A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

I must have had a stupid look on my face because the moment he looked up, he let out a genuine laugh. “Your guts must be tighter than a whore on her wedding night,” he said. “Take a breath, relax. We are just talking.”

I eased in my chair, trying my best to appear comfortable.

He rolled his eyes. “Why do you want to wear the Stars of Cyllia?”

“I want to protect the land, protect man, and provide strength to the Empire,” I replied with a wince. It was a rehearsed answer, and I regretted it the moment I had finished.

He clapped slowly. “How about the real reason?”

There were easily a hundred or more things I could have told him, except the truth. So I settled for the next best thing, a beautiful lie.

“There is a girl, my lord.”

He smiled as he leaned back in his char. “There always is.”

He asked small questions after that, easing me more and more into comfort. He seemed intent to know me personally, which was odd, to say the least. I shared with him what I could, what I thought he would be interested in hearing. I spoke of my time in Cyllia and how my reeducation prepared me to serve the Empire. I spoke of Ada’s death and how it put me on this path. And, of course, I told him the true story of Belen Hill, from the point of view of the hero himself. It was not the true true story; only those dead Golmere and I knew the real truth. This was just another beautiful lie.

When the conversation lulled and silence reminded us of the situation at hand, he focused back on my writ book, turned the cover over, and pushed it to me. He stood from his desk and extended his arm to me. He wore no gloves.

I stood to meet him, but before I could feign a proper way to excuse myself from his hand, he took mine in his own.

“I expect to see a lot more of you in there when next we meet, Faerin of Forhd,” he said, gesturing back to my writ book.

I was without pretense—speechless.

“There is just one matter left to address,” he said as his gaze turned to the purse at my belt. “How much have you saved there?” he asked.

“I have a little over ten and five in iron,” I said.

“And what did you budget to spend here today?”

I wasn’t prepared for that. Was this a trap too?

“I figured at least ten, maybe more or less.”

“Hmmm,” he said, placing a finger to his chin. “Ten seems like a fair price.”

I nodded.

“Though that wouldn’t leave you much for iron, would it?”

I nodded again, this time slowly.

I watched him as he watched me. I saw that same glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Nerris took a feathered quill from the inkwell and scribbled a few lines on the document in front of him. “Let’s make it eight then,” he declared. “We can’t have our town hero without a sword of his own.”

I stared dumbly at him as the whole room seemed to buzz. What just happened? Did I just meet with the head assessor, the Lord Governor of Belen, and without trying—dicker a lower price?

My vision returned, along with my wits. I looked down.

There they were. Smooth polished copper that caught the light from the oculus above. I didn’t register the gesture, but he must have taken them out of his desk drawer while he was writing. Stars. Beautiful copper stars. He pushed the signed document towards me, the two stars placed neatly on top of it with the officer’s rank, first sword, written cleanly next to my name.

He let me savor the moment for a second before he broke the silence.

“You will need to take this writ and have it sealed at the reception office before you leave. If you will permit,” he said, taking the stars in hand, “it would be my honor to be the first to decorate you.”

I froze as he moved from around his desk. He was taller than most Cyllians, but still barely brushed six feet. He took the edge of my collar in hand and punched the copper star through before repeating the motion on the other side. Then he took a small step back.

“That’s better,” he said. “They suit you.”

I had no words. Nothing that could capture how I felt at that moment. Tears began to well up, and I bent low and coughed, casually wiping my sleeve across my face. To his credit, he said nothing and gestured to the closed door with an open palm.

Chapter Five

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

I would like to say that I could remember the walk from the assessor’s office. That would also be a beautiful lie. I was so excited it was all a blur. My next memory was of emptying my purse at the receptionist’s window. I remember counting out the coins one by one until I had two stacks of eight, one for them, one for me.

While that figure still wouldn’t be enough to buy iron of quality, it was more than I could have hoped. It would leave me with enough coin left to purchase materials—pitch, flux, coals, oils, stone, everything needed to affect that repair. I could use the blade for a year or two while I saved up. It didn’t need to be flashy. The pragmatist that I am and was, I could settle for the time being, something with good bones and an ugly face. With a little forge work, I might even have made some coin off it when I sold it later.

The receptionist went through her routine without much fanfare. Wax, stamp, sign, the same dispassionate formality I had come to expect from the Imperials. She handed me back my writ, and I stepped away from the counter. It was done; it was official. I was now a member of the Imperial Officer Corps.

It was like something from a dream,