A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

she possibly thinking? Here, Lira, take this copper ring, a symbol of my undying affection, don’t mind that we barely know each other. Please pledge yourself to me and me alone, declare to everyone you know that you are with this poor bastard half-Ruk. She must think me the biggest fool in the…

“Where did you even find time for this?” She finished stacking up the copper coins and was moving on to the silver and gold. “Oh, I see, old copper too.”

I winced and dropped my head as if I could find some means of explanation at the top of my worn-out boots. When I lifted my head to recite what would have been the worst contrived apology imaginable, I saw a different face. All anger was gone, short-lived and fleeting as it so often was. Her smile was warm and delicate; it matched with eyes that sparkled like the day we first met.

“So traditional? Did Nessa put you up to this? Old copper, just like in the songs,” she rambled. “No one takes the time to, I mean even I had to commission yours from a jeweler” -the beginnings of tears began to form around the edges of her eyes- “Faerin, you are a surprise.”

Like hands fearful of frightening a butterfly, she reached down and picked up the ring for the first time. She held it to the remaining beam of light that trickled in, “I had no idea you were so romantic.”

I felt like I understood the significance of the custom but never thought it to be anything romantic. Honestly, I thought giving a copper ring to be somewhat trivial, one of many acts and actions that struggled to find relevance in a world without the motherland that birthed it. If anything, it was at least practical in its time. A courting ring was made of copper, pressed and polished. It should be worn until a proper betrothal could be finalized, and then it would be replaced with a ring of silver. There were a hundred and one stories of ill omens and malignant quin that would bring misfortune should the ring turn green before an arrangement could be struck.

The custom was as old as giving a ring itself. Like a sand clock ticking away grain by grain, it likely originated in response to the bitter dickering between Rukish families over the appropriate size of the dowry. This custom would put a time limit on said negotiations, lest the happy couple find themselves pregnant before a proper union could be formalized.

The part of the custom I neglected was the importance of the giving of the ring, not from the man to his lady but from the previous owner to the man. Traditionally the ring should come from one that had found good fortune in their own marriage so that their fortune may pass on to you. It was a way of connecting to your roots. I had no roots; I had no past. But this ring said otherwise.

“Who did you get this from?” Lira asked, then she seemed to catch herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that…”

“No,” I said, “You’re right, I mean I don’t really have…” I stopped and looked at the ring in her hand. Ama Kerry wasn’t my Ama by blood any more than she was the Old Monroe’s mother. But she was my Ama in all the other ways that mattered. “It is, was, my Ama’s ring. And now it’s yours.”

She held the ring up to the light once more before placing it back on the counter. “I’m still angry with you if you’re wondering. I know your traditions well, you charming barbarian. I thought commissioning a jeweler for yours today would be such a nice surprise. Yet here I am, staring at old copper and that shit-eating grin of yours.”

She sighed dramatically.

“I knew you had an ego but didn’t think you would stoop to this, grandstanding like you are—boasting your cleverness.” She placed her hands on either side of the counter and leaned slightly forward, exposing the slightest hint of cleavage. “Two can play at this game, sir. And while you may have won this battle, I shall win the war.”

“Well,” she said, “am I supposed to put this on myself?”

This would never be something we could get away with on a normal day, but with Tallis the only supervisor around, and him giving exactly two shits less than nothing, we felt secure in our moment.

Lira extended her hand to me and wiggled her fingers playfully. I took her hand in mine, then slipped the ring down her finger. No one knows the limits of their power until it’s matched and reflected back upon them. As I held her hand aloft in the light, I saw my endgame and I would run happily to its end.

“It fits perfectly,” she remarked, then her eyes turned back to me. “But, of course, it does.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised at your excitement. I was nervous about going through with it,” I lied, she didn’t need to know that I was just an idiot; she would find that out in her own due time.

She gave me a puzzling look.

“You don’t think it’s a little forward? I mean, we only just became familiar,” I said.

“No more forward than the show we put on for my father last night.”

I saw her wince as if pained.

I hadn’t considered that. I just assumed his dismissal of me last night was due to the brand on my right arm. Was he just an overprotective father worried about the reputation of his daughter?

That thought was short-lived as I noticed the discoloration of a bruise she had attempted to hide. She had said nothing about it and had done her best to conceal it with powder. To me, it was clear now as pale glass. It would be dealt with, that much I was certain, but I would honor her wish for silence—for now.

“I suppose you’re right. I just didn’t want to frighten you off