Steam hissed like a pit of vipers as Farrin dipped the steel in the tempering vat. She hanged the sword on the rack along with the others she had in various stages of forging, wiped her face and swept her smithy floor before heading to bed. She had just finished sweeping when she heard a fist knock loudly on her door three times. She took a mace off one of the racks lining the smithy walls and approached the door cautiously. She cracked it open, peering past it with the mace ready, then dropped the weapon and bowed until her single long braid fell over her shoulder and touched the ground. “Dread Highness,” she said.

“Iron Maiden,” said Prince Ror. His voice was deep and resonant, with just a hint of hoarseness. Farrin thought of her poor Koll, who’s voice had sounded similar, only more clear and gentle. At least she thought the prince’s voice might sound like Koll’s. It had been so long. She had been thinking of him often the last few days, to her great sadness, and everything reminded her of him. For a time she’d laid the past to rest, lately his pleasant face and beautiful voice had been haunting her dreams.

“I have word of your husband,” said the Prince.

So that’s why, she thought. No wonder she’d been thinking of him. She must have sensed that he’d finally been killed. He was as good as dead to her, she knew, being sentenced to the Underguard, but as long as he lived she could find a small measure of comfort when memories of him plagued her.

“Please stand,” said her Prince. She rose obediently and looked him in the eyes, tears welling in hers. She recognized two of the five men accompanying the Queen’s son. They were soldiers who had come to her shop to compliment her on her smithing work, and to offer condolences when Koll had been taken from her.

“We know him for an innocent,” one had said. It had done no good, their knowing Koll for an innocent, but instead it diseased her heart with false hope. Their presence confirmed her fear. Koll had died. She recognized dully that the men now wore the crimson plate of the Sunderers, whom only the citadel smiths made gear for. That explained why she hadn't seen them until now, being busy with their new exalted commission. Life had clearly been good to them. She had once dreamed of joining the honored ranks of the citadel smiths and making arms and armor for the Sunderers and Red Spears, or even the fabled Owl Guard, if they indeed existed. Her dreams had died with Koll, though. Many had told her to rekindle her heart and pursue her passions anew, that she did no honor to her husband by wallowing in sadness. Those were people she no longer knew. Now she only knew her forge, her pain, and the daughter Koll had left behind from his first wife long dead. How can I tell Navva? She lives in a dream of seeing him again one day. This will crush her.

One of the men she did not know, a large one with a hard look, stepped forward. “I served for a time in the Underguard,” he said, “and became acquainted with Koll.”

Farrin felt a flush of surprise that distracted her from the sick feeling filling her heart. “You… served? How are you here?”

“Buri’s purpose there was unique,” said Prince Ror. “He’s innocent of any crime, as is your husband.”

Is? Could it be true? Could he be alive? Then why would they be here? No. He had to be dead. The Prince misspoke. Farrin dared not believe anything else. She’d come to lean on her sadness for so long that she’s forgotten how to hope or feel joy. That the son of her monarchs stood in her smithy telling her that Koll lived, in the presence of three men who knew his innocence, one of whom had returned from the doomed… it was too much for her to believe.

“Thank you for coming to me Dread Highness,” she said. “His daughter is on expedition in the dimroads. I’ll inform her when she returns.”

“When she returns?” the Prince was not like the larger man who spoke tenderly, but was bold and joyous. It confused her. “Which expedition?” he bellowed, “I’ll send bear riders after her within the hour! Farrin, I’m freeing Koll. There will be an inquest to satisfy the Arbiters, but he’s coming back. I’ve already sent a demand to Val… Farrin!”

She had leaned on her sadness for years. It propped her up, it moved her forward, albeit slowly. Somehow it seemed right, that it was unjust for her to live happily when the man she loved languished in violent misery. She felt better about herself it seemed, being miserable herself. And in one sudden, unexpected instant that crutch she had leaned on had been shattered from beneath her, and she sank to her knees feint with shock. She felt vice like hands gripping her shoulders and lifting her to her feet.

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When her vision cleared she saw her prince beaming through his long black beard. Nava, Farrin thought, she has to know. He sent Bear Riders. They can catch up to her. “She only left a week ago,” she said with urgency, “she has to know!”

“She will!”. The Prince was laughing as he spoke.

“Is this true?”

He was nodding and laughing almost hysterically. It was more than Farrin could stand. How could this happen? She looked to the large man who claimed to have been brought back from the doomed as well. “Who are you?” she said weakly, fighting to remain conscious.

“I’m no one,” he said.

“He’s the army chief’s nephew,” said the Prince. That seemed to frustrate the other man. So many questions, and at the center of it all was the hope she never dared allowed herself to have. The next few moments felt like images from a half remembered dream. She was set down on a bench and a cold wet rag was placed on her forehead. The Prince fetched her a mug of cold water to drink, and before she knew it she was alone laying on her bed. The men had left her a flagon full of chilled water and a mug, along with a board of bread and strips of smoked stag meat from her larder.

She drank the mug empty and filled it again, then took a few bites of meat and felt strong enough to ready herself for sleep. She was reeling manically with the news given by the Prince. She could see Koll across from her in her tub as she bathed, talking her ear off about how the number of gorget’s on their last order had passed their order of spaulders, and how they needed to figure out if that was due to market demands or a difference in quality. They of course meant her. Farrin was the smith, Koll was the merchant, and of course he never brought up any deficiencies of his own in their discussions. It never mattered to Farrin, at least not much. She could forget her irritations with his one sided dronings by losing herself in his melodious voice.

But as soon as she found herself immersed in her memories, her beloved man would disappear. She’d be alone in the wash basin, keenly aware of Koll’s absence and the cooling of her bath water. She scrubbed hurriedly at her ash encrusted arms, both to clean herself before the water went cold and to try and avoid the approaching fears. This was not the first time she’d imagined cause for hope. The two other men had tried to have him freed. Three times they had approached the authority of the Citadel. Once they only made it to the captain of the Sunderers, and he’d lamented with them but was unable to contend with the great powers behind him, and her hope had been stolen away, taken far from her as the day star is from the even. The second time the soldiers had spoken to the White Bull, who had said he would give anything to return an innocent man from the doomed, but that the power simply was not within him. Then both the Captain and the Chief were approached together, but there was talk of the King’s youngest brother betrothing the human princess, and her husband’s plight was lost in that storm, a casualty of bad timing.

When she’d awoken and began to fire up her forge, she remembered thinking it was Miser’s men at her door instead of the prince. She looked to where she’d dropped her mace and saw it had been put back on the rack. She shook her head. What did the Prince think of me when he saw that?

The day went by much as any other. She worked her forge, made deliveries to her vendors, spoke with a guild official about a potential business partner whom she promptly rejected, and returned to her smithy to complete as much of her outstanding orders as she could. There were no visits from Miser or the prince. She looked again at the floor by her doorway before heading to the small sleeping chamber at the back of her forge. She was ready to kill a man when she took that mace from the rack. If they wanted to punish a member of the Ladhu family for a crime, she would give them the excuse.

It had been a sordid hope she kept hidden in her darkest shadow of thought. She could follow him to the doomed. She could doom herself, and feel satisfaction from cleansing Thrond of a small portion of its hidden filth. Only the look of shame she knew Koll would welcome her with held her back. If she were to do such a thing, become such a person, and to leave his daughter with no one, how could he love her? And to see him, but to be hated by him, that would be even greater torture than she endured now.

But he was coming back. Even now it hurt to try and believe it, even though she’d heard the words from the mouth of the Prince. The Prince! She could tell Prince Ror of Miser and his web of theft and murder. She could show him the hideous boil growing in the lowly corners of his realm. He was sure to be named heir, all knew. In fact, as far as Farrin was aware he may well have been already. He spoke as if the throne was already his, making demands of Valung. Only the King made demands of Valung, the King and the White Bull.

But what could she show to her prince? She hadn’t the foggiest idea who Miser even was. All she could alert Ror to was a network of liars and thieves and some of their hired killers. No. She would have to be content to have Koll back. But for how long? There’s no conceivable way Miser will let him live. Perhaps Koll had learned enough to expose Miser to the Prince. That was all she could hope for. Unless… the White Bull’s nephew?