Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City (7 page)

“Mine and those of half the other mages in the Guild,” I said. “Promising isn’t the same thing as successful.” None of us had hit the perfect combination of alloys that might mimic the strength and power of iron without causing pain to the Fae. Which was why, if Master Aquinas truly did think my efforts were promising, it made no sense that he would deny me the opportunity to gain an introduction to the Fae smiths and prove myself worthy of being taught by them.

“Yet.”

I was torn. Part of me liked the compliment being paid to my skills, but mostly I felt the net of convention and obligation tightening around me from yet another angle. Yes, I wanted to help, but to do so by hiding away and denying my own desires didn’t exactly sit easy. “You still need iron workers to be in the delegation.”

“Yes, and that’s why I chose Master DeLuca. The rest of you will stay here.”

His tone made it clear that there would be no disputing the point. His argument was logical. Master DeLuca would work well on the delegation. He wasn’t one of the more powerful iron workers but he was intelligent and diligent. So he’d do a good job whilst being expendable—not that any loss of a mage was acceptable. Despite the logic, I still wasn’t entirely convinced that my brothers hadn’t planted the hells damned notion in Master Aquinas’ head. It seemed suspiciously convenient that this particular negotiation period was deemed unsafe for metalmages who worked iron when usually they had a strong role to play in negotiating the human iron ration. Not that I was officially a metalmage yet. No, I was still just a prentice and therefore bound by the will of the man before me.

I tried one last objection. “You picked Rebecca from the third-years,” I said. “She’s a silver worker. Won’t the silver supply be affected too?”

“There are three times as many silver workers as iron workers. You know that. It’s not the same thing.”

He leaned a little closer, his expression softening. “I know this is disappointing, Saskia, but if you accept this, then your patience may be rewarded.”

Oh yes? After everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, then I was going to get some special treatment? “How exactly?”

“Something good will come of it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do I get to choose what that something might be?”

He smiled. “I take it you have something in mind?”

“I want to go to the Veiled Court,” I said bluntly. “I want a chance to work with the Fae smiths.”

Serious eyes studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. I will see what can be done. In time,” he added. “Your work has proved your skills.” He stood, smoothing down his tunic absently. “Now, I have much to do and you must be missing classes.”

Dismissed. Without a firm agreement that I would get what I had asked for. Anger rose within me again and I clamped down before it could strengthen. Master Aquinas would see the power sparking if I didn’t. Then I would be in for a lecture about lack of control.

“Thank you, Guild Master,” I forced myself to nod politely, stand, and dip a curtsy. I even managed to walk out of the room in a controlled manner and not slam the door. I maintained my sense of composure until I was through the building and halfway down the path that led to my workroom.

At which point I let myself break into a run, heading for the safe haven of my own space, where I could lock myself away—Master Aquinas having been mistaken about my class schedule today—and indulge my anger to my heart’s content.

The workroom door—reinforced with heavy brass banding—slammed satisfyingly, shaking the various implements and piles of glassware around the room into a furious jangle of noise. I felt a moment’s guilt, hoping that Silvio, who had the workroom that shared a wall with mine, hadn’t been in the middle of a delicate process, then took the lack of shouted protest to be a sign that he hadn’t.

I stomped across the room, yanked my heaviest leather apron off its peg, and dropped it over my head, heedless of the fact that I still wore my best tunic. It wasn’t as though I was going to need it for the negotiations after all. What did I care if it got stained or burned?

I threw half a scuttle of coal onto the banked embers of my forge fire and stirred them viciously to life with a poker that threatened to bend in my hand as the power surged again in response to my mood. I channeled the fury into the fire, heating the coals far too quickly. The flames roared and blasted my face with heat that was a little too much for comfort.

Face nearly scorched, I scowled and pushed some of the excess heat down through the earth, into the deep aqueducts that ran under the Academy for exactly this purpose.

Once the fire was under control, the coals starting to glow red, I stepped back, dropped the poker, and looked around for something else to take my anger out on. Anything.

I spotted a sword that I had ruined with an incautious tempering several weeks ago hanging from the wall amongst some other failures waiting to be repurposed.
Perfect
. I snatched it down and plunged the blade into the fire to heat. While I waited for the forge fire to do its work, I paced the room, fighting the urge to throw things.

I had worked up a good sweat, pounding my frustration into the sword, when I noticed my wards flickering. Somebody at my door. Cursing, I plunged the sword into the quenching barrel—it was beyond ruined now—and stalked over to the door, still holding the hammer.

The man standing on my doorstep looked somewhat taken aback. “I wasn’t that rude last night, was I?” Fen asked with a grin. He nodded at the hammer. “If I was, I assure you I apologize. If you put that away.”

I blinked, my mind trying to catch up. Fen here, on my doorstep? Laughing at me. I was suddenly very conscious of my soot-stained, sweaty state. And that I was waving a hammer at him. I bent and leaned the hammer against the doorframe. “I was working. What are you doing here?”

He looked somewhat the worse for wear. He hadn’t shaved and his clothes, though not the same elegant tailcoat he had worn to the ball, were rumpled as though he’d slept in them. He wore a navy tie knotted crookedly around the collar of a white linen shirt. The slightly lighter blue jacket fitted beautifully despite its wrinkles.

“May I come in?” he asked.

I hesitated. I wasn’t in the mood for visitors, any visitors, let alone someone as unsettling as the man before me. Not when I had no idea why he’d sought me out. Regina and Holly had told me a little of his reputation—his wild ways and his legendary charm when it came to pursuing women—but surely he hadn’t come here to woo me?

I sincerely doubted that I was the type of woman he wooed—if indeed he ever did have to do any wooing rather than just sitting back and letting women flock to him. And I had no inclination to become one of the panting throng. He was horribly attractive, even scruffy and unkempt—not the distant perfect beauty of a Fae but still enticingly handsome. Particularly when his intense green eyes were focused on me like I was the gateway to heaven. “I’m busy,” I said shortly, fighting the urge to step closer.

“Please?” He accompanied the plea with another flash of charming smile. It made me nervous, but I found myself stepping back and nodding before I could think better of it. Which only made me more nervous.

I had met attractive men before. I’d even dealt with Fae men whose beauty made Fen look plain. But none of them had made my sense of self-preservation itch the way Fen did. I hadn’t let myself think about it last night when he had seemed so bored and eager to get away from the ball. Even those last few minutes on the portico, I had made myself dismiss whatever interest I had felt, knowing it could lead to nothing good. But apparently the events of this morning and my lack of sleep had rattled me sufficiently to make me vulnerable.

I held up a hand, warding him off. “This room has iron in it. Won’t it hurt you?”

He shrugged. “No. I’m fine as long as I don’t handle it directly.”

I wondered if he was telling the truth, then decided I didn’t care. If he wanted to be an idiot, it wasn’t my place to stop him. I stepped farther back as he moved toward me. He might be an idiot but I wasn’t going to be one.

Scooping up the hammer, I moved across the workroom, back to the forge to return the tool to its proper place, putting a good chunk of metal between me and the man who had me rattled in the process.

Fen, however, came to a halt a few feet inside the door, his head turning every which way, his expression fascinated.

“You had something you wanted?” I prompted. I didn’t want to deal with this man while I was shaken and off balance. What I wanted was to be left alone to regain my composure. Because I was suddenly afraid that I might attempt to work off my anger by doing something foolish with him.

I wiped my hands on my apron, succeeding only in smearing more soot on skin and leather. Turning my back on Fen, I crossed to the sink at the rear of the room, untying the apron as I went. Scrubbing my hands gave me a minute to think. I would’ve dunked my head in the water if I’d thought it would help but I doubted it would. Besides, I didn’t want Fen to see my nerves.

I dried my hands slowly. Behind me, Fen moved around the room, his footsteps light, then silent as he paused here and there. At least there was no crash of glass or clatter of metal. Or maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Knocking something over would give me the excuse to toss him out again.

With one last nervous swipe of the linen towel over my hands, I forced myself to turn back to him.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” I came halfway back across the room, still keeping a reasonable distance between us. The Guild didn’t apply the silly rules of chaperonage and etiquette that the human world imposed—it would make teaching students difficult if unmarried men and women couldn’t be left alone together—but for once I missed the protection of the system I’d grown up with.

Fen moved—prowled, rather—around my room, looking somewhat like a wild thing hunting for . . . what exactly, I couldn’t tell.

He paused near the forge, stared down at the flames. He still didn’t speak.

I frowned, anger rekindling slowly now that I’d had a chance to steady my nerves. “I’m really quite busy this morning. If you’re not going to tell me why you’re here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Do you want something?”

His head lifted sharply, and those wild green eyes settled on me, narrowing slightly. “Such as?”

“I don’t know. You came to me,” I pointed out.

“And men never come to you just because?” His voice dropped a note or too, pitched just right to please the ear.

“Not very often.” I pressed my lips together, swallowed against the sudden resurging flutter of nerves. “After all, they know who my brothers are.” I angled a few steps toward the box under the window where I kept the weapons I made. I didn’t truly believe I needed one, and I did have other tools of defense at my disposal, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Simon and Guy had drummed that much into me.

“Your brothers aren’t that scary.”

“Maybe not to you.” Once again, I wondered if he was telling the truth. Usually I was very good at reading people. Fen, if he was lying, was a master at it. All the more reason to treat him with caution.

I’d seen him head out of the ballroom with Simon and Guy last night and seen him return, looking grim, before he’d pasted a polite look of indifference back on his face and stationed himself, back to the bar, watching the dancers while he drank. “But most men I meet have more sense”—
and less brandy,
I stopped myself from adding by clamping my mouth shut on the words and swallowing again—“than you.”

“You don’t know if I have any sense or not.”

“I’ve heard stories,” I said. Then cursed myself as the look in his eyes turned amused. “Besides, you look like you haven’t been to bed at all. That’s hardly sensible.”

“I’m half Fae,” he reminded me. “I need less sleep than a human. I work best at night.”

His eyes gleamed with even more amusement. I ignored his innuendo. Fae blood or not, something told me that he was desperately tired. His shirt cuff obscured the chain around his wrist, but I could feel it, the purity of the iron singing to me cleanly through the myriad other notes of metal in the room. If nothing else, wearing iron had to drain him. He’d left the ball early, same as me. Who or what had occupied the rest of his night?

No. I wasn’t going to think about how he might or might not spend his time. Find out what he’d come for and send him back on his way: that was the only sensible plan. “Less sleep isn’t no sleep. But your sleeping habits are no concern of mine.”

That made him look amused again. Sainted
earth
. I was turning simpleminded around this man. To his credit, he didn’t say anything. He was being the perfect gentleman, mostly. I judged his flirtation to be mostly instinctive, something he used on any female—or male perhaps—to get what he wanted.
Nothing to do with me personally
, I told myself firmly.

But the not telling
me why he was here was growing tiresome. My own lack of sleep was starting to take its toll now that the adrenaline of this morning had subsided. Fen’s presence was still making me nervous enough to hold it at bay, but I could feel fatigue waiting to descend on me like an anvil dropped from the sky. I rested my hand on the copper trivet lying on the bench nearest me, drawing strength from the metal. Just a little. Not enough to damage it, just enough to keep my wits about me.

“What my concern is,” I continued, “is why you’re here. Are you going to tell me, or are you going to leave?”

He watched me for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. He straightened his shoulders, tugged his tie into a slightly more orderly position. “I came here to test a theory.”

“A theory? You have some sort of metallurgical problem I can help with?”

He snorted. “Hardly. No, I have an entirely different sort of problem.” He stepped forward. I moved back without thinking, but there was a high stool in my path. I couldn’t go any farther without making it obvious that I was retreating. And really, what did I have to retreat from?