to the chest with a bit of Golmere venom on it. Not a big deal, I suppose.”

I rolled my eyes. “How are you? Seriously?”

He touched at the bandage under his dark blue robe. “Missed everything vital except my pride.”

“Well, you look like shit. What did Quill say?”

“Eh, he said a cycle or more, and I should be back on my feet. But you know how that mother hen can be.”

I tapped at the cane. “I sure do.”

He turned back to the fire. “Lira left a little after dawn. She was in a rush, so I had Rick take her back first thing.”

“You should have woken me.”

“I thought I just did.”

I rolled my eyes again. “So is there a reason you dropped in for a visit? Or are you just here to irritate me?”

He turned his attention to the pile of gifts on the floor. “Rough night?”

I stood up from my chair and headed to the crystal jar that held a welcoming brown liquor. “Too early for a drink?”

He waved his hand. “Quill has me on some concoction to keep the swelling down. Says I can’t drink while I’m on it. Tastes like horse piss.”

I poured a glass and retook my seat. “Knowing Quill, that’s probably all it is. He’s probably in his room having one hell of a laugh.”

He chuckled and then winced from the pain.

A long silence filled the space between us.

“Crylwin I…”

“Save it,” he said. “You did what you could. We all did. What’s done is done.”

I paused. I wasn’t looking for validation or redemption. I was just…

“I’m going home,” I said flatly, surprised at how easily the words passed my lips.

He didn’t look up from the fire. “You are home.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “This is your home; mine is…mine is far away from here.”

“Do you think you will feel any better?” Crylwin asked. “Do you think that when you climb the stairs up to that little room above an empty workshop full of old dust and old memories that somehow you will forget what happened?”

I didn’t respond.

“Faerin, the only way you get through this is to face it. Confront it, wrestle that feeling to the ground until it submits to your will. You cannot hide from this any more than you can turn back time and stop yourself from sending him beyond the walls.”

I looked away from him. I was angry. I wasn’t trying to run away from this. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he see that me leaving was the best thing for everyone? I didn’t want this responsibility. I had been a lord for a day and had already—

“Do you think you’re the only with blood on your hands?” He held his hands out in front of him. “Do you think you are the only one to make a mistake?”

He turned to me then. “You think this is your fault?”

I didn’t answer, but I did not look away.

“Do you think this is your fault!?” he shouted.

“Yes!” I shouted back. “Yes, it’s my fault! I put him there! I’m the one that wanted him out of my way, so I sent him off to pick fucking flowers! I’m the reason he’s dead!”

I dropped my head into my hands.

After a moment I lifted my head, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. I dressed quickly, packed my satchel with anything in arms reach, and belted Nahdril to my waist before heading for the door.

“It was your fault,” he called out.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

“I will send your things,” he said as I closed the door.

Chapter Thirty and Three

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

My pace was slow, though faster than my wound appreciated.

“At least it’s downhill,” I grumbled on my way to the stables.

A weathered old root was seated at the corral edge, working knots into a piece of a long rope.

“My lord,” he said as I approached. “Need me to fetch your horse for you? “My horse,” I muttered under my breath. “Sure, it’s the one in the back there, the treacherous looking one that likes to throw his rider the moment he takes an awkward step.”

“Uh… begging your pardon, my lord?”

“The black one there.” I sighed. “The black Roharan, Steven.”

“Right, good looking horse there, my lord.”

I scoffed. “I mean, he’s only half-blind, right? What could possibly go wrong there?”

The old man scratched the white sips of hair at the top of his head. “Blind? You mean the Alea?”

“The what?”

“The left eye, the clouded one? That’s not blindness, my lord.”

“Right…” I pressed my fingers to my