Cedric yelps from across the forge, and I lose my rhythm mid-strike.
"What is it?" Father looks up from the blade he's grinding.
"The tang snapped." Cedric holds up two pieces of what was supposed to be a dagger. "I was peening the end and it just... broke clean through."
Father sets down his work and crosses over. He examines the pieces. "You overheated it."
"I didn't—"
"Look at how the metal broke." Father points out. "See how rough and crystalline it is? You left it in the forge too long and weakened the metal. That's basic, Cedric."
"But I was watching it the whole time!"
"Clearly not close enough." Father takes the metal pieces and tosses them in the scrap bin. "Gorm expects this by tomorrow morning. Now you'll have to remake it. That's three, four hours of work wasted."
Cedric cringes. He almost never messes up. Once or twice in the past year, maybe. Seeing him fumble like this feels both strange and unsettling.
And if I'm being honest, there's a small part of me that feels relieved.
For once, I'm not the one disappointing Father.
"I'm sorry," Cedric mumbles.
"We can't afford to waste time." Father's voice is hard. "If Gorm's unhappy about the delay, he might not commission from us again. And we can't afford to lose any customers right now."
"Yes sir. I'll fix it."
Father returns to his grinding wheel. Cedric stands there for another moment with furrowed brows before moving to sort through the stock.
I put down my hammer and move to Cedric's side.
"This one should work," I offer quietly, pointing to a good piece of stock.
Cedric glances over, surprised. "Thanks."
I nod. "It happens. You'll fix it."
"Yeah, but Father's right. I wasn't paying enough attention." He takes the stock and examines it. "Got distracted thinking about the rumors. You know. About Vrenshalia."
"Everyone's distracted by that."
"Yeah, but that doesn't make it okay." He carries the piece back to his station as I follow. Then he starts preparing it. "At least you don't make these kinds of mistakes."
I freeze.
He means it as a compliment, I think, but it just makes the gap between us more obvious. I don't make these kinds of mistakes because I'm not trusted with work that is complicated enough to fail spectacularly. Even though I'm already 16, two years older than him, I'm still the one practicing the basics.
I return to my pommel without responding.
We work until early evening. I finish the original pommel, then make two more for our regular sword stock. They're acceptable, but nothing special.
Father examines them without comment. I'll take it.
Cedric's got the new dagger blade roughed out and is working on shaping it when a nobleman arrives. He's well-dressed and impatient. Father negotiates a rush commission. A sword is needed by tomorrow evening, at triple the normal rate.
After the customer leaves, Father counts the coins slowly, before looking at us.
"We're working late tonight. Very late."
"How late?" Cedric asks nervously.
"However long it takes. We have the nobleman's sword to make and Gorm's dagger to finish. So, it could be midnight, could be later." Father's expression is grim. "If that first dagger hadn't broken, we'd only have one commission to worry about. Now we have two, and both are due tomorrow."
Cedric flinches. I feel bad for him. The mistake's already been made, and Father bringing it up again doesn't help.
Father sighs. "It's late. Let's just have dinner first. We can work on them afterwards."
Dinner is reheated stew. We eat in silence.
After a moment, Father speaks up. "People are leaving."
I look up from my bowl.
"From our city, and other border cities. You've all heard the rumors. Vrenshalia's mobilizing their army to attack our kingdom. To attack Neldravos. Everyone knows it. Even some of our neighbors have packed up and left for safer cities."
Nobody speaks for a moment.
"Then should we leave too?" I ask.
"No." Father's voice is flat. "We're staying."
"But if everyone else—" Cedric starts.
"We're staying." Father repeats more firmly this time.
"But why?" Cedric's voice rises. "If it's dangerous, if Vrenshalia's coming, why would we stay?"
Father's jaw tightens. "That's enough, Cedric."
"But it's not enough! If everyone else is leaving, why can't we—"
Father sets down his spoon deliberately. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. "Because we owe Count Ips in back taxes."
"Back taxes?"
"When your mother got sick, I borrowed money to pay for the healers and medicines." Father's knuckles are white against the table. "Then there were the funeral costs. It was too much. I've been making the payments over the years, but the interest just keeps on growing. Now we're behind in taxes as well."
"No way..." Cedric's voice trails off.
"We can't afford to leave. Moving to another city, setting up a new forge, buying tools, and building a reputation all from nothing... All that takes money we don't have. We'd arrive somewhere with nothing and starve before we could even establish ourselves." Father looks between us. "And even if we somehow made it, Count Ips might just post a bounty on our heads for tax evasion. Or maybe he won't, what with the war coming up. But it doesn't matter, because we don't have the money to find out. So why are we staying? We're staying because we don't have a choice."
Nobody speaks after that.
I've never heard Father sound so defeated and cornered before.
"The dagger and the nobleman's commission we're working on tonight? We desperately need them." Father's voice drops lower. "Every commission matters. We can't afford any wasted time, and I can't afford to lose any customers. I need you both working at your best because I can't do this by myself."
Cedric looks down. "I didn't know. Father, I'm so sorry—"
"I know you didn't mean to break it. But now you understand why it matters." Father's expression softens slightly. "Why every commission matters. Why I push you both so hard."
"We'll work harder," I promise.
"We will," Cedric echoes.
Father nods once. "Good. Now let's finish eating so we can get back to work."
We finish eating and head back down to the forge. Father lights extra lamps since we'll be working past dark. He handles the nobleman's blade, while Cedric continues working on the dagger remake, and I work on the pommel for Cedric's dagger.
Hours pass. We keep working. I finish the pommel for Cedric's dagger, then start on one for Father's sword. My hands ache but I focus on keeping the shape even, the surface smooth.
Around midnight, Father sets down his hammer.
He stands there staring at the half-finished blade, not moving.
"Father?" I ask.
"You know, your mother and I built this forge from nothing," he begins quietly without looking at us. "It took us eight years just to pay off the building. And three more just to build a reputation good enough to get steady work. She died right upstairs, in the bed where you boys were born."
Beside me, Cedric's hands have gone still.
"Before she died, she made me promise that I'd keep you safe. That I'd give you a future." Father's voice wavers. "I don't know if staying here is keeping that promise or breaking it. Maybe if we had the money, we'd be able to leave, and start over somewhere new. But we don't, and this forge... we built it together. It's all I have left of her."
Cedric sets down his tools and moves to Father, before wrapping his arms around him. Father looks surprised for a moment, but then pulls him closer and gestures for me to come over as well.
I hesitate for a moment, but join them when Father insists. We stand there for a moment together, surrounded by the unfinished work.
"Whatever happens, we'll get through it," Father murmurs. "Understand?"
"Yes sir," we both respond.
He holds us for another moment, then clears his throat. "Alright. Now, let's finish our work."
We work until both pieces are complete, with the blade sharp and balanced, and the dagger perfect. Father examines them both, then nods. "Excellent work. Both of you."
We clean up and trudge upstairs well past midnight. Cedric collapses into his bed fully clothed. I manage to unlace my boots before throwing myself face-down on my bed.
My first sword leans against the wall. It's the one I made two years ago, the one Father called "not terrible." I always keep it sharp even though I'll probably never need to use it.
"Gareth?" Cedric's voice comes through the darkness.
"Yeah?" My voice comes out muffled.
"We're going to be okay, right?"
I want to say yes.
But I don't want to lie to him.
I turn to face him. "I don't know, Cedric," I admit quietly.
Cedric doesn't respond, and eventually his breathing evens out.
I lie there a bit longer, before drifting off to sleep myself.
When I wake hours later, it's to the sound of screaming.