Page 8

Chapter 8

Elliot

“ T esting?” Elliot asked blankly, staring up at Avery. “Testing what?”

Avery looked impatient. “I can’t sell you the item you need unless we know what it is. Will you recognize it just by seeing it? I assumed we’d need to test each brass item I bought one by one.”

Excitement shot through Elliot. Was it really going to be that simple? Even after everything, Avery would help him test each item and then sell him the one he needed? He wouldn’t have to sneak around or follow her any longer?

He brushed aside a strange pang at that thought. He could finally get back on the road to the Sovaran capital. There was nothing melancholy about that future. After years of traveling, he would finally be settling in one place. The connection he felt to Avery was a shadow caused by deprivation. He had been trailing her—thinking about her, tracking her, watching her—for so many days that of course he would feel as if they’d forged a connection. But soon he would be able to build proper connections and relationships in his new home. He would forget all about Avery.

He hoped.

He scrambled to his feet. “How should we do it? I guess I should just take each item away, one at a time, and see what happens.”

“I don’t think so,” Avery said firmly. “I’ll do the taking away.”

Elliot’s belly gave a tiny flip of disappointment. Avery believed him, but she didn’t yet trust him.

“Given how weak you got back there, I don’t think you should be the one trekking around,” she said. “You can sit by the cart, and that way when you get weak, you won’t need to walk.”

Elliot nodded, pretending he believed that was the only reason for her strategy. The important thing was that she was helping him.

He tried to assist Avery to untie the canvas over her cart, but she brushed him aside, making much quicker work of the ropes than he’d managed. She was obviously extremely practiced at it.

But when she went to lift the crate down, he jumped in and took it in her place, lifting it down to the ground.

She gave him an amused look. “I can carry a single crate, you know.”

“I know.” He smiled at her. “I saw you lift it into the cart at the smithy. But you’re helping me, so you have to let me do something to help you—however small.”

Avery raised her eyebrows. “Help? I believe you mentioned paying three times the item’s price. I am a merchant.”

Elliot smiled, his good mood not dented in the least. “It’s already paid.” He gestured at the crate.

Avery hesitated for a moment before giving in to whatever instinct she was fighting. Kneeling, she dug through the chest, emerging with the pouch he had left behind.

She weighed it in her hand as the smith back in Henton had done, not meeting his eyes. He grinned triumphantly. She couldn’t call him a thief again now. If she did, he would call her one straight back. She hadn’t even left money for his pack and boots.

“The candelabra was the only normal item I took,” she said warningly. “The rest of them have special properties, so you might need more coin.”

“I’ll pay whatever you think is fair,” he said promptly, noting the rueful quirk of her lips.

Roving merchants were an unusual group, but they were small enough in number and tightly enough knit to have strong codes of honor. He had taken a risk in revealing the truth to her, but he hoped she wasn’t going to use her knowledge to extort him.

If she did try, he would have to give her everything he had. He wasn’t going to physically fight her for the object, and he was literally unable to leave without it.

“Let’s get started, then.” She drew out the first object—a metal lantern. “You sit there and call out to me if you start to get any symptoms. I’ll come straight back if you do.”

Elliot sat obediently on the back of the cart, his legs dangling off the side.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll let you know straight away. You won’t need to go far for me to feel the effects.”

Avery backed up a few steps before changing her mind and spinning around. Facing away from him, she moved faster, soon disappearing into the tree trunks.

Elliot counted to five but didn’t feel even a trace of dizziness or pain.

“Nothing!” he called loudly and listened for a response.

Avery didn’t call back, but she soon reappeared, jogging in his direction. She deposited the lantern in the back of the cart without saying anything and selected the next item from the crate. She jogged away with a brass candlesnuffer in hand, but he was soon calling for her to return.

The same thing happened with a brass lamp, a single candlestick, a small coal shovel, and an oddly shaped bowl. Avery carted item after item into the trees without effect. When she pulled out the final item—another lantern, but this one tiny, they both looked at it.

“Of course it would be the last one,” she said, amused.

He examined her face. Was she disappointed it was the tiny lantern? And did that mean it was a valuable or inexpensive item? He couldn’t tell from her expression.

“I suppose we had better confirm it,” she said. “Just to be thorough.”

Before he could reply, she started off between the trees once more. Elliot braced himself for the coming pain, but nothing happened. He waited longer, blinking against a moment of dizziness. But no, he had imagined it. His mind was still clear.

He waited longer and longer. Surely it was going to set in any minute now? He hadn’t had to go far from the cart for it to start the last time.

But still nothing came.

Avery eventually reappeared, frowning. “Did I go too far? How sick do you feel?”

“Not sick at all,” Elliot said, bewildered. “It didn’t do anything. Are you sure there’s nothing else in there? Not even a little spoon or something?”

He jumped down himself and rummaged through the straw left in the crate. But it didn’t take much effort to ascertain that it was empty of all metal items.

Avery snorted. “A spoon? The smith in Henton doesn’t make spoons.”

“Why not?” Elliot asked. “With a wait list of six months, I’d hope he makes whatever his customers request.”

“He probably does.” She put the lantern down with the other items and started carefully repacking them into the crate. “But who in the kingdoms would wait six months for the Henton smith to make them a spoon ?”

Elliot shrugged, his confusion making him ornery. “Spoons are very useful.”

Avery laughed, but the sound died when she peered up at him and saw his expression. She straightened, a look of wonder on her face.

“Did you really spend days camped across from his smithy, watching him constantly, and you don’t know what the Henton smith is famed for?”

Elliot shrugged uncomfortably. “He didn’t exactly have a sign explaining it, and you may have noticed he’s not the chattiest of fellows. And I already told you I avoided getting into conversations with anyone else.”

Avery shook her head. “There’s a reason your thieves sold him a candelabra of all things. That smith isn’t from Henton. He isn’t even from Sovar.”

“So?” Elliot stared at her, confused. They’d already established that some people chose to travel despite the price their Legacy enacted.

Avery lowered her voice, although there was no one anywhere near them and he doubted she knew any secrets about such a taciturn man.

“He doesn’t come from any of the six kingdoms on this side of the mountains,” she said.

Elliot brows drew together. “He’s a mountain baby like me?”

“No!” Avery sounded frustrated. “He comes from one of the kingdoms across the mountains!”

“The Henton smith was born in one of the kingdoms on the other side of the northern mountains?” Elliot clarified, struggling to believe it.

It might not have been common for people to travel between the southern kingdoms, but it happened. No one ever crossed the northern mountains, though. A few had tried it in the distant past, but almost none of them had made it back. The mountains were too difficult to traverse for there to be any proper passes, and the treacherous waters in that section of both the eastern and western seas made bypassing the mountains by ship a foolhardy endeavor. The southerners knew only the barest details about the kingdoms on the far side of the mountains—snatches of information passed down about the unfamiliar Legacies that shaped their landscape.

“He not only came over the mountains,” Avery proclaimed, warming to the topic, “but he managed to do it with his anvil in tow.”

“He lugged that thing across the northern mountains?” Elliot stared at her, mouth hanging open.

Avery nodded eagerly. “He’s unique in all the kingdoms. He comes from the northern kingdom where their Legacy affects lamps and anything else that creates light. And since he lives in Sovar, the lingering affects of his Legacy somehow combined with the Sovar Legacy. You know how their Legacy allows the Sovarans to make almost anything out of glass. Well, this smith can do similar remarkable things but with brass instead of glass. Of course he does the most impressive work with items like lamps or lanterns or candlesticks. He can make items no one else can.” She gave him a triumphant look. “So no. No one is asking him to make spoons.”

Elliot shook his head. “Impressive,” he murmured, looking down at the now refilled crate. “But that doesn’t explain what happened to my candelabra. Are you sure you put everything you bought from him in this crate? It looked like you did, but maybe?—”

He stopped, looking at Avery and reading in her stricken expression that she’d just had the same thought as him.

“You didn’t put it all in here!” he exclaimed. “There was that first package the smith handed to you.”

Avery’s eyes flicked to the leather satchel tucked in the back of the cart—the one she usually kept close to her person.

Elliot reached for it. “It must be whatever was in that parcel!”

“No!” Avery leaped in front of him and snatched up the satchel, holding it against her chest. “It can’t be this. I’m sure it’s not.”

Elliot frowned at her, dread creeping over him. “But it wasn’t anything in the crate. We just tested all of it. So what else could it be?”

Avery shook her head stubbornly, her arms tightening even further around the satchel.

They remained staring at each other in silence until Elliot finally sighed.

“Let’s at least test it. If you’re right, and it’s not whatever is in there, then we can easily confirm it. Just take the whole satchel with you.”

Avery still hesitated, but finally her shoulders slumped, and she started off silently into the trees. Elliot watched her go, wondering how he would tell the symptoms apart from the swirling that had already started in his belly. What was in the satchel that it could provoke such a strong reaction from Avery? It had to be the item she had commissioned from the smith six months earlier, and she was obviously horrified at the idea that he might be tied to it.

But she had barely disappeared into the trees before it became obvious that there was a clear distinction between the churning of concern and the symptoms of separation from the item he was tied to.

He gritted his teeth as his head began to pound. Fisting his hands, he let his fingernails bite into his palms as he tried to hold back the nausea. He would hold out as long as he could. He had to be completely sure.

But he didn’t last long.

“Avery!” he croaked, his voice far from its earlier loud call. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Avery! Come back!”

The cry was still quieter than he would have liked, but the symptoms quickly began to lessen, and within less than a minute, Avery reappeared among the trees.

Elliot slumped back against the sack behind him, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

“Was it so bad?” Avery asked in a neutral voice he couldn’t read.

His eyes flew open, and he examined her face.

“It was bad,” he said, wishing he knew what she was thinking.

She was clearly unhappy with their discovery, but was she also…suspicious? He took a slow breath. Why did it have to be the item she had commissioned? It must have been the most expensive by far. What if he didn’t have enough coin to pay for it? His rash declaration that he would pay triple its value seemed foolish now.

“How much?” His voice came out rough. “How much is it worth?”

Avery shook her head. “This lamp isn’t for sale.”

Elliot stared at her, the blood draining from his face. “What do you mean it isn’t for sale?”

He slipped down from the cart, stepping toward her and gripping her upper arms. His eyes held hers.

“Avery. You know I need that lamp. What do you expect me to do? Die?!”

Avery swallowed convulsively. “And what if selling it to you means someone else will die?” she asked softly. “Maybe more than one.”

Elliot stepped back abruptly, staring at her. What was she saying?

He turned and strode away, but he didn’t get far before he spun and strode back. He stopped a single step away from her.

“It’s just a lamp! There can’t possibly be someone else tied to that exact lamp! That’s nonsense. Just tell me how much it cost. Whatever it is, I’ll find a way to pay it. Double or triple if I have to.”

If it came to it, he would even return to…But no. He shook his head. It wouldn’t come to that. He would find another way to raise the funds if needed.

She stepped toward him, her hand raising in a comforting gesture. But he stepped sharply back, and she let her hand drop, sighing.

“Elliot, I’m sorry. It isn’t about the lamp’s monetary value. I swear to you that if I could possibly sell this to you, I would. But I can’t.”

“Ask the smith to make you another lamp with the same properties,” he said desperately. “I’ll pay for it. He just needs to use different brass.”

Avery was already shaking her head before he finished speaking. “If I commission another one, I’ll have to wait another six months. I can’t do that. The people of Bolivere need it too much.”

“Bolivere?” Elliot stared at her. “What does Bolivere have to do with this lamp?”

Avery hesitated. “That’s not my story to tell. They swore me to secrecy. But it’s a life and death situation, I promise. I wouldn’t withhold the lamp for anything less.”

His eyes dropped to the satchel clasped in her arms, and her hold tightened around it in response. When his eyes jumped back up to hers, she was looking at him with an expression that was half-afraid, half-determined.

She knew he’d been considering whether he could take the lamp by force, and she was determined to fight him if it came to that. He was taller and stronger—although possibly less well armed—so he might be able to take it, but he wouldn’t succeed without hurting her.

The thought turned his stomach. He was desperate, but he didn’t think he was that desperate. Not yet.

“Please, Elliot,” she whispered, and he thought he heard the faint edge of tears in her voice.

He stumbled back, gripping his head with both hands.

“Give me a minute,” he gasped. “Just…give me a minute.”