Page 4 of In Darkness Forged

Her grandmother could barely walk, and while the old woman’s temper was still fierce, her mind often wandered, and she rarely remembered to eat unless reminded. Aislin’s mother, Charys, remained abed most days, with barely enough energy to care for herself, though she did everything she could within the limits of her meager strength.

It was Aislin who provided their day-to-day necessities. Aislin who tried desperately to keep their spirits up and look for new reasons to hope for the future.

So this, too, was up to her, and she tried to project cool confidence as the men finally turned and retreated, leaving only silent judgment in their wake.

Aislin lifted her chin bravely and smiled at her mother, hoping her fear did not show in her eyes.

“I need only put him off a little longer,” she said. “Just until Father comes home.”

But her mother only leaned more heavily against the doorframe, her lips thinned in evident frustration. “Aislin, you must stop this,” she murmured sadly. “Your father is not coming home. You know it as well as I do. It’s been over two years. If he is not dead, then he has simply left us, and it does no good to believe otherwise.”

So many times, they’d argued over her father’s absence, but Aislin refused to accept such defeat. Her bold, laughing, affectionate father could not be dead, and he would never abandon them. Never. But her mother’s illness had sapped not only her strength but her hope, so Aislin must hope for the both of them. She simply could not resign herself to a world in which there was nothing to look forward to but this endless scrabbling for the basic necessities from day to day.

“He will return,” she said doggedly. “I know he is still out there somewhere. We only have to hold on until he finds his way back.”

The only answer she received was a sad smile, so Aislin crossed the yard and wrapped her mother in a firm embrace. She was so thin and frail… Aislin’s confidence faltered yet again, but her mother pulled back and cupped her cheek for a moment, her eyes warm and regretful.

“I wish I could do more, Little One. I wish I had not…” Her voice trailed away.

Aislin covered her mother’s fine-boned hand with her own. “We’ll be all right, Mother. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know you will,” her mother said softly. “You are so much stronger than anyone knows. I only wish you did not have to work so hard. I wish you were not so alone.”

“But I’m not,” Aislin assured her with as much false cheer as she could muster. “I have you and Grandmother. I have friends. And I won’t let us lose our home.”

Her mother’s eyes closed as if she heard the lie, but she nodded once before turning and making her way back inside the house.

Aislin’s claim had once been true. She’d had numerous friends in the village—other children her age to share laughter and confidences and dreams of the future. She and Ilsa and Trent had spent their childhoods closer than siblings, but now those two were grown and married, and Aislin had no time for anything but ensuring that her little family had what they needed to make it through each winter. No time for play, and certainly no time to dream of the future she’d once imagined she would have.

When Aislin’s father first left to find work as a mercenary, her dreams had always been of his return. He would one day come running up the hill and sweep them into his arms while her mother laughed with joy. He would tell them he’d made enough money on this last job to support them for the entire year, and the grim lines would vanish from her mother’s face. Her grandmother would smile, and they would be happy—a family once again.

But when his visits had grown fewer and hope had shrunk to nearly nothing, Aislin’s dreams had grown smaller too. Now she often envisioned her mother as she had been when Aislin was very young—well and whole and thriving. Cheeks pink, with a loving smile each time she looked over her shoulder. On a day like this one, she would have brewed a kettle of hot, comforting tea, sat down with Aislin to discuss a solution, and then walked beside her up that hill to confront Lord Dreichel.

But whether it was illness, lost hope, or some heartbreaking combination of the two, Charys had begun to fade when Aislin was still a child, and her health had only worsened over the past ten years. Ever since Aislin’s magic failed to appear. Ever since it became clear that their family could no longer count on the income from a seer’s visions.

Charys blamed herself for the loss, and for her husband’s absence. Once the man she loved had disappeared, she’d grown even weaker, and Aislin feared she might one day not even be able to rise from her bed.

So it was Aislin whose determination kept them afloat, even when she no longer had time for her friends or for anything else beyond thoughts of their survival. Her efforts were all that kept them fed. Her optimism was the only thing that buoyed them up and kept their little family from sinking.

So far, it had been enough. And for the foreseeable future, it would have to be.

With renewed determination, Aislin somehow dragged each piece of still-unbroken furniture back inside. She supported her grandmother as she shuffled back to her place in front of the fire, made tea, sliced bread and cheese, and ensured that everything was in order before she braided her dark hair, changed her clothes, and started grimly up the hill.

Perhaps Lord Dreichel would not even agree to see her, but she had no choice except to try.

CHAPTER2

For weeks, Aislin had been hoping she might catch a glimpse of Lord Dreichel’s noble visitors. Dreaming of a chance to linger in their vicinity, listen to their stories, and imagine herself somewhere far away.

But not like this. Not amid the chaos of their arrival, while small groups of beautiful, well-dressed people mingled and gathered in the courtyard of the great house, and Aislin was forced to make her way between them in her best but still ragged clothing, patched together from her mother’s once impressive wardrobe. Not when she came as a supplicant, forced to grovel in front of strangers for the right to remain in her home.

She would do it—she would do far worse for her family—but it promised to be humiliating, and Aislin could cheerfully have wished herself anywhere else. Anywhere at all.

And yet, if she could catch Lord Dreichel while he was distracted, perhaps he would be more likely to be lenient.

But as she dodged grooms and porters and footmen and horses, Aislin began to grow doubtful that she would ever find the man in the midst of so much chaos.

“Are you lost, pretty girl?”

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