Artemis

  “They’re not from here,” the man spat, his voice cutting through the hush. “Maybe they’re the ones you want.”

  The Magister’s head turned, slow as the grinding of a millstone, until his eyes fixed on us. The weight of it pressed harder than any spear point.

  “You,” he said at last. His voice low, but it carried. “You told me you were a smith. I don’t see a forge here. I see no hammers, no smoke, nor steel. This is no place for your trade.”

  The villagers edged back from us, fear and relief mingling in their eyes, glad the gaze had turned elsewhere, glad it wasn’t theirs to bear.

  I kept my shoulders loose, my hands easy at my sides. No fight in them. Not yet.

  “We’re not of this place,” I said, letting the rough cadence of a workman rasp through my words. “I never claimed it. My wife and I are from Dunwade. Passing through only, on our way to Rodin.”

  The Magister’s gaze narrowed.

  I pressed once, steady, the lie hammered flat with each word. “Her father lies dying there. That’s our road, and that’s the only reason we’ve taken it. I’ve a forge waiting for me besides. We’ve no ties to this village.”

  Beside me, Celeste held still as stone, her hood shadowing her face. But I caught the edge of her breath, sharp and tight.

  The Magister’s eyes lingered, weighing us as though the Stone itself sat in his gaze.

  He let the accusation hang, then softened his mouth into something like reason. “These two aren’t of your village,” he said, turning so the crowd could hear him as much as us. “You claim no more casters here: very well. Then it’s only fair the strangers take the same test. The realm asks the same of all.”

  He flicked two fingers. A few soldiers started forward, angled toward Celeste.

  “My wife first, is it?” I said, stepping in before the soldiers could close the last pace.

  I kept my hands visible, my voice low and work-rough. “Magister.”

  He reined his bay a fraction, eyes narrowing.

  “What reward,” I asked, “goes to a man’s wife if he proves himself more valuable than any here, Caster or otherwise? If I take your test and stand where the rest fall, what does AurenVale pay her?”

  The Magisters helm tilted, plume dripping steady in the rain. “Nothing,” he said at last, his tone cutting. “A man who hides until pressed earns no coin. You had your chance when I asked, yet you failed to step forward.”

  I held his gaze steady. “And yet,” I said, “you paid a mother for a daughter who never spoke a word. You paid for the hint of worth. Surely then, you see the value in me naming mine plain. You want a quota. I can give you more than that.”

  The Magister’s brows drew tight.

  “One showing from me,” I pressed, “and you’ll have met your count for a month. More than that, you can release the old man, even the girl. Take me in their place, and still leave this rabble satisfied you’ve done your duty. That’s a fair bargain, my lord.”

  The villagers stirred uneasily at that, a murmur rippling through them. I felt Celeste’s eyes on me, sharp, burning, but she kept her tongue bitten behind her teeth.

  The Magister studied me long, rain streaking down his faceplate. Then, at last, he let out a thin huff that might have been a laugh. “You think highly of yourself, blacksmith. Bold words for one unproven. You must consider yourself very… important.”

  His gauntlet twitched on the reins, then leaned forward. “Very well. If you can prove your worth, I’ll pay your wife what I’d pay a powerful Caster. If you’re telling the truth.”

  The Ashpire Stone burned brighter in Thames’ hand, hungry for the test.

  I stepped forward, mud sucking at my boots, the crowd parting as though the Stone itself burned a path for me. Thames turned his grin on me, smug and eager, the Ashpire Stone guttering red in his bare hand.

  I stopped a pace away and lifted my gaze to the Magister. “Best be ready to open your purse,” I said, voice flat as hammered iron.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  A flicker crossed his face, amusement, maybe contempt, but he gave a single nod. “Then prove it.”

  I set my palm against the jagged crown. The Stone was colder than ice, hotter than flame, both at once. Beneath my skin it stirred, veins pulsing, red twisting like molten threads waking from sleep. I felt Thames feed it immediately, pouring his gift into the glass. The pull came sharp, hard, a river trying to drag me under.

  I pushed back. Not with fire. Not with storm. Just with what I was, steel tempered, weight steady.

  The Stone flared, veins writhing like serpents, and Thames’ smirk faltered. His jaw clenched, breath hissing. He fed harder, sweat mixing with the rain as he tried to drown me in the draw. The Stone’s hunger grew, clawing deeper.

  But it didn’t drink me.

  It drank him.

  His eyes went wide, the first crack of fear breaking through. His hand twitched, trying to pull away, but he couldn't. The red inside the glass pulsed wild now, a furnace bellows too full, veins twisting black at the edges.

  Then Thames broke.

  A strangled gasp tore from his throat, and his knees buckled. The Stone flared one last time in his grip before he crumpled into the mud, limbs jerking in a fit. Convulsions racked his body, eyes rolling white, foam flecking his lips.

  The square was silent but for the hiss of drizzle.

  I had grabbed the Stone from his grasp when he went down. I let the Stone go cold, the glow in its heart already guttering without Thames’ feed. Then I turned my gaze back to the Magister, steady, unblinking.

  “Need more proof?”

  The Magister’s face didn’t crack. No outrage, no barked command. Only the faint lift of a brow as he studied Thames writhing in the mud, then me, still standing, breath even.

  “Impressive,” he said at last, the word flat. His gaze lingered on Thames, then rose again. “He is not weak by any means. Thames has proven himself more than once in service to AurenVale. Yet here he lies like a boy undone.” The Magister’s eyes narrowed, voice carrying sharp across the square. “And still, that alone does not prove your worth.”

  The villagers pressed closer together, watching with wide eyes, their breaths held tight.

  I let the silence stretch a moment before I spoke. “Then put more to the test,” I said, my voice low, deliberate. “One after another. I’ll show you the measure of me against them all. If it’s proof you’re after, you’ll have it then.”

  The Magister’s gaze flicked past me, over his own line of men. They shifted, unease rippling through their ranks like wind through tall grass. None stepped forward. None wanted to. They’d seen the way I stood, the way the Stone had barely touched the surface of my well. The way my hand hadn’t even trembled.

  The Magister’s lips thinned. “Not necessary.”

  He leaned forward in the saddle, plume dripping dark trails down his helm. “Tell me instead,” he said, voice calm but edged, “what ability do you possess?"

  “Fire,” I said.

  The Magister’s brows flicked, quick as a spark, before he smothered the reaction. “Fire, is it? And what use has a blacksmith for Fire Casting?”

  I let my mouth tug into something close to a smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “The best use there is. I learned it standing at my father’s forge, when the bellows were too heavy for my arms. Fire answered me before iron did. Been feeding flame ever since.”

  A ripple went through his men at that. Fire wasn’t rare, but it carried weight. Soldiers respected it, feared it. The Magister narrowed his eyes. “Words,” he said. “Show me.”

  I stepped away from the huddle of villagers, boots dragging through the muck until I had clear ground. My palm opened, fingers loose. For a breath, nothing. Then the air thickened, heat pressing back against the drizzle, curling the rain before it touched my skin.

  I gave the fire its freedom.

  It roared out in a wide cone, blasting skyward. Rain hissed into steam. Sparks spat like stars before the gray swallowed them. The square lit in violent color, the wet thatch glowing red for a heartbeat. The Magister’s horse shied beneath him, nostrils flaring wide. A murmur went through the villagers, half awe, half fear.

  I shut it down as quick as I’d started it, the flames choking out until the drizzle returned to pattering against my shoulders. My hand lowered, steady. My chest rose and fell as though I’d done nothing more than lift a hammer.

  I looked back to the Magister, my voice even. “That proof enough for you?”

  The Magister’s smile came slow, like a man savoring his own cleverness. “Pay the wife.”

  A soldier stepped forward, pressing a heavy purse into Celeste’s hands. Heavier than the others. I saw the way her fingers closed tight around it, the way her chin dipped so no one would see her eyes.

  I turned back to the Magister. “Then let her keep the other coin as well. For the girl. For the old man. You’ve no need of them if you have me. I’m worth more than both combined, and you know it.”

  His smile thinned. “You speak boldly, smith. But even you can’t buy a kingdom’s war with words.” He let the silence bite before he added, “They come with us. Impressive as you are, it isn’t enough to leave the others behind.”

  I held his gaze for a long moment. The rain hissed between us, steady as a forge fire. Then I gave the smallest nod, the kind a man gives when they know there’s no room for argument. I handed the Ashpire Stone to the closest soldier as I turned to look back at the villagers.

  Celeste stood stiff at the edge of the crowd, the purse heavy in her hands. I crossed to her, the mud pulling at every step, and drew her into one last embrace. She clung to me tighter than I wanted her to, and I bent my head until my lips brushed her ear.

  “Do as I said,” I whispered. “Go to Rodin. Keep your name. Don’t look back.”

  Her breath hitched, but I didn’t give her the chance to answer. I pulled away before her strength became my weakness.

  The Magister barked his order, and the soldiers shifted like a single body. Boots and hooves dragged the square back into motion. Thame was flanked by two soldiers who hauled him upright and shoved him into the saddle.

  They gave me my reins, but not the right to mount. I walked among them, mud sucking at my boots, my horse following at my side like another captive.

  The villagers watched in silence as we left, the weeping of a few mothers and wives smothered beneath the rain’s steady return.

  And then the hamlet was behind us, and all that waited ahead was mud, steel, and the Triarchy’s leash.