45. Hector

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

HECTOR

I arrived early at the smithy.

No one else was there yet, so I stoked the coals myself. The fire would burn in the forge all day, and it was rarely as cool in our workspace as it was first thing in the morning.

With everyone in the forge working for weeks to make bolts and throwers, I didn't need to rush to work, but I needed the steady thump of a hammer on hot metal to center my thoughts. Strange, how such a physically demanding job had become the center of my essence. I wondered if my father would've approved. We weren't lords anymore. I was a smith, and I adored the work. If I could set my mind to a fiddly, solvable problem at my anvil, the bigger ones ahead would seem more manageable.

The tools I reached for were smaller than those I'd been using since coming to the Crane palace. In fact, the tools and molds I picked up were those I'd only seen in passing—they had no place in weapon making, but I didn't particularly want to make a weapon.

I'd just finished heating up the crucible when I heard someone shift something on a worktable behind me. Normally, when I was working, I lost myself. This time, some part of me must've been waiting for the company, because I spun around at once.

Abram was there, his broad, ruddy face tilted curiously to the left.

"You're here early."

My mouth fell open. "I . . . couldn't sleep."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Sleeping beside Killian, as spent as I had been, was comfortable and warm. But once I'd opened my eyes that morning, thirsty for a drink of water, I hadn't been able to stop thinking.

Rather than toss and turn and demand that Killian wake up to keep me company or provide me some more pleasant distraction, I'd carried myself to the forge.

In the time Helena had been with us, I'd been neglecting my work, less interested in bolt throwers or violent solutions than I had been.

Still, Abram had said nothing of my distraction, of how even when I was there, I sat and stared off as my mind drifted to anything but what was before me. It wasn't the first time I'd taken on a project, lost myself in it, and moved on entirely. It was just the first time that so many people were relying on me to keep steady for them.

And somehow, Abram had made space for my mind to wander.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I've been?—"

"Distracted?" He sat on a stool and looked at me, his enormous arms crossed his broad chest.

I nodded. "I?—"

He shook his head, and I fell silent.

"Hector, I've seen you work. You're not lazy or inept. You show up, offer your best. Frankly, your distraction is worth it—not because it's inconvenient or something you should manage. You're clever, innovative, and if you're distracted, it's usually because you're in the grips of something new and important."

My tongue was dry, my forehead clammy under his stare. "It's not...an issue?"

Abram shook his head. "We have space here for you to be your best, as you are."

My breath caught, and I looked away. There was a giant lump in my throat. It took a couple of swallows before I could speak again. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Now, tell me, what is it this time?"

I pinched my cheeks between my molars. "I want to end the war."

Abram's brows shot high. "A bold idea. How would you do it?"

That was the problem—I could think of no way, and the one solution Helena and I had come up with would require too great a concession from those who'd suffered too much.

The thing was, did sacrificing ego really cost more than sacrificing life?

"Do you mind if I keep working? It helps me organize my thoughts."

Abram shook his head. He even went to far as to abandon his seat and come over to the anvil where I'd gathered my tools.

I kept my eyes on the molten silver as I worked.

"How much do you think Nemedans would tolerate for peace?"

"A great deal," Abram said, shifting his weight.

"And if it meant looking into the eyes of their once-enemies and celebrating them?"

I glanced up to see Abram grimacing.

"Celebrating them for what?" Even Abram, steady as he was, spoke with dripping disdain.

I sighed, turning back to the anvil. "It doesn't really matter, for what. From all the reading Helena and I have done about the southlands, it is... it is critical to their culture to be seen as formidable outside of their own clans and families. Acts of bravery are the only thing that get their gods' attention. I don't think that there is anything Nemeda could offer them that would convince them to give up the fight."

Abram frowned. "We've tried for peace before. Not in a while, but it was made quite clear that it'd come to nothing."

"But if there were some... show or exhibition that allowed the southerners to prove themselves without sacrificing lives? If we offered them eyes and recognition, not from the dead but from thousands of living people? More people than will see them in quick-ended skirmishes..."

"Sounds like quite the ask," Abram said. His low voice belied his doubts, and I sighed.

For a long time, we were quiet. I could think of no more reasonable answer, and the prospect of unending war stretched out before me.

I'd lose Killian to wounds just like he'd already endured, and I couldn't stand the thought of putting his body forward, over and over, to a southerner's blade.

"What's that for?" Abram jerked his chin at the ring I'd just quenched, pinched in my forging tongs.

I scowled at it. Yes, I'd made it with my own two hands, but I hadn't been thinking critically about what I was making. Something small and intricate, round and whole.

Silver, with delicate filigree that reminded me of Killian's hair lifted by the gentle breeze.

I frowned down at it, hollowing my cheeks. "A custom from Urial."

With it cool enough not to burn, I tucked the ring into my pocket.

Abram raised a brow. "A gift for someone special?"

What could I say to that? Abram saw far too much. It was a blessing and a curse.

"One day. There's a problem I need to untangle first."

Abram hummed. "There will always be another problem to solve. Don't forget to live while you can."