The heavy thuds of a hammer on an anvil could be heard a block away from the large smithy, and Nadia frowned. The small lunch basket hanging from the creased of her elbow swung slightly as she turned the corner on to the cobblestone street which housed various two-story craft shops. The smithy was a large squat building, darker than its neighbors, with dark smoking coming from the twin chimneys. Its front was rather plain though the elaborate silver and gold sign over the wide door drew attention and wealthy customers. Gregson Fine Gold, Silver, and Metalworks. To the left of the main entrance, at the far end of the building was a stable where the furrier worked.
Nadia immediately noticed the fine dappled horse which stood patiently in the single stall, munching happily on oats and hay with its long gray tail swaying slightly. As she approached the place where her father usually worked, the rich quality of the riding tack became more apparent. She peered into the little blacksmith’s smithy could saw no sign of her father or the owner of the huge charger. The animal snorted and rolled his dark eyes in her direction, ears twitching until he decided she was of no threat.
The blows of a hammer resumed, drawing Nadia along the metal shop’s wall to the main entrance. She hesitated a moment, staring up at the intricate sign, then pushed against the heavy door. The heat of the fire hit her face, ***** the breath right out of her and causing her whole body to tremble. She blinked back tears and horrible nightmares as she fought to fill her lungs with air. She would not think of it; she forced herself not to think of it.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. Her eyes swept the large room and found her father bent over an anvil, his brow creased with concentration. With a deep breath, she stepped inside and allowed the heavy door to swing shut behind her. She wondered why her father was in the shop; Mr. Gregson had never allowed him to work in there before. Today was the day of the week when Mr. Gregson and the other smiths went home at noon and left her father to run the blacksmith shop until evening.
“Ah, Nadia,” her father’s booming voice greeted her as he turned from his work, sweat beaded on his red face. “I am in the middle of an order right now, but if you would kindly offer the meal to our guest.”
He indicated to the far corner of the smithy where a small window allowed cool, fresh air into the forge. Seated beside the window was a man as fine as the horse outside. Nadia found herself staring boorishly at the guest in surprise. His polished boots reflected the dancing flames of the fire; his dark green tunic was crisp and hemmed in silver thread. His face was finely chiseled with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a firm chin. Dark eyes stared back at her, twinkling in amusement, and Nadia blushed.
“Pardon me, sir,” she murmured, dropping her eyes to the floor. She swallowed and darted a quick look back up to find the aristocrat watching her, a faint smile on his lips. “Would you care for some stew?”
“Stew sounds perfect,” he said in a smooth baritone voice.
Quietly, Nadia approached the nobleman and set the basket on the bench next to him. She opened the lid with a practice motion—bringing her gloved hand up so that her thumb pushed the lip of the lid open—and then gazed at the bowl of soup in dismay. Her father always took the food out of the basket at lunch because her hands could not grasp the objects in such a tight space. With the aristocrat watching her, Nadia felt panic swelling in her chest. What could she do? Her heart beat loudly in her chest and she could feel the humming of blood in her ears.
“Are you in need of assistance?” the nobleman asked kindly.
Nadia’s face burned with shame as she nodded, lips tight. He reached over and swiftly drew the bowl of stew from the basket. He set it carefully on the bench and the preceded to remove the other items from the basket: a second bowl, two spoons, and two lumpy biscuits. The aroma of the freshly brewed stew cause her stomach to rumble loudly. Without waiting for her to speak, the nobleman divided the stew into the two bowls and set a biscuit in each.
“Come, eat with me,” he said as he handed a bowl to Nadia.
Hesitantly, she reached out both of her gloved hands; each slightly cupped, and carefully took the bowl. It was difficult to grasp as her hands refused to contract and tighten around the curved sides, but she stubbornly pressed her tender palms against the bowl and sat down a stool across from the man. She set the bowl on her knees and waited until the nobleman had taken the first bite before awkwardly spooning some into her mouth.
“This is very delicious,” the aristocrat said after a long silence. “Did you make this, Nadia?”
She dropped her spoon in surprise and it landed in her bowl, sending a spray of stew on to the front of her dress. She blushed at her clumsiness, wishing she could melt into the floor and disappear. The man’s elegance and polite manners were too much for her. She was just a plain country girl who could not use her hands properly.
“So the answer is ‘no’, eh?” One of his eyebrows rose slightly and he gave a good-humored chuckle.
“No, sir. I mean... Yes, sir,” Nadia stammered. She wiped at the drops of stew on her dress with one hand.
“Are you Master Dray’s only child?”
Her hand froze, quivering, against her stomach. In her mind’s eye she saw Nelius laughing as he splashed water at her face. A second later, the memory was gone, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of guilty and loneliness. She dropped her hand to the bowl to try to keep it from shaking.
“Nadia.” His kind voice forced her eyes up to his face. “Are you afraid of me?”
She remained silent as his dark eyes searched her.
“There is no reason to fear me,” he continued gently. “May I ask why you are so jumpy?”
Nadia looked away, listening to her father work. The man before her was a high ranking aristocrat; she knew for certain from the gold ring inlayed with small diamonds and sapphires in the shape of an M that was on his finger. She had no experience which members of the elite and feared that she would somehow do or say something wrong. Would the man punish her or her father or her family if she made a social blunder? Yet he seemed so caring and genuinely interested in her.
Her eyes dropped to the bowl on her lap and the black gloved hands that held it. Slowly she set the bowl on the ground by her worn shoes and sat back up on the stool. Without looking at the nobleman, she pulled at her left glove and watched as it slowly revealed ugly, puckered, discolored skin. Tears filled her eyes as she saw her hateful curse. Raised, jagged scars where the burned skin had healed together were a stunning pale against the blotchy red of the thin skin left on her forearms and hands. Her fingers were paralyzed by the poorly healed scars in a slightly cupped position. She bent her thumb as far as she was able—only at the first knuckle.
“I do not want to be useless,” Nadia murmured softly through the tears. “But I am. I cannot cook stew, I cannot do anything. I want to help my family, but I cannot do anything at all... not with these hideous things. I cannot even hold a spoon properly.”
A strong hand enclosed over her exposed one, and through her tears, she saw that the nobleman had gently taken hold of her hand. His thumb traced the ugly scars from each fingertip across the palm and down to her wrist. It was the first time since her injuries had healed that someone else had touched her hands, and the sensation on the tender skin caused shivers to run up the length of her arm.
“How did this happen?” he asked so quietly that Nadia almost missed it.
“There was a fire,” she replied vaguely, not wanting to remember but unable to stop the words from coming. “Last summer during the drought. No one knows how it started, but Nelius and I were upstairs playing... playing... and suddenly the room was filled with smoke. Dark smoke that filled our noses and made us cough. I could not breathe, I was coughing, and I could not think. Nelius stayed calm and kicked open the window. The black smoke disappeared but hot flames came at us so fast. They were all around us, dancing up the walls and on the sloped ceiling. There was a creaking sound and we saw a beam starting to fall... It fell so slowly, but I just stared at it. Nelius pushed me out of the way.”
The tears flowed down her face as she spoke.
“He was trapped underneath it. I tried to free him, I did try, but the beam was too heavy and it burned... it burned... The flames were all around me, touching me, but I could not stop. I had to save Nelius, but I could not move it. I was not strong enough. Then someone grabbed me and put a cloth over my mouth and nose. It was Mr. Raemonn. I tried to tell him that Nelius was trapped, but he would not let me go until we were outside. Then he went back into the house... he went in... ”
Nadia choked and covered her eyes with her right hand, shoulders shuddering as she quietly wept.
“Then what happened?” the soft voice calmly urged.
“The house collapsed. It just sank in on itself,” she murmured distantly. She saw the house before her eyes in that brief moment before her mother hand wrapped a blanket around her, obscuring her view. “They did not come out. Their bodies were found two days later after the ruins had cooled. Everyone whispered... I saw the looks they gave when they visited me as the healer tended to my injuries and I knew, even though no one would tell me, I knew.”
She was back in the small room off the back of the Raemonn’s house, lying in the bed with bandages on her hands and up her arms. She could not move without causing pain, and every few minutes she would cough so hard that her lungs burned painfully inside her. The healer never let her see her hands and even would pin a curtain up before changing the bandages. The only way she knew she still had hands was that constant pain that kept her awake for days—
“Nadia, who is Nelius?”
She blinked, the memory fading quickly until she found herself in the hot smithy staring at the green tunic of the aristocrat. All around her echoed the sounds of her father’s hammer. It was all a memory, nothing more. She sat quietly for a moment, devoid of all emotions.
“Nelius was my twin brother,” she answered calmly. “He died instead of me. The beam should have landed on me. It would have been better if I had perished, too.”
“How could you say that?” the nobleman asked. His was voice harder than it had been a moment before but Nadia did not notice.
“I cannot use my hands,” Nadia said evenly, “and so I am completely useless. I cannot help Mama by keeping house, I cannot help earn money by working, and I cannot learn any useful skill. I am nothing; I should have died.”
“Has the thought never crossed your mind that you might have been saved from the fire for some special purpose?” the nobleman inquired. Nadia blinked and looked up at him. Suddenly, it dawned on her that he still held her left hand captive in his own. He had not withdrawn in horror or treated her like her injury was a contagious disease. The skin on her palm tingled as he stroked a smooth, pink scar.
“You do not hate me?” she asked astonished.
“And why would I hate you, Nadia?”
“Because...” She looked down at her hand in his. “...because I am cursed to have these for the rest of my life. Most people...” she struggled. “Most people do not want cripples around. We were chased out of a town because of me.”
“Your family?”
“Not just my family, but all of the families. After the flood destroyed everything, we had to find somewhere else to live. Six families traveled with us from town to town, looking for relatives or somewhere to settle. But the people of Gawp noticed my hands. I was not supposed to leave the wagon, but Sylvia had wandered off. I had to find her before something happened, but I cannot carry her. I tried to pick her up—I did try—but I could not, and they noticed my hands. They threw stones at me and little Sylvia, and threatened to kill me if we did not leave at once. I wear the gloves now... all the time. Sylvia could have been killed... because of me. Everything is my fault.”
“Oh, Nadia,” the nobleman murmured softly. “You have had to deal with more pain and suffering than most people do in a lifetime, but you are strong enough to bare it.”
The smithy went quiet, and Nadia glanced over her shoulder to find her father wiped his face on a towel. Four horseshoes lay on a table, reflecting the light from the fires. She felt the aristocrat release her hand and she pulled the glove back on just as her father approached.
“My most sincere apologies, Good Sir, for your long wait,” her father said with a bow at the waist. “I do believe that you will enjoy these new shoes.”
The aristocrat stood, and Nadia was amazed that he was taller than her father. While her father had the muscular bulk common in blacksmiths and metalworkers, the nobleman was as lean as a giant wildcat and walked with the grace of one, as well. She watched him follow her father and then pick up each horseshoe separately to study the intricate designs her father had made. He reminded her of the gigantic statues of ancient kings and famous generals that flanked the city’s main gates and the ones that stood in the center of Memorial Park.
“These are wonderful!” he exclaimed. Her father stood silently at his side, a mixture of relief and hope on his rugged face. “The workmanship is exquisite and all this done is such a brief time.”
“Shall I put them on your steed, sir?”
“Certainly! Though I must admit that I am not carrying any coins on my person,” the nobleman said ruefully. “I did not foresee my horse losing a shoe on a morning jaunt to the river and back. However, I do have this.”
As he spoke, he removed the ring Nadia had seen earlier from his finger and placed it into her father’s hand. In a firm voice that declared that he would accept no protests, he said, “Keep this ring until I return with your proper payment.”
Her father nodded solemnly and turned to Nadia. “Please hold on to this precious ring while I fit the Master’s shoes on to his mount,” he asked her. Nadia stood and crossed the room with both men watching her. She took the ring in her left hand. Then her father gathered the horseshoes and his tools, and hurried from the smithy to the stable.
The nobleman followed him but paused to whisper, “Keep it safe for me, Nadia.” Then he was gone and she found herself alone in the hot room staring at the heavy ring. It was a lot larger than she had first thought, and it must be oftly important. Carefully, she put the ring in the pocket of her dress. She wondered what the letter in the center stood for, and that is when she realized that she did not even know the nobleman's name.
In a daze, she left the basket and the barely touched meal in the far corner and left the metal shop. She ignored the corner of the building where her father was busy fitting the shoes on the handsome dapple horse, refusing to even look in case the nobleman was there, too. She walked along the cobblestone street, avoiding the few people who were out visiting the shops, heading home with a head full of thoughts.
