Page 25

Chapter 24

T he needle slipped through the delicate fabric with practiced ease, my fingers moving in a familiar rhythm. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Lady Hargrave's sitting room, casting a warm glow on the fine silks and velvets spread across my lap.

“I don't like these flowers,” Isla, Lady Hargrave's eldest, whined for what felt like the hundredth time. “They're too... pink .”

I bit back a sigh, forcing a patient smile. “We can change them if you'd prefer. Perhaps a softer shade?”

Isla's little nose scrunched up in distaste. “No, I want them blue . Like the sky.”

“Blue it is, then,” I murmured, reaching for a spool of cornflower thread.

As I began unpicking the delicate embroidery I'd spent the better part of an hour on, I felt a familiar pang of frustration. With the smithy reduced to ashes, I'd had no choice but to fall back on my old trade. The meager pay from seamstressing barely kept food on the table, but it was all I had left. Each stitch felt like a step backward, away from the life I'd begun to build for myself and Elias.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Lady Hargrave swept into the room. Her eyes widened slightly as they landed on me, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she schooled it back into her usual mask of polite indifference.

“Mrs. Ashford,” she said, her voice cool and measured. “I honestly didn't expect to see you again after you took up blacksmithing.”

My spine stiffened, but I kept my voice steady. “Life has a way of bringing us full circle sometimes, my lady.”

Lady Hargrave quirked an eyebrow, settling herself into a nearby armchair. “Indeed it does.” Her gaze flicked to the dress in my lap, then back to my face. “I told you last time, she doesn't like flowers.”

“Ah, but that's where you're wrong,” I said with a wry smile. “She likes blue flowers.”

Lady Hargrave's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Blue flowers. Of course.” She shook her head, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Children and their whims.”

I nodded, focusing on my stitching. The silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and Isla's occasional fidgeting.

“I heard about your forge,” Lady Hargrave said suddenly. “A terrible tragedy.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “Yes,” I managed. “It was.”

“And yet here you are, picking up the pieces. It must take such courage to strike out on your own, to build something after losing so much.”

I blinked, startled by the unexpected empathy in her voice. “I... thank you. But I'm merely doing what needs to be done.”

Lady Hargrave waved a hand, dismissing my humility with a flick. “Oh, please don’t downplay it. You’re far braver than you realize.”

I stilled, the needle suspended in midair.

Brave? It didn’t feel like bravery.

It felt like survival—barely making it through each day, scraping by with work that no longer fit the person I’d become. The words “striking out on your own” echoed in my mind, mocking me. My forge was in ruins, my hands manipulating silk and thread instead of iron and fire. Was this what bravery looked like?

It felt like defeat—like I was clinging to the edges of a life that had already burned away.

But Lady Hargrave's words stirred something deep inside me. Maybe it was the way she said it—unexpected, almost reverent—or maybe it was just the ache of wanting to believe it was true. Could it be? Could I still be brave, even now?

I lowered the needle, my fingers trembling slightly, but I forced a smile. “I suppose... courage looks different depending on where you're standing.”

Lady Hargrave tilted her head, her sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. “It does, indeed.”

We held each other’s eyes for a moment longer than felt comfortable. I wasn’t used to seeing her... human. I half expected some cutting remark or instruction on the next bit of work for Isla's dress, but instead, Lady Hargrave folded her hands neatly over her lap, the laces of her embroidered gown shining in the light.

“You know,” she began, and with Lady Hargrave, any thought that started that way was bound to be something I very much did not know, “I envy what you have.”

I nearly dropped the needle. “I’m sorry, what?”

She blinked, unaffected by my outburst. “Oh yes. Don’t act so shocked. You may have had setbacks, but at least your life is your own. I may sit here, gliding through dinners and teas, but every movement is watched. Judged.” She raised an eyebrow at Isla’s bouncing figure at the far end of the parlor. “Even decisions as trivial as flower embroidery are scrutinized. You’ve done something...” She paused, searching for the right word, “...bold. To choose your own path after so much loss.”

I stared at her, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the reminder that I could only earn a fraction of her wealth with any path I chose. But she didn’t say it.

“So,” she added lightly, as if pulling a thread through the heavy conversation, “you’ll be rebuilding then?”

“I'm not...” I cleared my throat, willing my voice to stay steady. “I'm not sure.”

In truth, I hadn't let myself even think about the forge. Only a couple of days had passed since the fire, but it felt like a lifetime. Rebuilding felt impossible. Too close to everything I was afraid to confront. If I faced the forge, I’d have to face it all—Vorgath, my future, my failures.

Lady Hargrave watched me carefully, and for the first time, I wondered if she saw through the fragile veneer I was trying to hold together. Her gaze flicked to the trembling needle in my hands, but she said nothing.

I swallowed, the silence between us growing thick. “It’s been hard to think beyond what’s right in front of me,” I admitted, my voice quieter now.

Lady Hargrave’s eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before. For a moment, she wasn’t the imperious noblewoman, all sharp edges and well-practiced smiles. She was just a woman—a woman who, maybe surprisingly, understood what it meant to carry more weight than one person should ever have to.

“Well,” she said, her voice measured but kind, “you’d better start thinking about it. I hear the Wildclaws have commissioned their own set of silverware. I’ll be needing one, too, of course. Wouldn’t want to fall behind.” She gave a thin smile, but there was something in her tone—a hint of genuine warmth beneath her usual aloofness.

I blinked, feeling as though a rug had just been pulled from under me. “Y-You mean...”

“Yes,” she replied, rising smoothly from her chair and going to a small writing desk. She reached inside a drawer and pulled out a velvet pouch. “Five new settings. Plus carving knives to match.” She held the pouch out to me, dangling it lightly between two fingers. “Consider this an advance on the work.”

I stared at the pouch, dumbfounded. An advance. An advance ? From Lady Hargrave? She of the I'm-not-paying-full-price-for-anything ilk, handing me cold, hard coin like it was nothing.

“I—thank you,” I stammered, reaching out to take it. The weight of it dropped with a satisfying thunk into my palm, my heartbeat quickening. Was this really happening? The pouch felt heavy with possibilities.

She waved a graceful hand as if it were no big thing—a casual Tuesday for her, probably.

“You’re brave, Soraya. I might not fully understand your world, but I see your courage. So, no more of this nonsense about ‘not being sure.’ Rebuild your forge. The world will move on with or without you, but if I’m going to keep up with the Wildclaws,” she sighed dramatically, “I'll need you to get back to work.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but eventually, I managed a smile. Nodding with more confidence than I felt, I said, “I’ll start planning today.”

Lady Hargrave gave a regal nod, but just before she could slip back into that graceful indifference of hers, she hesitated.

“I do mean it, you know,” she added softly. “You’ve lost much, but you still built something. And you’ll rebuild it again, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” I said, the words feeling heavier than they should, laden with the weight of all the things I couldn’t quite put into words.

Lady Hargrave gave a final nod, her usual facade sliding back into place as if the moment had never happened. She turned to call Isla and Edward to come for their fittings, slipping effortlessly back into her role as the flawless aristocratic mother.

Hours later, the work done, I gathered my things in silence, the weight of Lady Hargrave’s words—and the hefty pouch in my pocket—settling somewhere deep in my chest. She had called me brave. Me. Soraya Ashford, the woman who just days ago had been hiding inside the charred shell of her own forge, too terrified to face the wreckage of her life.

And yet… somehow, hearing it from her, of all people, had stirred something in me. It was like she’d planted a little seed of hope in the cracked soil of my heart, and now it was up to me to see if it would bloom.

As I waved goodbye to the Hargraves, I tugged the coin pouch out again, feeling its comforting weight in my hand. Rebuild. Was I really going to do it? Could I?

The streets of Everwood buzzed with the usual end-of-day bustle. Creatures of all kinds hurried around me—elves, dwarves, humans, and the occasional imp, darting in and out of alleyways—but I hardly noticed. My thoughts were too tangled up with the possibility of starting over, of picking up the hammer and trying again. The idea scared me more than I cared to admit.

But it also... excited me.

I decided to take the long way home, and before I knew it, my feet had led me to Everwood’s market square. The air here was thick with the scent of baking bread, fresh herbs, and the sharp tang of magic-infused potions. Fairy lights twinkled from the stalls overhead, and the murmur of laughter and bartering filled the space like a warm blanket. It was alive. Vibrant.

I paused in front of a flower cart, brightly colored petals spilling over the display in a riot of hues. Vibrant fuchsias, blues, and oranges created a striking contrast against the more muted grays of stone streets and wooden stalls around me.

And there, nestled amidst those blossoms like a living part of the display, was the stall’s keeper—a dryad, unmistakable in her beauty.

She had skin the color of birch bark, delicate and pale but with lines that resembled the silver veins of a tree’s roots. Her hair—long, flowing vines speckled with tiny blossoms—shifted softly in the breeze.

“Admiring the blooms?” she asked in a soft, lilting voice, her lips curling into a gentle smile. Her voice had an ageless quality, as if she had tended these flowers for centuries.

“They’re beautiful,” I said truthfully. My eyes grazed over the selection, drawn to a cluster of deep purple flowers that seemed to shimmer slightly, catching the light in an almost magical way. “I don't often get the chance to stop and enjoy things like this.”

Her brow arched curiously as she leaned closer over her cart. “And why not?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, fumbling for an explanation. “Well, I—I'm a blacksmith... or at least,” I gave a dry laugh, “I was. There’s not much room for flowers in the forge. Not much room for beauty, really.”

The dryad tilted her head as if considering my words, the motion graceful and slow, like the gentle sway of a tree in the wind.

“Not much room for beauty?” she echoed, tapping her chin with a moss-covered fingertip. “Why not?”

“Because… because that’s just how it is,” I stammered, suddenly feeling a bit silly as I tried to explain. “A forge is hot, loud, dirty. It’s fire and iron, not flowers and soft things.”

A light breeze stirred the delicate vines of her hair, and the dryad’s lips quirked again, this time as if she were holding back a laugh. “Perhaps that’s just how it was for the men who came before you. You are not them, are you?”

“No,” I said slowly. “But—”

She straightened up, a knowing look in her leaf-green eyes, and reached beneath the tangle of vines spilling from her cart, rummaging for a moment before producing a single flower—a stunning crimson blossom the size of my palm, its petals thick and velvety to the touch, like the fires of a sunset caught in bloom.

“Here,” she murmured, holding the flower toward me as if offering up a secret. “This is a firepetal.”

I studied it, uncertain. “Firepetal?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded. “Its bloom is as resilient as it is beautiful. Fire-retardant. It thrives in heat. Perfect for safe work amidst flames.” She tilted her head again, her eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “Perhaps the flames aren’t so different from the flowers after all. They both grow with the right care.”

My fingers brushed the silky-soft petals, a spark of realization flickering in my chest. A flower that could grow beside the flames…

All this time, I’d been thinking I had to rebuild my forge as it was—as Kald’s forge, where weapons had been made. A place of hard steel and brute force. Sweat and fire and clanging iron. But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be that way.

Maybe I could create a place where beauty and craftsmanship came together. A forge for creation, not destruction. Iron mixed with intricacy, fire tempered with softness. I didn’t need to be bound by old expectations.

This forge… this forge would be mine.

“I can plant these inside the forge, then?” I asked, my mind racing now. Images of a new, more vibrant space blooming in my head, in place of the smoldering ruins. Firelight flickering against glowing blooms. Strength and beauty, side by side.

“Absolutely,” the dryad replied with a warm smile. “Why not fill the space you create with things that inspire you? It is yours, after all. It can be whatever you wish.”

The words brought to mind Elias’s birthday wish— I wished that we could have Papa’s forge working again, so we could be like we were before.

What did that really mean to him, though? I realized he might not remember the forge in its glory but rather the feeling it had given him—the warmth of family gathered around the fire, the laughter that once echoed within the walls. I hadn’t just lost the forge; I had lost a piece of what made us whole.

But now, I had the chance to create something new, to fill that space with safety and joy once more. I wanted to give Elias back that feeling, not just a replica of the past, but a bright new future we could share together.

And I wanted to do it my way.

I glanced down at the heavy coin pouch Lady Hargrave had given me earlier. There was enough in there for a fresh start... and maybe even a few firepetals to brighten the way.

I met the dryad’s eyes, suddenly feeling like I had just stumbled upon a secret I wasn’t supposed to find so easily—but one that belonged to me all the same. Those bright green eyes twinkled knowingly, as if she could see the new currents of hope flowing through my mind.

“How much for a bundle of these?” I asked, my voice steadier now. Sure. Almost eager.

The dryad’s smile widened, her vines swaying gently as she handed me several more crimson blossoms. “Oh, don’t worry about the cost,” she said with a wink, leaning in conspiratorially. “Consider it a gift. I can tell you have a grand vision.”

I laughed. “I’m not sure how grand it’ll be, but thank you.”

With a wink and a nod, I carefully tucked the bundle of firepetals into my bag, the fiery blooms resting against the pouch of coin. The weight of both—possibility and beauty—felt like the first step toward something new.

A forge filled with flowers.

My forge.