“You found him, then?” the man asked sharply.
“He’s in my home, just behind the smithy. You can all go see him and—”
“Maresk, Toren, look for him. I’ll stay here and talk with this”—he turned a charming smile on Lina, his voice softening—“this lovely lady here.”
“Oh, I don’t mind if you all go check on him. He’s probably resting anyway.”
“No, my men will be able to take care of him. I’d much rather you tell me how he appeared at your home.”
Tyblith nodded at the other men, and they swiftly left.
Blood of the nix, he was staying with her. She’d hoped they might all go together so she could still throw the torque on the fire in the minutes they were gone. Time for a different plan. Again.
“Oh, the poor man! He just showed up last night and collapsed!” She clutched at her chest. “I took him in, of course. Nothing else I could do, poor creature. He reminded me of my dear aunt Milla, when she came down with the—”
Tyblith interrupted, already bored by her narrative. “Did he . . . say anything?”
“Well, not—”
The other men burst back into the shop. “It wasn’t there,” one of them said abruptly. “And he’s dead.”
“Dead?” She gasped. “No, he couldn’t be! I just left him less than an hour ago, and he was only sleeping.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, so cruel. Fever sickness is terrible.”
Tyblith glared at Lina. “Did he say anything to you? Give you anything? Tell me!”
She cringed, looking back and forth between the three men. She reached over and took a large iron chisel down from her wall, holding it out in front of her awkwardly, as if she hoped to use it to protect herself but had no idea how. Hopefully, it made her look afraid and also reminded them that she couldn’t be fae. “I don’t know what you mean . . . I was just trying to help him. Don’t hurt me.” She made her voice tremble in fear, even as her blood pumped with anticipation.
He sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead, his whole demeanor softening back into his original charm. “I’m sorry,” he said, the note in his voice turning pleading. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m just so stricken by his death. He was my good friend, you know.”
The shift in his emotion was so abrupt, Lina almost swayed toward him, longing to comfort him in his grief. So he was a charmspeaker, then. Her earlier desire to trust him made sense now.
“Yes, I can see that,” she replied, and she, too, softened her voice. She lowered the chisel. “I’m so sorry for your loss. You must have been close.”
He frowned. “Yes. I’ll miss him. And he was in my care, so I feel responsible for him. His mother will be devastated.”
Lina nodded. “Poor woman.”
“He had a gift from her. He wore it all the time, even though it chafed awfully.” He stared at her as he spoke his next words. “It was a torque.”
Lina widened her eyes. “A gift from his mother, you say? Someone he loved?”
Maresk and Toren seemed to shift uneasily, but Tyblith only hesitated for a moment. “Yes.” She could almost see his thoughts flying. “But . . . they’d been fighting. Yes, they’d been fighting, and he was very angry at her. So you can see even more why she’ll be so upset. I was just hoping to comfort her, let her know he had it with him to the end.”
Lina visibly relaxed the tension from her shoulders—they noticed it, of course—and smiled. “Oh, that explains it!” She tittered. “He was babbling on and on about how I needed to destroy it right then and not let anyone have it or do anything bad with it.” She shook her head. “He was probably just being spiteful, hmmm? Didn’t want her to know that he’d forgiven her and was still wearing it. People do silly things when they’re fighting, don’t they?” She tsked, shaking her head.
“So you have it, then?” he asked, leaning toward her in his eagerness.
“Of course I have it. Honestly, I’m a little relieved to give it to someone else to take care of.” She paused—this was the most dangerous moment—and looked into Tyblith’s eyes. “Can I trust you?”
He exuded honesty, almost like a scent. “Of course you can.”
Lina leaned in and whispered, “Look, I just don’t know what to do. This poor sick young man showed up at my home, and of course I took him in. But then he started ranting and wailing, and he made me swear I would help him and that I had to keep the torque away from the wrong people. Now, I’m not the kind of person who breaks promises.” She paused, looking at him with concern.
“No, of course you wouldn’t do that,” he said, but his eyes darted around the room, looking hungrily for where the torque might be.
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t.” Her voice took on a desperate edge. “You’re telling me it was a gift from his mother, but how can I know? I promised him the torque wouldn’t be used for ill. That’s all he seemed to care about.” She forced a quiver into her lip, then bit it to stop the tremble. “And now he’s dead, and that makes it his dying wish, and of course I have to do what I can to help him, and here I am just a tired old woman.” She tugged his sleeve with the hand not holding the chisel. “You understand, don’t you? Why I don’t know what to do with it or who to trust?”
He patted her hand and spoke soothingly. “Of course I understand. Such things are so difficult. But I can assure you I was his friend.” He looked into her eyes, sincerity in his every feature. “You can give me the torque,” he said. “You don’t have to worry anymore.” She felt his charm fall over her like a warm blanket, soothing, telling her to believe.
She blinked, breathing deeply. Focus on your purpose, she thought. Focus on Mollen and the torque. Her mind stayed clear. “But are you the right person? He was so worried something bad would be done with it.” Come, she thought, say what I need you to say.
“If you give it to me, nothing bad will be done with it.” His voice was so smooth, his charmspeaking so very easy to believe.
She blinked again, straining against the magic. “You promise?” she wheedled. “No one will use this torque for anything bad?” She nearly held her breath.
He opened his mouth to speak, then paused.
Maybe she’d gone too far.
His eyes flicked to the chisel and her bare hand wrapped around it. She could almost see his thoughts. This old woman is a simple blacksmith. A promise to her is meaningless. “Of course I promise,” he assured her, all friendliness and honesty.
Lina blew out a breath and smiled her first real smile since they’d come. “Oh, I feel so much better. I know it’s crazy, but thank you for humoring a poor old woman.”
He shrugged. “Of course, dear lady. Nothing to it. The only thing that torque is good for is comforting another woman like yourself, after all.” He held out his hand.
She stepped to the bucket and fished out the torque. “I’m just glad to be rid of it.”
He snatched the metal from her and examined it.
“I’m sorry it’s broken.” Then, as if she’d just thought of it: “I could fix it for you if you’d like!” It might give her a chance to come up with a better plan than this; she still hated seeing that object in his hands.
He shook his head, not looking up from the metal. “No matter, I have a friend who can fix it.”
She nodded. This would have to be good enough, then.
They should be going now, but Tyblith didn’t move. He just placed the torque in a pouch at his side and turned his eyes on Lina. Maresk and Toren glanced at him, waiting, muscles tensing beneath their tunics. A nearly imperceptible difference in the air had Lina tensing too. Moments passed, and she shifted her weight to prepare for an attack. Part of her hoped they would try something, despite how foolhardy it would be to attack the town blacksmith in her shop in daylight. The idea of letting them leave with that torque—no matter what she’d done to keep them from using it—stoked the anger again. Maybe it was good she still held the chisel.