Lyra Fernbrook's Arc

Chapter 21 of 21

Lyra woke before the sun. Dorian slept beside her, one arm across her waist. She slid out from under it without waking him. She dressed in the dark, took her coin pouch from the shelf, and stepped out onto the porch. Birds were already at the rail. She pressed a finger to her lips and walked past them down the path. The tavern sat quiet at that hour. Its lanterns still burned low under the eaves. The merchant waited at the side door as promised, a long bundle across his arms wrapped in dark cloth and tied with silver cord. He nodded when he saw her. "You brought the rest?" he asked. Lyra untied the pouch and counted the coins into his palm. He weighed them once, then held out the bundle. She lifted a corner of the cloth. Black glass caught the lantern light. Diamonds ran along the edge in a thin bright line. On the grip she saw the two letters she had asked for, an L and a D, set in silver. "Tell the smith who cut it he did clean work," she said. "I will." The merchant tipped his head and stepped back inside. She carried the bundle home against her chest. The path was still gray. When she pushed the door open, Dorian was sitting up on the edge of the bed. His hair hung loose. His spectacles were in his hand. He looked at her the way he looked at a shut door in a strange house. "You were gone," he said. "I was close." She set the bundle on the table. "I had something to fetch." He stood and came over. She untied the cord and folded the cloth back. The blade lay on the wood between them, black and bright. Dorian did not touch it at first. He looked at the grip. He read the letters. He touched the D with one finger, then the L, then the small mark between them. "I commissioned it months ago," she said. "Before the tower. Before any of it. I wanted you to have something as fine as the lyre you gilded for me." He picked it up. He turned it once in his hand and tested the balance. His shoulders eased. When he looked at her, his face had opened in the small way she had learned to watch for. "It's mine?" he said. "It's yours." He set the blade back on the cloth and pulled her against him. He held her a long time without speaking. The weeks that followed were quiet. They ate late. They slept in. He carried the blade at his belt when he went to the ridge and left it by the door when he came back. She played the lyre in the evenings. They laughed at small things. They kissed in doorways. They fell asleep tangled and woke tangled. The grove stayed green outside the window, and no one came to the door.