Page 2 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

So here we are, with the help of trained warriors and sympathizers with the rebellion, along with my son, storming holding cells where prisoners are known to be kept.

My hammer beats metal into shape at the forge, but when needs must, I use it to deadly effect on the scum as does theBlighten’s bidding. I slam it left and then right as we breach the inner cells, breaking bones and leaving the filth who guard the prisoners twitching and broken on the floor.

“Betsy! It’s Callum, lass. Your pa is here to get you.”

Hearing my son’s hail ahead, my head snaps up. My chest is heaving. The only guards I can see are the dead ones lying on the floor. A cluster of recently liberated prisoners stands ahead of me, wide-eyed and pitiful.

Gods, the thought of Betsy, the sweet lass who is always quick with a smile, being here, even for a moment, has me shaking with rage. But they have found her, thank the Gods, and I surge for the room to check her for myself.

Tim has Betsy in his arms, inspecting her for injury. Relief crashes through me even as my gut tightens at seeing her filthy, tear-ravaged face. Her eyes flash to mine, then drop to the bloody hammer in my hand, and her lips part on a small gasp.

There is blood splattered all over my clothes, hands, and, likely, my face. I am a messy killer. I wish she would have never had to see me or anyone like this.

“We need to leave,” Jacob says. He is a warrior for the fae race and once a prisoner here himself. “We have cleared out this level, but reinforcements are coming.”

“Please help Ada,” Betsy cries.

“I’ve got her,” my son says, coaxing the tiny lass who is naught but skin and bones from where she hides in the corner. He swings her up into his arms. “We’ll get you out, Ada.”

Someone has torn the bodice of her dress. “Here,” I say. Shucking my cloak off, I drop it over the young lass. At least it will offer her some modesty and warmth until we can get her to a safe house.

A shout alerts us to the arrival of more guards.

We make haste. Putting down the few men who have been mustered in response, we emerge into the cold Bleaknessstreets, using the narrow back alleys to take us from the slave markets.

At Betsy’s insistence, the young girl from her cell returns to the tavern with us. Here, the staff rush to help the two young women after their ordeal.

It is the first time Callum has joined me in a rescue, and I can see the emotions on his face, along with that of Ada, the lass he just saved. I have ever been proud of my son. Tonight, I am impossibly more so. He handled himself well, put many guards down, and kept a cool head.

“Thank you,” Ada says, throwing her arms around my son’s neck. “Thank you, Callum.”

My son blushes crimson and doesn’t know where to look.

Thankfully, the cook urges the young lass away so they can get her cleaned up and warm.

Callum blinks across at me and suddenly sits heavily on the nearby stool.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “You did good, lad. I’m proud of you. We got Betsy back, and we freed many others.”

“It’s not over,” Tim says, his voice rough. “I’ve yet to pay a visit to those who dared to snatch my daughter. You can bet I’ll deal with them, too.”

“Good,” I say. “Before the Goddess, it is their due.”

When I look up, Betsy is beside me, a blanket over her shoulders. “Thank you, Heath,” she says. “I always knew you helped with the rebellion. Until now, I didn’t fully understand what they meant.”

“I wish you still didn’t,” I say gruffly.

“Me too,” she says, her eyes shining with fresh tears. “But if I hadn’t been taken, no one would have gotten Ada out. Her father sold her for coin to pay his debts. What kind of monster would do that?”

I shake my head. I have no answers beyond a bad one—a man who does not rightly deserve to live. I feel the weight of my son’s eyes upon us and Tim’s, too.

Betsy leans up on her toes and plants a kiss on my cheek. Before she moves away, she whispers, “Promise me you’ll deal with him.”

I nod.

Her eyes meet and hold mine: pretty blue eyes, the lashes made darker for her tears. There are freckles across her nose, along with little streaks of dirt. How have I never noticed her freckles before?

I want to say something. What, I don’t have a clue.

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