The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air #2) - Holly Black Page 0,61
he practiced for fifty years he might make the greatest blade ever made by a mortal man. I told him that if he practiced for a hundred years, he might craft one of the finest blades made by anyone. None of it satisfied him. Then I told him that I would give him one of my secrets: he could learn the practice of a hundred years in a single day, if only he would make a bargain with me. If only he would part with something he didn’t want to lose.”
“And did he make the bargain?” I ask.
He appears delighted. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? Come in.”
With a sigh, I do. The heat is nearly unbearable, and the stink of metal overwhelms my senses. In the dim room, what I see most is fire. My hand goes to the knife in my sleeve.
Thankfully, we move through the forge and into the living quarters of the house. It is untidy, all the surfaces littered with beautiful things—gems, jewelry, blades, and other ornaments. He pulls out a small wooden chair for me, and then sits on a low bench.
He has a worn, leathery face, and his silvery hair stands on end, as though he has been tugging on it as he worked. Today he is not clad in jeweled jackets; he wears a worn leather smock over a gray shirt smeared with ash. Seven heavy gold hoops hang from his large, pointed ears.
“What brings you to my forge?” he asks.
“I was hoping to find a gift for my sister. She is getting married in just a few days.”
“Something special then,” he says.
“I know you are a legendary smith,” I tell him. “So I thought it was possible you no longer sold your wares.”
“No matter my fame, I am still a tradesman,” he says, covering his heart. He looks pleased to be flattered. “But it’s true that I no longer deal in coins, only in barter.”
I should have figured there was some trick. Still, I blink at him, all innocence. “What can I give you that you don’t already have?”
“Let’s find out,” he says. “Tell me about your sister. Is this a love match?”
“It must be,” I say, thinking that over. “Since there’s no practical value in it.”
His eyebrows rise. “Yes, I see. And does your sister resemble you?”
“We’re twins,” I say.
“Blue stones, then, for your coloring,” he says. “Perhaps a necklace of tears to weep so that she won’t have to? A pin of teeth that to bite annoying husbands? No.” He continues to walk through the small space. He lifts a ring. “To bring on a child?” And then, seeing my face, lifts a pair of earrings, one in the shape of a crescent moon and the other in the shape of a star. “Ah, yes. Here. This is what you want.”
“What do they do?” I ask.
He laughs. “They are beautiful, isn’t that enough?”
I give him a skeptical look. “It would be enough, considering how exquisite they are, but I bet it isn’t all.”
He enjoys that. “Clever girl. They are not only beautiful, but they add to beauty. They make someone more lovely than they were, painfully lovely. Her husband will not leave her side for quite some time.”
The look on his face is a challenge. He believes I am too vain to give such a gift to my sister.
How well he knows the selfish human heart. Taryn will be a beautiful bride. How much more do I, her twin, want to put myself in her shadow? How lovely can I bear her to be?
And yet, what better gift for a human girl wedded to the beauty of the Folk?
“What would you take for them?” I ask.
“Oh, any number of little things. A year of your life. The luster of your hair. The sound of your laugh.”
“My laugh is not such a sweet sound as all that.”
“Not sweet, but I bet it’s rare,” he says, and I wonder at his knowing that.
“What about my tears?” I ask. “You could make another necklace.”
He looks at me, as though evaluating how often I weep. “I will take a single tear,” he says finally. “And you will take an offer to the High King for me.”
“What kind of offer?” I counter.
“It is known that the Undersea has threatened the land. Tell your king that if he declares war, I will make him armor of ice to shatter every blade that strikes it and which will make his heart too cold to feel pity.