“Are you coming?”
Rsiran turned and saw Jessa leaning over a long table near the back wall, closely examining his recent forgings. Some were crafted from lorcith, but Rsiran preferred not to use the metal too freely. He had not heard her come in, but he never expected to. Jessa was one of the most skilled sneaks in Elaeavn.
“I am.”
“You don’t sound convinced.” She smiled at him as she brushed a loose strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. A flower with long petals colored grey and green tucked into her shirt. Her head tipped forward slightly as she smelled the petals.
Rsiran suspected he was the only one who noticed how she did that. Of course, with all the time he spent with Jessa, there were many things about her that only he noticed.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and waved a hand toward the bin of lorcith. “I could stay here all night and work if I wanted. Brusus wants…” He trailed off, trying to decide what it was that Brusus wanted. Knives were easy to sell, and they had an established market, but lately Rsiran hadn’t been able to make many knives. Decorative items were valuable, as well, but not nearly as much as weapons. Elaeavn smiths would not make weapons; doing so was not only forbidden by the guild, but by the Elvraeth council. “He wants more,” he finally finished.
Brusus hadn’t revealed why he needed the knives, only that he could sell them. That made Rsiran worry about his friend. Who did he owe? And how much?
“If it’s too much, you should cut back. This was never supposed to be hard on you. Besides, Brusus has his debt paid off.”
Rsiran wasn’t certain that Brusus had, but Jessa often had a blind spot when it came to him. “Not hard. And nothing I don’t enjoy.” Rsiran found peace while working the forge. A place where he knew he fit. Strange that his father had tried for so long to keep him from it. “Just that Brusus has committed to more than I’ve been able to manage. You know I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Jessa laughed and stepped toward him. As she neared, he smelled the light scent of the flower she wore, the sharp scent of the soap she had washed with, and the other scent that he recognized as her. Somehow, in spite of no longer noticing the bitter scent of the lorcith, he always managed to notice how she smelled.
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You don’t have to do this yourself. I don’t think anyone expected you to do as much as you have.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to.”
Jessa watched him, reading more into the comment. Both knew the toll the last few months had taken on him. Not just in learning how to use his abilities, deciding that his gift of Sliding was not the dark ability his father wanted him to believe it was, but in learning how to listen to the lorcith, learning that he could move it through that connection. That gift had saved them both, but Rsiran still hadn’t fully dealt with the consequences of what he’d done.
A man had died because of him. Because of his ability. And not just any man, but one of the ruling family of Elaeavn. An Elvraeth. And another had seen him, one he suspected part of a rebellion. Only… nothing had come from that attack yet.
That part was the most important. The thin man from the mines, the one with the scar on his head. Why had he been in the palace? And with Josun?
They were questions that plagued him, and no answers came.
If not for Jessa, Rsiran didn’t know how he would have gotten through it. Of course, if not for Jessa, he would not have been in the same situation.
At times, part of him wondered if perhaps his father had been right. Had he spent more time in the mines, he might have learned mastery over the lorcith, might have better learned to ignore its call. Instead, he learned to listen, to use its song to help him create forgings that he would never have managed on his own. But had the price been too high? What did it matter if he learned to create such works if he sacrificed the life of another to do so?
“There was no other choice,” Jessa said softly. She touched his arm, running her hand down it in a comforting way.
Had he not known better, he would have suspected that she Read him. But Jessa’s gift was Sight. Perhaps she saw the tension Rsiran felt in his jaw, the way the muscles in his neck clenched every time he thought about what had happened over the last few months. He wondered if he would ever get over it, or would he forever struggle with those memories and the nightmares that came with them?
“I know.”
“You should see Della. You look tired. She might be able to give you a draught that can help you sleep.”
He shrugged. “Just the work. It feels like there is so much to get done.”
Jessa frowned at him, her deep green eyes flaring brighter as she studied him. Her brown hair hung around her shoulders, longer than when he had first met her. A face he had once thought angular and harsh now looked beautiful as she worried about him. “Have you thought of bringing on help?”
He smiled, pushing away the dark thoughts that plagued him. He would need to do a better job hiding that from her. Some things he just had to deal with on his own. “Are you offering? I could use an extra pair of hands…”
Jessa punched his shoulder, relaxing as she seemingly decided that he had moved on. “The Great Watcher knows you do well enough with the hands you have,” she started. Rsiran flushed, but Jessa didn’t seem to notice. “But I meant something different. Someone you could teach.”
“An apprentice?” he asked. Jessa just shrugged. Rsiran shook his head. “I’m in trouble enough if the guild ever learns that I have an unsanctioned forge. If I were to take on an apprentice…”
Rsiran didn’t want to think of what would happen. He didn’t need any more attention drawn to him. It was not just the unsanctioned forge that would draw attention to him, but using lorcith in ways that the Elvraeth didn’t approve would do it too. Of course, were the Elvraeth ever to learn of what Rsiran had done to one of their own, his sentence would be much harsher than simple banishment.
“Besides, if we produce much more, we’ll run out of the supply of lorcith. The way it is, I won’t be able to continue much longer with what I have.”
“You think taking lorcith from the mines isn’t enough to get you into trouble. To get all of us into trouble?” Jessa asked. She didn’t say what they knew, all of them including Brusus, about what would happen were the ruling Elvraeth to learn about their access to lorcith. Banishment. Exile. They would become one of the Forgotten.
But the worst would happen to him. That was part of the fear that kept him up at night. “I haven’t been back to the mines since…” He trailed off, finishing the thought in his mind. Since he’d escaped with the sack of lorcith. Since before they had entered the palace. Since before Jessa nearly died.
Jessa pulled him toward her and looked up at him, her green eyes flashing darker for a moment. “You worry too much, Rsiran.” She kissed him on the cheek and stepped away. “Besides, when have the Elvraeth ever concerned themselves with what happens here in Lower Town?”
There was some comfort in that. Della claimed the Elvraeth fought only amongst themselves, with no concern of happenings outside their walls. That had been Brusus’s justification for explaining what happened with Josun Elvraeth, the man Rsiran had killed. Since then, there had been no sign that the Elvraeth suspected that anyone had entered the palace, much less that they’d lost one of their own. There was no evidence that Rsiran had ever been there.
Yet… he still couldn’t shake the uncomfortable way he felt. The Elvraeth might not worry about what happened in Lower Town, but after the friendships he’d made over the last few months, he did. And anything that might put those friendships at risk bothered him. What had happened in the palace had been his fault—his decision—and by revealing that he could Slide, he put the others in danger. And regardless of what Brusus and Della believed, Rsiran had seen the other man, one who might recognize him.
At least the smithy seemed protected. The entire time he had used this shop as h
is own, he had never seen even a sign of the constabulary. Only poverty and sickness. But that didn’t mean things couldn’t change.
And Jessa was right. He was tired; exhausted as much from the work he had been doing at the forge as from not sleeping well. He just didn’t want to think about adding another person who might learn his secrets, but maybe Brusus would know of someone who could help. Brusus seemed to have connections to everyone in Lower Town.
“Should we go?” Rsiran asked, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure Brusus is waiting for you to take more of his coin.”
“I can’t help it that he’s terrible at dice.” Jessa squeezed his hand. “And I made sure the door was locked.”
Rsiran snorted. “As if that matters.”
“Well… not to me. But most aren’t like me.”
Rsiran forced a smile. In spite of having Jessa alongside him, he couldn’t shake the uneasy way he felt. Since the palace break-in, they hadn’t heard anything, but how much longer could that last? How long until the Elvraeth—or worse, those who had been in the rebellion with Josun—came looking for him?
He knew what he would need to do. Rather than let the others suffer for him, he would need to disappear. If the Elvraeth found him first, they would want the person responsible for Sliding behind their walls. They would not care about simple thieves. If it was the other… Rsiran didn’t want to think about what would happen.
Jessa frowned at him, as if Reading his thoughts again.
It was a good thing she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her worry any more than necessary. Already she worried about things she couldn’t control, that he wouldn’t let her control.
Taking a deep breath, he Slid.
Chapter 2
The feeling was one of taking a single step, but during that single step, wind whistled past him, blowing through his ears, and flashes of color washed over him. When they emerged from the Slide, Rsiran and Jessa stood in the alley outside the Wretched Barth, the tavern that had become a second home to Rsiran. After all the practice using his ability, he no longer felt the same overwhelming fatigue as he had when he first learned to Slide. Just a hint of weakness this time, and he attributed that to Jessa Sliding with him.
She squeezed his hand but didn’t let go. “And you thought your ability useless,” she whispered.
Not useless, but still dangerous. Still something he didn’t dare use openly. How many others felt like his father felt, that Sliding was a dark ability from the Great Watcher, one meant only for thieves and assassins? How many others would immediately think him cursed? “Still can’t see in the dark.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah. You’re like a baby.”
They stepped out onto the narrow street running in front of the Wretched Barth. He had been so uncomfortable the first time here, practically dragged by Brusus. Now, the Barth was a familiar place, comfortable and easy. A place where friends met.
This close to the bay, air smelled of the sea, a mixture of salt and fish with an undercurrent of rot that Rsiran somehow found reassuring. A pale streetlamp burned nearby, casting a soft glow of light and intended to aid those not Sighted. A few other streetlamps glowed farther up the street, but they were spaced far enough apart that shadows pooled between them. Rsiran saw a man in a faded cloak drifting up the street, likely one of the Servants of the Great Watcher, judging by the cloak, but otherwise, they were the only ones out. He heard a cat nearby and waited, but didn’t hear another. Two meant luck, but only one…
Jessa pulled on his arm. “I heard two,” she said.
Rsiran listened for a moment before following her.
Inside, the tavern was awash in light. Candles burned on a few tables, their flames flickering with sudden life as the door opened. A crackling hearth near the back of the tavern glowed brightly. After working the forge for the last hour, Rsiran didn’t need its heat, but it still gave the tavern a different kind of warmth. A bandolist played near the back of the room, a man Rsiran recognized from other performances. Likely a friend of Lianna’s, the owner of the tavern.
Jessa led him to a table along the long wall. Brusus sat atop one of the stools, a cracked, brown leather satchel tucked between his legs. He wore a navy shirt heavily embroidered and simple black pants. There was a bright shine to his boots. Everything about the way he dressed screamed that he belonged in the palace rather than down here in Lower Town, but as far as Rsiran knew, he had lived his entire life here.
Haern sat next to him. A dronr drifted across the tops of his fingers, flicking quickly from one to the next. The other hand held the cup of dice. The long scar on his face tensed as he dropped the dice onto the table.
Firell sat next to Haern, dressed simply in a plain, olive-green shirt with matching pants. The pointed beard on his chin had lengthened since the last time Rsiran had seen him. He smelled heavily of fish, though it was more a ruse than anything. Firell was a smuggler.
Brusus looked up when Jessa dropped onto one of the stools. “Do you have to do that?” he asked. His voice was gruff, but a smile drifted across his face, reaching his eyes.
“Do what?” she asked.
Rsiran sat next to her, still holding her hand under the table.
“Flaunt yourselves. The Great Watcher knows we don’t want to see it.”
She glared at Brusus. “Just because you can’t be happy doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”
Brusus looked past her toward the bar as one of the servers brought over two mugs of ale and set them on the table. She was heavyset and wore a wide apron. Her eyes glanced around the room before settling on Brusus.
“Don’t worry, Jessa. Brusus had never been happy,” Firell said. “Not so long as I’ve known him, at least.”
Brusus ignored the barb. The server chuckled before walking away, not mindful of the way Brusus glared at her. “Thought we’d see you before now,” he said, looking to Rsiran. “Anything new? Firell will only be in port a little while.”
Brusus wanted more forgings, and not of iron or steel, though he managed to move those just as easily as the lorcith. After all the time Rsiran spent working lorcith, listening to it as it guided his forgings, he had improved his skills to the point where much of his work was indistinguishable from that of the master smiths. He felt a quiet pride in his burgeoning skill. As far as he knew, few of the other master smiths could match his skill with lorcith. And soon, he suspected, the same could be said about other metals.
Why had his father never told him that lorcith could teach as well as any master smith?
“A few items. A hook. A lantern,” he said. He had been particularly pleased with how that had turned out, but knew it was nothing like the lantern he had seen in the palace that glowed with a blue light. If he only had one to study, he might be able to copy it. He didn’t tell Brusus about the charm he’d just made. There seemed no use in selling simple jewelry. “A couple of knives.”
“What am I going to do with a hook?” Brusus muttered. He grabbed the dicing cup from Haern and shook it more vigorously than he needed before dumping them out on the table.
“Fish. At least, that’ll be what I claim if I’m caught with it,” Firell said.
Haern laughed and grabbed the coins stacked in front of Brusus, sliding them in front of him. His eyes drifted for a moment, and Rsiran wondered what he Saw. As a Seer, Haern had visions, glimpses of the future, though Rsiran had never worked out how far into the future those visions went. Some Seers, like the great Seers of the Elvraeth, could see far into the future and used that to help guide the rest of Elaeavn. Or so the Elvraeth claimed. Most had a more limited field, able to only See moments into the future.
Rsiran shrugged. “Can’t always help what I make,” he said, though that wasn’t quite true. With iron and steel, he could be intentional. Grindl could be forged well and fetched some value, but they struggled getting enough of the pure ore to be useful to Rsiran. And he didn’t dare steal any from the other smiths. Anything that brought more attention to
him, he avoided.
“Hasn’t he done enough?” Haern asked. He set another coin in front of him and shook the dice cup.
Brusus sighed. “He’s doing enough. But I know we can do more. Just need the supply. With what we’re fetching for those knives alone…”
“I don’t want to sell the sword, Brusus.” Selling the knives bothered him more than it should. He didn’t want to think about the sword.
Brusus looked over. His pale green eyes flashed briefly, for the barest moment. Rsiran was one of the few people who knew Brusus’s secret, that he carried Elvraeth blood in his veins and with it, he had their abilities. Abilities that were more than Rsiran could manage. Rsiran felt the crawling sensation as Brusus tried to Read him, and he fortified the barriers in his mind using the image of lorcith. Another lesson he had learned while nearly dying in the Floating Palace.
Brusus nodded slowly. “If you ever do—”
“If I ever do,” Rsiran agreed.
So far, he hadn’t forged another sword blade. Either because the metal had not wanted to become a blade or he somehow exerted his own influence over it, though he didn’t think that he did. He’d never truly tried to push the metal to become something it didn’t want to be. That struck him as too much like what his father did, a power he felt uncomfortable wielding, especially considering the connection he had with lorcith.
More likely, he had not chosen the right nuggets of lorcith to become a longer blade. Rsiran had no doubt about how much a lorcith-forged blade would fetch, but part of him was glad that he possessed the only one he had ever fully forged. After learning of his other ability, the one that Haern of all people had drawn out of him, he felt somewhat unnerved to forge anything too large to control.
Brusus looked at him, and some of the edge faded from his face. “None of this can come back to you, Rsiran. That’s the whole point of moving everything outside the city, getting it to places like Thyr and Asador so you aren’t at risk.”
The Dark Ability: Books 1-4 Page 29