Page 24 of Fall of the Ember Throne (Crown and Crest 3)

It’s late when we reach the dark forge—hopefully, Father will have retired for the night. I have no idea where he sleeps, nor can I say I care.

We enter the hot building, but Brielle doesn’t flinch from the heat or the sooty filth. She was raised in a smithy, and she knows what they are like.

Unfortunately, the clang of a hammer meeting metal drifts up the stairs, telling me Father is working late.

Brielle descends the steps by my side, looking increasingly nervous. It’s been well over a year since she’s seen Father, and if it were up to me, that stretch would be longer.

He never hurt her, nor did she endure the verbal abuse I became accustomed to, but he was far from a good parent. He ignored her for the most part, working long hours, chastising her when our house wasn’t clean enough or the food to his liking.

I believe she reminds him of Mother, and he’s too cowardly to face his pain, so he runs from it.

She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing my arm. “Do you think Father will be angry if we interrupt his work?”

“We don’t have to do this, Brielle.”

She steels herself, standing straighter, reminding me of someone. Someone who I’m afraid is me.

Stepping forward, she raps firmly on the wooden door.

The sound of hammering is replaced with the thud of Father’s wooden leg. He comes to the door, spotting me first.

“Henrik.” He unlocks the door and shoves it open. And then he sees Brielle.

He comes to a standstill, his eyes falling to the necklace at her throat. Slowly, he shakes his head and whispers, “No.”

“I’m so glad to see you,” Brielle says, her eyes wide and bright, looking like a small child hoping for approval and love.

Gruffly, Father clears his throat. “Why aren’t you in school?”

Brielle blinks. “I…”

“Does the money that Henrik spends on you every month mean nothing to you?” He turns away from us and ventures deeper into the room. “You think you can take a holiday on a whim?”

He’s angry with himself, probably scared too, but he doesn’t have a right to take it out on his daughter.

I step forward, placing my hand on Brielle’s shoulder as she composes herself. “The princess fetched her. You expect Brielle to turn down a royal order?”

Father looks back at me, his eyes dark as he draws into himself. He picks up the hammer and returns to his work, hitting the cooling metal with more force than necessary.

“Father…” Brielle says, looking like she’s going to cry.

I knew this was a mistake.

Nudging her toward the stairs, I say, “Let’s go.”

Suddenly, Father lets out a guttural cry and heaves the hammer across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor, creating a horrible racket. Brielle flinches, stepping partially behind me.

But Father doesn’t yell and rage. He crosses the room and presses his hands to a workbench, hunched over as he takes ragged breaths. After a moment, he asks, “What does it do?”

“The princess can force magic into it,” I say heavily, knowing he’s speaking of the necklace. “And if Brielle tries to remove it, it will kill her.”

Father turns back, his face scrunched under his heavy graying beard. He turns to Brielle. His voice shakes as he asks, “Has she hurt you?”

Immediately, Brielle shakes her head. “I’m fine—”

“The night King Algernon died, Camellia tried to suffocate her.”

Father rips off his gloves and throws them on the bench. He then rubs his face, looking haggard.

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