“We’re twins. For all we know, you could be older.”
“Yeah, but you’re definitely bigger,” she said, emphasizing the point by standing on her tiptoes to look him in the eyes. “Unfortunately, bigger doesn’t always mean smarter.” She chuckled and headed for the door, a victorious spring in her step.
“Don’t forget today’s Sixthday,” she called back to him. “You look like you have about three layers of silt to wash off before tonight, not to mention the smell.” Myriah pinched her nose and made a face, then closed the door behind her.
It was Sixthday already? Ferrin glanced at the cooling piece of steel on his anvil and shrugged. The work could wait. He lifted one of the buckets of water used for quenching and doused the coals. They hissed and released a thick blanket of steam into the air. If only he had a bar of soap handy, he could have nearly washed from the moisture.
Somehow, he doubted Myriah would have been happy with him if he had.
Chapter 2
THE SUN WAS slipping behind the peaks of the Northern Heights, leaving the sky a wash of burgundy and peach as Ferrin locked the front door to their home. He tested the handle to make sure it was secure, then placed the key back inside the pocket of his vest and patted it with his hand. He offered Myriah his arm and they started up the street.
As much as he loved the pervasive heat of his smithy, Ferrin also found the slight chill associated with the late autumn months exhilarating. The constant breeze coming in off Lake Baeron kept the air fresh. A blessing when you happened to live in Southside.
The cold never seemed to bother Ferrin. He had always wondered if his magic had something to do with it. Myriah, on the other hand, pulled her cloak up around her shoulders and pinched off the opening at the top.
Windows in the buildings they passed sent a trail of warm light across the cobbled street. People moved with anxious haste as they made their way home after another grueling day of work. They weren’t the only ones. Myriah was all but jerking his arm for them to hurry. Despite his size, his sister had no problem leading him along.
The last thing Ferrin wanted was to get there any sooner than he had to, especially after the last meeting. He never had been one for socializing. His sister, on the other hand, relished the small get-togethers the Rhowynn Wielder Council hosted every third Sixthday. She herself wasn’t a wielder, but because of her close relationship with her brother, she was treated as family. Some of the other council members brought their husbands and wives as well.
Ferrin would just as soon sit at home and enjoy a quiet evening around the fire with a good book than spend it pretending that he cared about the rest of the others’ daily lives. There was nothing quite so insufferable as to endure the company of a group of frightened wielders as they fretted over tough times and the possibility of being discovered. Worse yet was losing his hard-earned coin to Elson, who Ferrin was quite sure cheated at batmyth.
Then again, it wasn’t for himself that he suffered through these dinner parties. It was for Myriah. Her devotion to him afforded her little in the way of companionship. She had never married, though not for a lack of suitors. She was quite beautiful. That red hair of hers made her stand out, but she always seemed to find an excuse to turn gentleman callers down. Ferrin had a feeling it was more to protect his secret than anything. So, for better or worse, he would endure these monthly outings if for no other reason than to partially assuage his guilt at keeping his sister from true love, if there was such a thing.
Ferrin followed the streetlights toward the northeast side of the city, near the lake. Unfortunately, the lamplighters had only made it as far as Delwin as they slowly worked their way in the same direction, leaving Ferrin and Myriah to navigate the rest of their way by the light of the quickly setting sun. Crossing Telvis, they took the next street up and followed it for about a quarter of a mile, passing many of the wealthier estates on Pree Lane.
The residents in this part of the city enjoyed a much higher standard of living than what Ferrin and Myriah were acquainted with. It was no doubt the reason why their home in the southern district was never volunteered for the monthly get-togethers. It was also another reason why Ferrin had been so insistent on using his ability to further his commissions. He wanted to move his business into a more prominent district.
“I see the way you look at these homes every time we pass,” Myriah said, an upbraided edge to her voice.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, unless those desires lead you to making foolish decisions.” She squeezed his arm.
Ferrin huffed. His sister knew him too well. Even during his younger years, he had always felt a certain amount of embarrassment at being raised by a peddler. When Ferrin was old enough, Pinon had used what savings he had tucked away for his old age to purchase Ferrin an apprenticeship with a Rhowynn smithy named Ryneer. Ferrin had taken to the work like a fox to a jack rabbit. His magic fueled his desire to shape the metal, his eagerness leaving even his instructor a little bewildered.
Under Ryneer’s careful instruction, Ferrin soon became a top smith in his own right. By the time his former master had retired, Ferrin had saved enough gold to purchase the man’s business. Doing so gave Ferrin the opportunity to pay Pinon back for what he had given up for his education and trade. With the establishment of the new smithy, Pinon retired from peddling and lived there with the two of them until his death about six years back. He might not have been their real father, but he was as much a father as they could have ever expected.
“I like our place in Southside,” she said. “It more than meets our needs.”
“But wouldn’t you want to live in one of these if you could?” he asked, pointing to the row of three- and four-story mansions with manicured lawns and gated walls.
His sister shrugged. “Too much work to keep clean.”
Ferrin shook his head. “If we could afford a home on Pree Lane, we could afford a staff to clean it.”
“And what about your smithy? You couldn’t very well set up a shop in the front lawn.” She laughed. “Can you imagine what the neighbors would say?”
Ferrin chuckled at the thought of his well-to-do neighbors being rousted every morning to the sound of his hammering.
Myriah tugged on his arm to let him know they had arrived. He sighed and led them up the walkway to the front door.
Ferrin lifted the brass knocker, but before he struck the plate, he ran his thumb across the surface. Using a small amount of magic, he smoothed out the indentation that had developed from the knocker’s extended use. Satisfied with his work, he struck the plate three times.
He cast a sidelong glance at Myriah and smiled.
She glowered.
They didn’t have to wait long before a peek opened just above the knocker, allowing those inside to see who was calling. The peek shut, the lock gave way, and the door opened.
“Myriah! Good of you to make it. We were beginning to wonder if we were to have the pleasure of your company this evening.” Lord Harlin turned to Ferrin and his jovial demeanor slipped. “Ferrin.”
“Harlin.” Ferrin offered a polite smile to their colorfully dressed host, but the task proved difficult while under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. It was a look that questioned the wisdom of Ferrin’s presence, especially considering his overt refusal to quash his public use of magic during their last gathering.
Harlin was ten years Ferrin’s senior and of average height, which meant he was a good half-head shorter than Ferrin. Harlin adjusted the bright yellow scarf around his neck. It was quite the sharp contrast to the deep blue of his dinner jacket. Ferrin was hard pressed to think of a time when the man wasn’t parading around like a peacock, especially in front of Myriah. Harlin tended to dress a little more colorfully whenever he thought she would be in attendance. More than once, he had requested her to dine with him, and to Ferrin’s relief, she had always refused.