Page 61 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Cairon’s shop stood at the heart of Emberglade, where the ring of hammer on iron carried through every street and the smell of charcoal rode the wind. The smith ushered them inside with rough pride, apron dusted in ash, grin broad beneath his dark goatee.

“Welcome to the lungs of Lemierre,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “The day the forges fall quiet, this duchy stops breathing.”

Ironically, Kora found breathing difficult the moment they crossed the threshold. Heat wrapped around them, and the air felt thick. Instinct urged her back. Curiosity sent her forward.

Apprentices darted between anvils and racks. Bellows groaned. Sparks leapt upward in golden bursts before vanishing into the air. Along the walls, Cairon’s work hung in neat rows. Some contraptions she recognized; others she could only guess at their purpose.

Lyra swept in from the adjoining room, their two daughters trailing behind her like ducklings. Flour dusted one cheek, bright against warm skin, and a mischievous tilt touched her mouth. “Forgive the mess, Duchess,” she said. “Ronnie claims he owns the forge, but really I own him. And the children own us both, which leaves little time for cleaning.” Then, glancing at the girls clinging to her skirts, “What did I tell you about greeting a duchess?”

The girls dissolved into giggles and attempted uneven curtsies, peeking at Kora as if she were a fairytale stepping out of its binding. To her surprise they immediately pressed half-crushed wildflowers into her hands with solemn care. Duncan accepted his own small bundle just as reverently.

“Let the lord and lady go,” Cairon said affectionately, kissing each daughter’s forehead.

A small twinge touched Kora then, not entirely unexpected. Not envy exactly—only the quiet awareness of a mother’s tenderness and a father’s devotion she had never known. It faded quickly, replaced by warmth at how freely love moved through this house.

Cairon saved his final kiss for Lyra. The affection that bound them required no declaration; it lived plainly in their eyes. Kora felt her cheeks warm and turned away, sensing she was intruding on a private moment.

Once the family withdrew, Cairon pivoted to his work with his usual restless energy. “You have seen the drawings,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Best you see the real work.”

He lifted a vicious little caltrop, its points glinting like teeth. “Star-thorns,” he said proudly. “Scatter them along roads or cavalry paths. They lame horses and slow pursuit.” He dropped it onto the worktable. The hard ring shivered through the table, down into the floorboards, and into Kora’s boots, making her jump.

“Useful for guarding supply routes,” Duncan observed, bending closer.

“Aye, though we will take care not to cripple ourselves,” Cairon said with a grin. “Bran is already drilling the captains.” He reached for a braced stake shod in iron. “Boar-fangs.”

Kora studied it. “It looks like a boar trap.”

“A refined one,” Cairon corrected lightly, lifting an insistent finger. “Set it in a hedge or narrow pass. Breaks formation. Slows infantry. Ruins a charge.” He angled it playfully toward her with theatrical menace. “A horse slips, and the rider learns humility.”

Kora played along, stepping back with a laugh, while Duncan inspected the construction.

“You have improved the reinforcement.”

“And made it half the weight,” Cairon said proudly. “Even a duchess might lift one.”

Kora blinked. From the way Cairon held it, the piece was plainly no trifling weight.

Before she could protest, he placed it in her hands. The iron felt cool despite the forge’s heat. A strange prickle ran across her skin. Not quite painful, but vaguely uncomfortable.

She had expected strain. Instead, she found her balance and lifted it once, experimentally. The weight proved manageable. A smile broke free as strength hummed through her arms.

Cairon barked a laugh, genuinely taken aback. Even Duncan’s brows rose.

“Strong as you are clever,” Cairon said. “Duncan, I would arm her and put her in line with the lads when Kryovarre attacks.”

Color rose in Kora’s cheeks, but she laughed with them, buoyed less by the jest than by the easy inclusion. She returned the boar-fang carefully to its rack. The prickling faded, but the lightness in her chest remained.

Turning back, she caught Duncan watching her, grey eyes thoughtful. “I would,” he continued dryly, “but Kryovarre would first need to attack.”

Cairon sobered slightly, though even his gravity never quite abandoned humor. “Still nothing from our beloved northern duchy?”

Duncan shook his head. “Several messages were intercepted only weeks ago. Valdir’s forces in motion everywhere.” He paused, perplexed. “Now Garric says it has gone quiet.”

“Are the camps still in place?” Kora asked.

“Still there,” Duncan replied without missing a beat. “Just silent.”

Cairon wiped soot from his brow. “He is waiting for something.”