Page 47

She glanced up at me with a spark of interest, her lips twisting into an amused smile. “Fascinating.”

At that, Tom looked as though he might actually choke on his own tongue. His face flushed, but before he could stammer an excuse, Tynsera reached for the spoon. This time, she handled it with the awe and consideration it deserved.

“And you—” she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as they drifted from me to Vorgath and then back again. “You learned this technique from...?”

“Soraya is my apprentice, and a quick learner,” Vorgath rumbled, his deep voice resonating through the now-silent forge. “She combines her skills from embroidery with metalwork in ways I've never seen before.”

Tynsera's eyebrows arched elegantly. “An orc teaching such delicate work? That's unexpected.”

I felt a flare of protectiveness. “Vorgath is an incredible mentor.”

A small smile played at the corners of Tynsera's mouth. “I'm sure he is,” she purred, her gaze flicking between us.

Thorne, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly found his voice again. “Mistress Wildclaw,” he began, his tone oily and placating, “surely you can't believe—”

“What I believe,” Tynsera cut him off smoothly, “is that I've found exactly what I was looking for.” She turned to face me fully. “My mother's birthday is in three months. I want a full set—dinner spoons, dessert spoons, serving utensils, the works. All with this level of detail and craftsmanship.”

My heart leaped into my throat. “You mean...?”

“I'm commissioning you, of course,” Tynsera said with a smile that was equal parts charming and predatory. “Under your mentor's supervision, naturally.”

Thorne sputtered, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “But... but she's not even a full member of the guild! She can't take commissions!”

Tynsera's gaze snapped to him, suddenly cold and sharp as steel. “Then I suggest you remedy that situation immediately, Master Ironsmith. Unless you'd prefer I take this issue to the council.”

Thorne's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out.

“Well?” Tynsera prompted, her tone deceptively light.

The guildmaster’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ornate key. “Fine,” he growled, stomping over to a locked cabinet near his workbench. “But don't come crying to me when she can't deliver.”

He yanked open the cabinet door and rifled through some papers before pulling out an official-looking document. With obvious reluctance, he scrawled his signature across the bottom, then thrust it at me. “There. You're registered. Now get out of my forge.”

I took the paper, my hands trembling slightly as I read the words that officially declared me a member of the Blacksmith's Guild of Everwood. It felt surreal, like I might wake up at any moment to find it was all a dream.

Tynsera clapped her hands together. “Excellent! I'll have my steward draw up the contract and bring it by your forge tomorrow. I look forward to seeing what you create, Soraya.”

As she turned to leave, her gaze lingered on Vorgath for a moment. “And you, Master Orc. I trust you'll continue to guide your apprentice well. Who knows? Perhaps we'll find use for your particular skills as well.”

With that, she swept out of the forge, leaving behind a stunned silence and the faint scent of jasmine.

I stood there, clutching my guild registration paper, hardly daring to believe what had just happened. Vorgath's hand came to rest on my shoulder, solid and reassuring.

“You did it,” he murmured, his deep voice filled with pride.

I looked up at him, a grin spreading across my face. “I did it.”

Chapter 19

“Hold still, dear,” Mrs. Crumble muttered as she gently shifted the halo of daisies on my head. “Yes, perfect! A queen needs her crown for such an occasion.”

I laughed. “A queen of sweat and soot.”

“Has there ever been a ruler more deserving?” Thyri asked, popping the cork on a bottle of wine that she undoubtedly pilfered from the Hargrave manor. I didn't know how she got away with as much as she did, but when I'd told her about my victory with the guild, the reappearance of the missing spoon, and my first official commission, she'd insisted on a proper celebration—and a made-up ceremony she was calling the Lighting of the Forge.

And that was how the four of us, Vorgath included, had ended up sneaking out to my smithy after Elias was in bed, with only a few candles to light our way.

Moonlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the familiar tools and workbenches. The glintof my hammer—Vorgath’s gift—caught the light, a reminder of my journey and the hard work ahead. Despite our irreverence, it really did feel almost sacred, like we were about to perform some ancient rite.