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

even the occasional wedding. They would be held in the old Venticle church and typically featured feasting, drinking, and music. Ada rarely enjoyed a party, but he felt obligated to attend if invited. I was eager for them, eager for an evening pretending of a better life.

Tonight was different. Dinner was served right there in the atrium—just the three of us. It was private. It was familial. I was hosted with an array of local game and countless dishes farmed or foraged near the estate. Monroe made a point to stress the importance of sustainability this far from town, though I questioned how far removed ten miles really could be.

Ama Kerry’s famous plum pie was served for dessert though the artist behind the masterpiece was absent. I took coffee. Monroe took tea, Crylwin brandy. As we ate, we spoke very little, each of us contented to ease into that awkward silence reserved for new lovers.

When the plates were finished and cups empty, Richard cleared the remains, leaving a bottle of Roharan whiskey and three short glasses. He poured, handing each of us one before departing.

Monroe spoke, lifting his glass, “We shall toast your writ day tomorrow.”

I raised my eyebrow. “My writ day isn’t for another couple of cycles.”

“Not once the paperwork is submitted,” Monroe said, “It shall be the best way to announce you as a member of this house. With it on such short notice, we can keep the guest list to those handpicked and friendly to our cause.”

“Guestlist?” I said. “My lord…”

“Please, Faerin, let’s dispense with formalities. We are all just men here. Call me Edwin or Father, if it pleases you.”

“Alright, Edwin. I was serious about my contract. I have taken the coin but have not begun the work.”

Monroe turned to Crylwin. “Did we ask for ten days or twelve?”

“Ten days,” Crylwin said. “Coinciding with the height of the fell moon,”

Monroe nodded. “Omens or not, we will need to delay; this happy accident will require us to rethink our timeline. I will send word to Dallon; this party takes precedence over fulfilling your contract.”

“Should I ask what you are planning?” I asked.

“Don’t worry,” Crylwin said, slapping me on the knee. “Kerry has handled most of the details already. We have contracted the Seveli caravan in for the evening. There will be music and—”

“Not the party,” I said. “The contract.”

“It is probably best you don’t know, my boy,” Monroe said. “Secrecy is not just a luxury for this organization; it is a necessity. Our members know what they need to know to perform their duties. Few know how all the pieces fit together.”

“You may consider changing your words then,” I scoffed. “I am pretty sure boys in the camps run around shouting salt and ruin to any Imperial they see.”

Monroe smiled. “I will take that into consideration.”

“Still, I don’t like missing a deadline.”

Monroe waved his hand dismissively. “I appreciate your dedication, but yours is just a small part of a larger design. But don’t presume to think your involvement is inconsequential. Your access to a forge is invaluable to this organization, just as Cole was invaluable.”

“So this was a test then, a way to enlist me as your private weaponsmith?” How long have you been watching me? Was Lesso…?” I stilled. “Was he sent to recruit me to your cause? His death is…”

“Unfortunate,” Monroe said. “But this is not a child’s game, Faerin. We have many interests, many pieces on the board. You just happen to be a much more valuable piece today than you were before you were a cycle ago.”

“My stars?”

Monroe gave a thin smile. “To answer your question, we have watched you for some time. We have made considerable investments to your advancement.”

I considered the past six cycles. The contracts, the coin. How quickly I moved through my ten.

“You didn’t think you achieved this all on your own, do you? A Ruk with no family, with no house?” Monroe asked. “I was worried we might have sped you along too quickly, a fear I shared with my son more than once.” He turned to Crylwin. “He seemed to think you could handle it, and well… here you are, a shining star in our pocket.”

I looked at Crylwin. How much of our friendship was an act, a part to play to recruit me to their war?

“Did you think a mysterious customer arriving at the final hour with a bag of iron was just the work of benevolent quin?” Monroe said, shaking his head. “And I thought Golmere were gullible.”

“Dallon was sent to stake you for iron,” Crylwin said. “You Ruks have no problem lifting a coin or two, but if it comes to charity, you’re more proud than a Venticle priest.”

“But once you made contact with the Valerius girl, we had no choice but to aid you or risk the weapon falling into Imperial hands,” Monroe said.

“Not to mention you and Lira facing an inquisition,” Crylwin added.

“I guess I have always considered myself lucky,” I said, fingering the lord stone in my pocket.

“We make our own luck, boy,” Monroe said as he raised his glass. “To destiny!”

“To destiny,” Crylwin said, raising his glass.

Anxiety nagged at me like an old wound, gnawing at me, reminding me it was there, hiding in the dark corners of my mind. I was no rebel, no patriot, no hero. They watched me, copper eyes weighing heavily, watching, judging. I did what anyone would do—I raised my fucking glass.

Chapter Twenty and Two

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

Writ day, the day I paid a full iron star for the privilege to live free for another year—a day I always dreaded. The day itself was an arbitrary one, something assigned to me when I was picked up by the guards in Forhd, the same day I was sent to the South.

I was older than five years when I boarded that barge, how old exactly was anyone’s guess. My memories of that time are as distant as the memories of my mother. I remember