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

in her, I would have your balls cut and stuffed in your mouth.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My hand moved towards Nahdril, but I resisted the urge; I would only draw if I was prepared to paint the floor red. I folded my arms across my chest and said nothing.

“Is it coin you’re after?” he asked. “Gold, iron? How much do you want? Fifty...sixty?”

I shook my head at him. “This is not about coin. I have no problem taking care of myself.”

“One hundred iron stars!” he shouted, grabbing at his purse.

“I wouldn’t take a coin from you if it kept me from the gallows,” I said, stepping towards the door. I gestured to the street. “I think it’s time for you to—”

“Two hundred stars then!” he shouted. “Take it and leave my family in peace.”

He tossed his purse onto the table. It didn’t make the sound I expected two hundred pieces of iron to make.

“Take it!” he insisted. “Think of all the things you could buy with that amount of coin.”

I didn’t have to think long of the things it couldn’t buy. “I will not, sir.”

“Take it!” he shouted impatiently. “Take it and leave us be!”

I shook my head.

“Take it! More if you want it, much more, buy any slut in the province. Just leave my daughter alone.”

I pointed to the opened door. “You say too much, sir. And you offend.”

“Take it!” He tossed another bag onto the table next to the first. “Take the coin, you dirty fucking Ruk!”

“I WILL NOT, SIR!” I roared, banging my first against the door. Silence echoed as one of the logs from the fire spit and crackled happily in reply. I pointed to the street. “Get out.”

He retrieved his purses from the table.

“I love her,” I said as he passed, resigned to that simple truth.

“And does she love you?” he asked with distant eyes.

I considered the question. How does one ever really know such a thing? I smiled. “I hope.”

He stepped towards the open threshold. I heard the sound of rain upon the cobbles as the storm renewed. He turned back to me, face blank of any emotion.

“She’s your problem now,” he said with a calm resignation as he stepped out of the shop.

I heard a crash echoing from my apartment above the shop floor. Adrenaline surged as I raced up the stairs. Somehow I knew…. Somehow I knew all along. A face emerged at the glass window of the door. Her face was wet with tears. I untied the rope, binding the handle, and she fell forward.

I stroked her hair as she trembled in my arms.

Chapter Thirty and Five

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

I woke the next morning with a massive headache. This was not the kind that accompanied imagined bells after a glorious night. I forced my eyes open and looked around. I recognized Ada’s room. I took a deep breath, rubbed at the back of my head where the spear had struck, then lifted myself onto my feet.

Down the hall, I looked in through the doorway of my room. The bed held all the signs of being slept in, but she was not there.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice wafting up the stairs with the smell of coffee and cinnamon. “I got breakfast for you.”

I smiled.

She was seated by the door, reading one of the few books I owned. She wore one of my new shirts. The blue complimented her as it always did.

I had a thousand questions. Questions that went unanswered when she fell asleep in my arms. Where did you go? Why did you leave? Why are you here? I settled for a question that I already knew the answer. “What are you reading?”

She turned the page, barely registering the question. “Almost finished with this part.”

I nodded on my way to the table where a jug of coffee and a promising paper bag sat waiting. I opened the jug and poured it into a carved wooden cup. “When did you get all this?”

“I was up hours ago,” she explained. “I didn’t sleep much.”

I turned the paper bag towards me. Lander’s was stamped on the side in red ink. I opened the top and was rewarded with the smell of cinnamon and clove. “You walked to Lander’s? That’s clear in Eastquarter?” At that moment, I was keenly aware that she was wearing my shirt and little else.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight,” she said. “No, I sent one of the boys from the post on the corner.” She looked up at me. “Don’t worry; I wore your coat.” She turned back to her book with a smile.

“How much did they charge you?” I asked as I walked over to my purse.

“Oh, I got it,” she insisted. “The rates out here are cheap compared to my neighborhood.”

I chuckled at the thought. The runner was probably in shock at the sight of a Cyllian ordering breakfast dressed in little-and-not that he didn’t think to overcharge. I thought it better not to press the issue, so I allowed myself a free breakfast under the unspoken condition that I treat her to lunch, dinner, and any meal after that. I set my breakfast down next to her, kissed the top of her auburn head, then stepped to the hearth to stoke the coals.

“Last page,” she said. “I promise.”

I poked at the coals then returned the dowel to its basket. “Take your time; I’m in no rush.” That I was a lie, and hardly a beautiful one. I glanced at the black leather-bound tome, a book I had committed near to memory.

With a sigh of satisfaction, she closed the cover and placed it on the table next to her. She ran her finger over the title:

Histories and Accounts of Rukland C.A. 745-913

Comprised by Serian Sul, 1253 Imperial Long Count

“You know this book is illegal, right?”

I shrugged. “So is saying Rukland. Doesn’t stop people from saying it.”

She smiled playfully. “Did you know that at its height the Rukish Empire encompassed