And besides, nothing happened when she was there last night. No Shadows came for her. No dark magic or dark wizards. She was perfectly safe.
Instead, she said again, “I’m sorry.”
Yirrie softened, her worry and distress melting off her face. She reached for Snow, wrapping her in a tight hug.
“After what happened, I worry.”
Snow patted her on the back. “I know.”
Yirrie pulled back, holding her at arm’s length and smiling at her. “I’m glad you’re all right. Now, let’s get to our daily baking.”
As Yirrie released her and hurried into the kitchen, Snow inwardly groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was more baking. But it was still festival time and she knew she had to help. Her hike into the forest to find the wizard’s cabin had to wait. She trudged into the kitchen.
Chapter 11
Seraphinasteppedthroughtheportal and into to the busy town of Bridgefort. She arrived on the edge of town north of the walled city. Even from her distance, she heard the hum of the busy streets. On the hill, King Alfred’s castle loomed over the town, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, the heraldry flags flapping in the wind on the highest turrets.
How she hated that man.
She entered the town, which was abuzz with activity from all the shops and shoppers. Here she would find the master blacksmith, though she had no idea what he looked like or how she would find him. She stopped at one of the local shops and asked where she might find the blacksmith. The man at the shop did not recognize her as Queen of the Mystic Vale. And why would he? Her castle in the vale was far to the north and rather isolated. He gave her directions to the forge at the end of town where the blacksmith made weapons and armor for the king, as well as took commissions.
Intrigued by this, she headed through the crowded streets, dodging the filthy peasants. Perhaps she should have been accompanied by her royal guard, but then, she did not want to make this an official royal visit.
At the forge, she paused in the doorway. All along the walls hung all manner of weapons from axes to war hammers to swords as well as armor that included helms, breastplates, and gauntlets. The man was busy at the back of the forge.
She watched him work. He pounded out a long piece of steel on an anvil with a hammer. With every beat of the hammer, sparks flew. Then he took the sword and placed it back in the heat. He brought it out of the fire and pounded it again, trying to shape the steel. When he gave no indication he noticed her standing there, she cleared her throat.
He stopped mid-swing to look over his shoulder. His face was dirty and sweaty, but beyond that she was unable to discern much about him.
He placed aside the hammer, reached for a nearby rag and wiped his hands as he approached.
“What can I do for you?” His voice was deep and dark and slid over her like hot molasses.
It made her shudder.
“I understand you take commissions,” she said.
He gazed at her with blue-green eyes. Now that he stood closer, she saw his face had sharp, chiseled features and a square chin. His hands were large and strong. Sweat dampened his shirt under his arms and his chest.
“A few,” he said at last.
Still unsure why she was sent here by the Magic Mirror, she glanced around his forge once more. A long blade hanging on the wall nearby caught her eye. It shimmered even in the half light, almost as if it were glowing. There was an intricate design along the length of the blade. The handle was made of wood and richly decorated with spiral carvings.
“Do you make all these yourself?”
“Yes,” he said. “That one is not for sale.”
“What is it?” Her fingers twitched. She resisted the urge to reach for it.
“A special commission.” He was a man of few words.
She cut him a glance. “It looks different from the others.”
“Because it is.” Finally, he folded his thick arms over his massive chest and narrowed his gaze at her. “Is there something you want?”
Undeterred, she tipped her head to one side. “What sort of commissions do you take?”
“All kinds.” His mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly running out of patience with her.
