Lyr Thornwright's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Lyr opened the door before Cade could knock again. He filled the frame, dark-haired, gruff, a weapons dealer who feared nothing. Least of all her. She had no story ready. The fox pressed flat behind her workbench, trembling, and she knew Cade would spot it if he stepped inside. "No fox here," she said. "Go." He looked past her shoulder. His eyes moved slow, careful, smart. "That animal killed my wife. She followed it every night. I found her in the sand." His voice stayed level. "I only want to catch it. Then it's done." "There's nothing to catch." Lyr's hand found the workbench. Her fingers closed on the unfinished sword she'd left there. The blade was raw, half-forged, edges rough. She raised it between them. "Get off my step." Cade did not flinch. He watched the sword shake in her grip. Her cursed hands could not hold it steady, and he saw that. "You don't want to swing that," he said. He stepped in, calm, and caught her wrist. He didn't twist or hurt her. He just pressed, firm and gentle, until her fingers opened. The sword clattered to the floor. Then something heavy cracked against the back of his head. Cade dropped. Finn stood behind him, holding the graceful teapot from Lyr's shelf, its spout now chipped. His hands shook worse than hers. The quiet woodworker who feared her, who only wanted to watch the wood take shape, had swung a teapot at a grown man. "Finn!" Lyr shoved past the fallen sword and knelt by Cade. Blood matted his hair. His chest rose, slow. Alive. She pressed her hand to the wound. "What did you do?" Finn set the teapot down. His sunny face had gone pale. "He had you. I thought—" "He wasn't hurting me." She heard how sharp it came out. She didn't soften it. Her heart pounded for the wrong man, and she knew it, and she couldn't stop it. "You hit him. Look at him." Finn said nothing. He looked at Cade on the floor, then at Lyr's hand pressed to Cade's head, and understood something. His shoulders dropped. The fox crept out from behind the bench. It nosed toward the open door, toward the desert, toward the willow tree. Cade stirred and groaned. His eyes half-opened. They found the fox. "There," he murmured. "It's real." Lyr's stomach turned. He had seen it. The lie was dead. Cade knew the fox lived here now, knew she'd hidden it. When he woke fully, he would follow it, or follow her, straight to the wood she needed for her pendant. She pressed her furs tighter at her collar, where the curse hid. The pendant was half-carved in her drawer. She needed the willowlight to finish it. And now the man who could ruin that lay bleeding on her floor, and she was the one holding the wound shut.