PROLOGUE
Clangs of steel on steel announced the arrival of the blacksmith’s fate. Yos Steelring passed a borrowed quarterstaff from hand to hand, trying to grow accustomed to its weight and balance. It was a sorry replacement for his usual stave, having none of the life nor familiarity of that rare weapon. Nothing to be done about it. The Loresmith stave—better known by its storied name, Ironbranch—could not be among the Vokkans’ spoils, which meant Yos’s companion of so many years was far from the palace and his grip.
Sounds of battle were closer now, much closer. Worse than the ring and scrape of steel were the screams followed by wet, guttural moans. Yos knew that those who remained of the palace guard had attempted to barricade themselves behind broken furniture, blocking the path to the royal apartments. That pitiful bulwark must have fallen, leaving only Yos between the soldiers and their prize.
Despite his determination to hold his post, Yos couldn’t keep fear-borne doubt from wriggling into his thoughts.
Is there honor in laying down one’s life for a king who brought his people to ruin?
Yos ground his teeth at the question. Too many times he’d thought of what his life might have been outside of the palace and city of Five Rivers. The Loresmith hadn’t always served in court. Generations ago the Loresmith roamed the provinces of Saetlund, offering aid where it was needed and joining the Loreknights in times of trouble. Together, smith and warriors had quelled threats, thwarted invasions, and crushed enemies of the kingdom.
Yos shook his head, pinpointing the moment in history when it had all fallen apart. The moment that King Nirn made the fateful declaration centuries ago. Loreknights would no longer be chosen from among the people of each province, but would instead be appointed by the monarch and take their place at the royal court. With that decree, Nirn had riddled the foundation of Saetlund’s defenses with cracks. Those cracks had widened over the years, becoming fissures and faults.
Today the walls had crumbled.
Yos was close to sinking into despair.
He reminded himself it wasn’t the current fool of a king, Dentroth, behind the door over which he stood watch. The royal twin toddlers were innocent and deserved his protection. If all had gone as planned, they were no longer in the nursery at Yos’s back. They should be miles from the city in care of their guardians. Their destination: Port Pilgrim, a ship, and obscurity. The little princess and prince would be exiles, but they would be safe.
Yos continued to guard the room he hoped was now empty. Every minute he defended the door was another minute bought for the twins’ escape. He had prayed for their safety, but most of his pleas to the gods begged for the salvation of an unborn child and its mother.
A tear rolled down Yos’s cheek as he thought of his wife, Lira. It had been five years since they’d first met, but the memory of that day was so clear he felt like he could step into it.
He had been in the market district, on his way to the tanner’s. The time had come to retire his smithing apron, and he wanted an exact re-creation of the garment that had served him so well. Yos had been to the tanner’s before, but he took a wrong turn and found himself on a street he didn’t recognize.
“Are you lost, blacksmith?” A young woman was watching him from a few feet away. She had pale pink skin and sable hair that fell down her back in a single long plait.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been on this street,” Yos admitted.
“That’s your loss,” she said, walking toward him. “The finest weaver in Saetlund has a shop on this street.”
He could see now that her eyes were lavender-gray, a shade he’d never seen before. “Your shop, I assume?”
She tsk’d. “My mother’s shop. Elke Silverthread. She creates exceptional fabrics. You could ask any of the ladies at court and they would tell you all their dresses are made of Silverthread fabrics.”
“Why do you think I’d know the ladies at court?” Yos’s face clouded. He wasn’t dressed for court. He’d come straight from his workshop, and his clothing showed it.
Buds of blush appeared on the woman’s cheeks. “I know who you are, Yos Steelring. My father is a blacksmith and a great admirer of your craft. He has pointed you out to me many times. And speaks of your generosity in sharing your knowledge with the guild, despite the king’s disapproval.”
“My thanks to your father for his kind words,” Yos said, feeling his own cheeks redden. He cleared his throat. “As you already have my name, may I ask yours?”
“I’m Lira,” she told him. “Lira Silverthread.”
“Lira.” For some reason, Yos could say nothing but her name. An awkward quiet stretched between them as he tried to remember how to speak. He couldn’t stop staring at her, and he was horrified by his uncouth behavior.
“Tanner!” he blurted.
Lira looked startled, and Yos hurried to say, “I was on my way to the tanner.”
“Ah.” She nodded. Her lips quirked as she returned his gaze.
“Come to the shop first,” Lira coaxed. “We will find the most beautiful scarf for your beloved.”
Yos was startled to find himself blushing again. “I don’t have a beloved.”
She smiled at him then, and Yos knew his heart would belong to no one else.
That first meeting led to a second, a third, and before Yos knew what was happening he found himself deeply in love. He wanted to marry her, but to do so would likely put them both at risk—Lira particularly.
For years, King Dentroth had been suggesting, loudly and often, that Yos should marry. The king had taken to ushering various high-born ladies into Yos’s company. He knew Dentroth was serious. Yos’s parents’ marriage had been arranged by the previous king. He believed King Dentroth would not go so far as to force him to marry, but he had no doubt the king would be furious if he married into a merchant family after rejecting the royal preferences.
Despite the risk, Yos and Lira did marry in secret, in the old way, at a shrine of Nava. They kept their marriage hidden from all but Lira’s parents. Even if the king had welcomed Lira to court and given their union his blessing, Yos knew Dentroth would lay claim to any child of the Loresmith. The line was hereditary. Neither Lira nor Yos was willing to hand their child’s fate over to the ruler of Saetlund.
Lira was six months pregnant with their first child when word of the Vokkan landings at Daefrit and Kelden reached the palace. Panic gripped the city. Given the state of Saetlund’s army and the size of the invading forces, Yos knew the enemy would reach Five Rivers within a week. Though he longed to flee the city with his wife, he couldn’t bear the dishonor of foreswearing his oaths. For three days, Yos and Lira had planned, debated, fought, and held each other until they came to an agreement. Those had been the worst three days of Yos’s life.