Chapter 8 Hell
The journey itself was not long, but it was not easy either.
Our country home, or the haven, as Liv had taken to calling it after her father's letter, sat deliberately apart from everything else.
Between us and the town stretched a river, a dense patch of woodland, and enough open fields to make the walk feel twice as long beneath the sun.
I understood now why Liv's father had chosen it. Forsgeth was close enough that we would not starve, yet far enough that no curious neighbor would happen upon us by accident. The sort of place one chose when they wanted safety more than convenience. Not that I minded the walk.
After weeks spent hiding in cellars, abandoned rooms, and whatever dark corner we could claim for a night, the open air felt like freedom.
The grass swayed in the breeze. Birds called from the trees overhead.
Somewhere nearby, water rushed over stone.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, no one was chasing me. I could truly breathe.
I took my time on the journey, taking note of the easiest ways to cross and paths to avoid, and different routes I could make later with a cart and horse.
I even took a moment to skip rocks in the river and admire the wildflowers growing at the base of the trees.
Running and hiding did not allow time to enjoy much of anything.
When Forsgeth finally came into view, I froze.
It was much larger than the map had suggested.
More of a city than a town. But what gave me pause was not the size alone; it was the stark contrast to Verith.
It was almost an assault on the senses. The streets bustled with people warmly greeting each other, hugging and dancing in every inch of open space.
Bare, sun-kissed skin flashed between bright fabrics and scandalous clothing.
Music tangled through the air with the sound of metal striking metal.
I scanned the stalls of vendors and the street performers, tracking the source of the sound.
My eyes fell on a small shop halfway down the main street.
The whole face of the shop was open, and inside was a woman…
working a forge. The sweat glistened off her exposed skin as she swung a hammer, striking a red-hot piece of metal.
The men of Verith would lose their biscuits at the sight of her.
She wore trousers and an apron with nothing but a strap of cloth underneath, covering her chest.
Her entire midsection was exposed, and long, thick corded strands of hair swung at her sides.
Though I had a feeling she would not allow the men of Verith more than a word.
With the way the muscles of her arms flexed, she could put more than one in their place with ease.
Men of Verith be damned, I was completely enthralled.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way down the red brick road, dodging the shoulders of passersby. I stood at the edge of the shop and watched her work. Each strike was made with precision as she formed a metal cuff, a bracelet.
“Not from here are you?” She said in a thick accent that sounded like sand washed upon a beach in the summer, without looking up from the piece she was now prying at with a tool that looked like pinchers.
I glanced around to see who she may be talking to.
Then she paused and lifted the helmet that was covering her face.
Her eyes were a striking color of turquoise.
“M…me?” I pointed at my chest, eliciting a giggle from her.
“Well, obviously. We don’t see many of those colors on this side of the Great Wall.” She quirked her brow at me and gestured to my clothes. Grays and blues. I hadn’t noticed that the colors most chose to don in Verith were absent here. Everything was bright and vibrant. Wild and free.
“You are from Verith, aren’t you?” I clutched the blade at my hip and nodded cautiously. “But you are wearing trousers? Don’t see that much from the women over there either.” She went back to tinkering with the cuff that she was making. “So, what brings you to Forsgeth?”
The blade was warm in my hand, kept close, just in case they had heard of us here, or were inclined to report to Verith that we had come. “I... I'm visiting my grandmother.” The lie slipped out too easily.
“Mmhm.” She nodded.
“She lives nearby.” I offered a small smile.
“Mmhm.” Her arms crossed over her chest.
“Her husband died.”
“That's unfortunate.” She leaned back against the chair she had been working in.
“And her maids left.” I shifted on my feet.
“Right.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“And now I'm helping.” Oh gods. I realized I had said too much when my ramblings elicited a giggle. “Anyways,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “Perhaps you might know where I can find some of the items on this list?” I handed it to her. She glanced at the list, then at me, then back at the list.
“Quite the list your ailing grandmother has given you.” She handed it back. “You can find most of that right here in the square.” She pointed the way to the produce market, the bakery, the livestock dealer, and the library. I could not forget Liv’s book.
“Thank you so much!” I offered her one last smile and turned to leave. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’ I muttered under my breath.
“Good luck with your grandmother!” She shouted after me. I groaned and buried my face in my hands. The laughter in her voice followed me halfway across the square.
By the time I had found a cart and gathered all of the supplies, tea and sweet cakes included, the sun was beginning to set.
I sauntered down the road eating a meat pie.
In truth, the most delicious meat pie I had ever tasted, far better than the ones we served at the alehouse.
Most of the stalls and vendors were closing for the evening, save for a few that had lit torches to fight against the waning sun.
A glint of metal caught my eye at the far end of the street, close to the entrance.
I had missed it entirely in my wonder when I first arrived.
One stall stood apart from the others, rows of knives and blades hanging from posts and laid across tables.
A blade smith. My pace quickened, and I shoved the rest of the pie into my mouth.
Now this was something I was familiar with.
I leaned over the table excitedly, tracing the designs with my eyes.
One blade caught my attention. A handle made of metal and stone with small designs carved into it.
I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.
The weight was nice, but it was off balance.
The designs were awkward and clumsy. I pressed my thumb to the edge of the blade.
Dull. I tossed it back down among the others.
‘I could do better than this,’ I whispered to myself as I turned to leave.
“Is that so?” The voice came from the shadowed part of the stand.
Shit. My stomach dropped. Apparently, I had spoken louder than intended. Perhaps if I ignored him, I could still pretend I had not spoken aloud. Slowly, very slowly, I turned back toward the stall.
“I happen to be the finest blade smith in Forsgeth.” His boots dropped from the table where they had been resting, but he did not step into the light. I could not stop the small chuckle that clawed its way from my throat.
“Well, if you are the finest blade smith here, then Forsgeth must not be known for its blades.” I turned to leave once again.
“Each of these blades is one of a kind. I doubt you could do better.” The arrogance in his voice was grating.
“Why, because I am a woman?” I scoffed and turned on him instantly.
“Are you saying that women cannot make blades?” He shot back.
“No. I can make blades, and I am a woman. Obviously. You are the one saying that women cannot make…”
My words stuck in my throat as he stepped forward.
He was tall, even more so than the Prevailing.
White sleeves rolled to his elbows exposed muscular forearms.
A leather vest hung open over his shirt, revealing a sliver of sun-bronzed skin beneath.
My eyes roved from his chest up to a squared jawline covered in stubbly hair.
Then to a perfect pair of soft lips, a pointed nose peppered with freckles, and striking cerulean eyes.
My mouth went dry. He was absolutely gorgeous.
But that was not what gave me pause. Staring into his eyes gave me the strangest sense of nostalgia as though I had known him for years, even though I had never seen him before.
I had never been to Torezia, let alone this town.
There was no way I could have made his acquaintance. Still, I could not shake the feeling.
“Uh… Are you okay? I was only cutting shams; I did not mean to offend you.” His curiosity dissolved into concern. I blinked furiously, trying to pry myself from the trance.
“I… Um… I must go.” And with that, I turned and left without another word.
I walked as quickly as I could back to the cart and made for the manor, determined not to think about the blade smith.
I lasted nearly three minutes. One question gnawed at the back of my mind the entire way home: Who was that?