The Blacksmith Prince Read online

  Jehan understood the ways of fish rather well, and the changing of the weather. Spirits of the wild were easy to understand, and the High Fae were predictably unpredictable. He could look at most of the plants around and have a rough idea whether they were helpful or harmful. Humans, on the other hand, were a complete mystery to him more often than not.

  “I am happy I could be of help,” his grandmother replied, maybe mumbling a little more than she had to. “Just tell her that she should come over and talk to me if anything else is amiss.”

  “I will, Grand-mère Matrone, I will. And how is Ugs? Is his leg still acting up?”

  Ugs was Jehan‘s elder brother, and the nominal head of their family since their parents had died in a sudden flood six winters ago. Despite having a stiff leg since his childhood, he had managed to win the hand of the most beautiful woman in town – Alienee, a stunning beauty from far away Sarlat, the apprentice to their grandmother and new midwife of La Morangiasse. The two of them had a small army of children, and together with Jehan they covered the entire fishing business here in town.

  “He is fine, he is always fine.” Grandmother gestured wildly in the general direction of their mutual home. “That little brat has been complaining all his life, and I think he‘d feel bored out of his mind if he wasn‘t yapping about this or that for a day. I can still remember when he was about this tall, and he came hobbling home, crying about this frog, you know?”

  Jehan was just about to remind his grandmother that poor Capitaine LaForge really didn‘t have to hear the story about that frog yet again when he heard the familiar snort of their faithful donkey.

  “Sorry, Grandma, but I‘m afraid it‘s time to go home,” he said and jumped to his feet. “You‘ll have to tell the story another time.”

  She muttered a few choice words, but Jehan chose to ignore it. Instead, he gave a friendly wave to Lucartz, his little nephew, who led the donkey onto the market place with an expression of deep, adult gravity. Little Luc waved back and quickened his steps, which was harder than expected with a donkey in tow that absolutely wouldn‘t hurry anything.

  Jehan and LaForge shared a silent smile.

  “Grand-mère Matrone,” LaForge offered with another tip to his hat, “I‘ll bid you a good evening. Please send my regards to Ugs and Alienee, yes?”

  “Thank you, captain,” she replied, nodding in his vague direction. “Have a good day as well, Bertrand, and my greetings to your wife.”

  He gave a silent nod to Jehan and scanned the square. It didn‘t take him long to spot his two guardsmen in front of the ‘Plume d‘Or’, where they were busy chatting up a barmaid on the steps of the inn, so he jutted out his chin and strode off.

  “So, Luc, how‘s it going at home?” Jehan asked when his nephew came up to them. “Everyone gathered for dinner already?”

  The boy nodded eagerly. “As if anyone‘s ever going to miss dinner.” He grinned widely, and when Jehan gave him a friendly nudge to the shoulder, he took that as the opener to an impromptu wrestling match with his uncle. Jehan didn‘t have children of his own, but he loved his brother‘s milling brood without reservations.

  Packing their stuff onto the donkey was a well-trained task for both of them, and done in a matter of moments. Jehan checked the straps one last time before he handed the leading rope back to Luc and nodded him towards their family‘s home. Jehan himself helped Grandmother back onto her feet, took her stool and offered her his arm to steady her on the way back.

  Together, they slowly marched down the street that led out of town. Luc told them of the many special treats his mother was preparing for tonight, of the bread and the snails and the roasted goose, about the cabbage and the rabbit and the walnut cake. Step by step, they followed the curve of the river until they reached the sturdy little house where Jehan had been born and where his brother now lived. It stood right on the riverfront in a large bend, and like every late afternoon in summer, the sun reflected off the river and painted glittering golden lines across its yellow stones. Right next to it, under the old walnut tree, a large table had been set up, white linens fluttering in the breeze. Ugs was already sitting there on a bench, his leg stretched out, smoking his long clay pipe, while his children chased geese around the table.

  It would be a beautiful evening.

  ***

  The sun had already set behind the cliffs when Jehan finally reached the old bridge of Beronsac.

  A riot of red and purple clouds dotted the lavender sky, starkly offset by the black silhouettes of slender oaks that lined the horizon. Some last swallows zipped low across the river to his left, crickets were deafeningly loud all around and, overhead, the first bats came out of their holes in the castle ruins and started hunting for an early supper.

  Normally, Jehan enjoyed his evening walks home. He liked being on his own, he liked the rugged, unbridled beauty of nature and the silence that never was actually quiet. Only tonight, he was tired. The rack on his back grew heavier with each step even though it weighed only half of what he had carried into town this morning, and most of it was from things he was really looking forward to – fresh bread, some figs, carrots and beets and a full dozen eggs. The evening among the whirling throng of his family had left him happily exhausted, and longing for the solitude of his hut.

  But that solitude was a lengthy walk from town – almost a mile downriver to the old bridge of Beronsac, then across the bridge and back upriver again for half a mile more. Normally nothing worth mentioning, but tonight Jehan felt like taking a break and a little nap on the side of the road, just for a moment. Dinner had been good, and plentiful, as had been the wine. It looked to be a good year, with enough food to get everyone through the winter and then some. He had already seen more than enough famines in his lifetime.

  Jehan was so focussed on setting one foot in front of the other that he didn’t notice the man standing on the crossing that led to the bridge. Only when he caught the soft whinny of a horse did he look up and froze.

  Was it some creature of the night? He was used to various kinds walking up to him every now and then – but not here. For whatever reason, they avoided the area around the old castle ruins of Beronsac, and this crossing that led to the bridge was right at the foot of the cliffs crowned by those crumbling walls.

  Maybe it was a brigand ambush? There shouldn’t be any brigands this side of town, there hadn’t been any since... The man on the road moved, his shape separating from that of his horse, and Jehan breathed with relief. That sinuous form could only belong to one person.

  “Giraud?” Jehan asked. “Is that you?”

  “You really took your time tonight,” the smith’s son answered jovially. “I was already afraid I missed you.”

  He walked over to Jehan and tipped his forehead in greeting. Jehan noticed that he had changed into a clean white shirt with billowing sleeves, the lacing over his chest almost completely undone. It looked good on him, as did his tight suede pants. Without the soot, he looked all dashing and handsome, Jehan found, his tanned face with the high cheekbones just right between roguish and sweet.

  But even Giraud‘s green eyes couldn‘t distract from the obvious questions.

  “You were waiting here for me? Why?”

  “My, you’re slow tonight. Yes, I waited here for you.” Giraud hesitated for a moment, wringing his hands as if not entirely sure how to proceed. A strand of dark hair had come loose from his short ponytail, and dangled over his eyes. “I need to ask you a favour.”

  “Couldn’t you have done that in the market today?” Jehan’s question came out a little grumpier than he would have wanted. Whatever Giraud wanted of him, it would be something weird, he could already feel it in the air. “My apologies. If you came here all the way, it must be important to you. So please, what is it?”

  “It’s … difficult, and I didn’t want anyone overhearing us.” Again, Giraud hesitated. “Is it a bad time? Should I come by your hut tomorrow?”

  “No! I mean, no, that
really isn‘t necessary.” With a huff, Jehan took off his rack and sat it down next to the road. “You’re here, I am here, so let’s talk. What is wrong?”

  “I… I need your help.”

  “Yes...?”

  “I … think they have been cursed. My parents, I mean.”

  Suddenly, Jehan was wide awake, his entire body tingling with alarm right down to his toes. “If you think so, you should talk to Père Ancel. I am just a fisherman.”

  “Well, you know… I don’t think the priest is the right person for the job.” Giraud smiled winningly, his white teeth all but gleaming in the low light. “He isn’t talking to the little folks, like your grandmother does. Or you.”

  “What in heaven or hell makes you think I talk to fairies?”

  Giraud laughed again. “Because you do? All these little gestures, the nods and smiles, they look harmless enough if one doesn’t see that there’s actually someone on the other end, smiling back. When you stop to scratch your chin in the middle of the road, it looks just like that – unless someone sees the swamp cat you allow to pass the street in front of you, just to be polite.”

  “What the hell are you –“

  “Please.” Giraud sighed. For a heartbeat, the crickets in the shrubs on the cliffside were the loudest thing to be heard. When Giraud spoke up again, his voice was little more than a whisper. “I know you see them. I know because I see them as well.”

  Silence spread between them like ripples on a pond. That was something so unexpected Jehan had to let it sink in first.

  “Oh.” The little sound was not even coming close to what he was feeling right now, but Jehan just didn‘t have any words for it. Fear and worry and fascination mixed with the pure surprise of this revelation. “How come?”

  “I have no idea at all.” Giraud shrugged. “Must be something I have inherited from my father’s side. My real father‘s side.”

  Jehan nodded. Giraud didn’t like to speak of it, but everyone in town knew that he wasn’t the smith’s son, but his nephew. His mother had been the smith’s sister, who had suddenly fallen pregnant and refused to name the father. Despite everything, she had carried the child to term, only to fling herself off the cliff a few days after giving birth – either in shame or from a broken heart, the town was still arguing about that even to this day. But her brother Segui and his wife had been hoping for a child for years already, so they had taken in Giraud as their own. And as far as Jehan could see, they were a happy family together, with Giraud bringing nothing but honour to their name.

  “And you think someone cursed them? Why? Everyone I know likes them, or at least respects them.”

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly, Giraud looked rather sombre. “I am not good enough in those things, I can barely spot a spell when it bites me in the face. With all the things going wrong of late, with Mama falling ill, this isn‘t natural. I can only feel something evil is hanging onto them, and it’s because of me.”

  Jehan gave him a sidelong glance. He was rather sure Giraud wasn‘t telling him the entire truth. “Why should it be about you? Did you anger someone important?”

  “Well, apparently, I did.” Giraud laughed again, but it didn’t have his usual mirth. “I must have, I guess. Can you have a look at them for me, please?”

  Again, a deep sense of warning tingled all over the back of Jehan‘s neck. He really should keep his fingers out of this one.

  “I don‘t know. Maybe you really should talk to Père Ancel.”

  “Oh forget that chubby old fool, this is real magic.” Giraud looked genuinely heartbroken, and it made Jehan‘s chest flutter as if he had a caged bird inside. “Please?”

  “I am not trained for such things, I really – “

  “You‘re much more trained than I am, or anyone else I know. And – I can even pay! I have a few sous I could give you.”

  “I really don‘t want money, Giraud, it‘s just that I – “

  “If it‘s not money you want, I could pay with something else,” the journeyman smith offered eagerly and utterly without guile. “Do you need a year‘s supply of fishing hooks? Or new door hinges, I am getting really good at those.”

  “No, no door hinges either, please – “

  “What else? Just name it. My parents mean everything to me. If you help me, I‘d do anything for you!”

  “I...”

  Jehan‘s rebuke died in a mumble when his mind flooded him with unsolicited images of what he actually would want of Giraud. Touching his hair, his face, the side of his neck. Maybe even a kiss... Those images drowned every other thought in his head.

  “My goodness,” Giraud remarked into the silence. “You‘re blushing like a girl.”

  Jehan was too embarrassed to do anything but turn away.

  “So there is something you want.” Giraud hesitated for a moment and then walked around Jehan until he faced him again. “When the girls in town blush like that, they usually want something from me. Something like the neckerchief I am wearing, or a kiss...”

  Jehan opened his mouth to deny, but right then Giraud bit his lips – a tiny, thoughtful gesture that managed to blot out all the words in Jehan‘s mind.

  “Is it a kiss you want, as payment for your help?”

  “I ... don‘t...”

  Inside Jehan‘s head, there were several voices screaming at him, to say yes, to say no, to run for his life. But he didn‘t do any of that. He was completely absorbed by feeling trapped, and being unable to decide which unwelcome solution to this would be less painful in the long run.

  But apparently, Giraud didn‘t have any of those concerns.

  “Alright then,” he said lightly, “I am a good kisser, I am told. Never kissed a guy, though. But I shouldn‘t be surprised, you witchy folks got a reputation for being naughty.” He gave a little laugh, somewhere between amused and daunted, and stepped forward to close the distance between himself and Jehan. “Kind of looking forward to this, you know?”

  This close, Jehan noticed that Giraud was now almost as tall as himself, if still missing a few inches, and that despite his extensive bath this afternoon in the river, he still smelled of smoke and rust. But he also radiated warmth, and under all that smoke there was another scent hidden, exotic and yet familiar, like sweet flowers blooming in the night, like starlight and campfire tales of ancient heroes.

  He should have stepped back, should have told Giraud that he was completely misreading him, that a kiss was the very last thing that he wanted. He really should have.

  But instead, he just stood there when Giraud laid a hand on his neck and pulled him close. He just closed his eyes when Giraud rose to the tips of his toes and leaned in. Their lips touched, and Jehan allowed himself to drown in that moment, this singular heartbeat of a dream that would never come again.

  It was the worst decision he had ever made, and the best one at the very same time.

  Sensations chased through him like a flock of birds, chaotic, unsorted, uncontrollable. How strong and firm Giraud‘s body felt against his own, how Giraud‘s moustache tickled against his own stubble. Jehan‘s hands went up and pulled him closer into their embrace. He placed one of his hands behind Giraud‘s neck, entwining them further, pulling him tight, suddenly kissing him rather than allowing himself to be kissed.

  Giraud gave a startled little breath and relaxed, his body melting against Jehan‘s, still kissing, searching. Feeling him suddenly lean against him, all supple and eager, fanned a hunger in Jehan he had never expected to be there. He kissed him with renewed fervour, with desire for things he couldn‘t even name, but was sure he needed to survive. Blood hammered through his veins, and he felt his heart beat in his chest. It felt good, it felt right and perfect and everything he had ever wanted.

  Suddenly realising what he was actually doing there, he let go and plucked Giraud off him like a burdock.

  The young smith gave a breathless, startled little laugh and staggered to the side.

  “Are you alright?” Jeha
n asked, mildly worried.

  “Huh?” Giraud blinked at him, twice, before his eyes focussed again. “All the Saints, that was...”

  “I am sorry, I really shouldn‘t have – “

  “Good Lord. Now I know why those girls always want ‘just a kiss’.” Giraud laughed, a bright, carefree sound that made Jehan‘s heart ring like a bell. “Oh my. I‘ll be fine, just a moment.”

  “Right...” Jehan took another, cautious step away from Giraud.

  What the hell had he been thinking? How could he have let this happen? How could he have lost all control? And worst of all – Giraud seemed positively flushed, excited, happy.

  “Yeah. It is getting late,” Giraud finally said, giddy and insecure at the same time. He fiddled with the waistband of his pants and blushed, breathless. “So you‘ll help me with my parents, yes?”

  Jehan wanted to say ‘no’. But with a sinking heart, he realised he had already accepted payment for his help. And in a kind he would not be able to return. How could he have been this stupid?

  “I will have a look at them,” he replied instead. “Next time I am in town.”

  “Thank you.” Giraud hesitated, then turned abruptly and climbed onto his horse, turning it back to La Morangiasse. When they passed Jehan, he stopped, adding: “You know, that kiss ... consider it a down payment, yes? Your help surely is worth more than that. And I don‘t think I would mind paying up to my promises.”

  He finished with a sparkly-eyed smile that was at the same time insecure and excited, gave Jehan a parting nod and rode off into the early night.

  What in all the Saints‘ names had just happened?

  Jehan sat down on the milestone that marked the border between La Morangiasse and the neighbouring town, Castelfort, on the other side of the river. Above him, bats zipped across the night sky, catching the moths that played in the warm air above the massive stone bridge. His mind felt as direly in need of repair as the old bridge – still functional, but only barely so.