The fading autumn light filtered weakly through the tall arched windows of the scribe’s room, casting long, ink-dark shadows across the parchment-littered desk.
Henry rubbed his bloodshot eyes, his fingers stained dark with gall ink and charcoal dust from hours of tracing loops, ascenders, and Latin vowels.
bosch set down his penknife with a soft click and stretched his arms, letting out a tired breath.
“That is all for today, Henry,” the apprentice clerk said, leaning back against his stool with a look of genuine surprise.
“I must say…
you have a real talent for this.
Most blacksmiths’ sons I’ve seen can barely hold a quill without snapping the feather, let alone memorize twenty-four letters in a single sitting.
If you keep up this pace, by the time the next Rattay Tourney comes around, you’ll be reading and writing like a proper scribe’s apprentice.”
Henry closed the wooden binder over his exercise slates, his neck stiff and eyes aching from hours of focus, but he couldn’t hide the grin touching his face.
“Well, that is good to hear,” Henry said with a slight grin, rising from his chair.
“You’re right, though—it’s getting late, and the sun is nearly down.
I should take my leave.
Thank you for the session today, Bosch .”
As Henry moved toward the door, he paused at the threshold and looked back over his shoulder with a sharp twinkle in his eye.
“And don’t forget about that bet we made— if I take the field and win at the Rattay Tourney.”
Bosch chuckled, shaking his head.
“Get out of here, squire!
I’ll hold you to it!”
Leaving the quiet, oak-scented air of the upper scribe chamber, Henry made his way down the worn stone spiral staircase of the Rathaus from the second floor down to the ground floor.
The moment his boots hit the flags, a eager whine greeted him, followed by a dark nose nudging against his knees.
It was Mutt.
The hound gave a couple of energetic thumps of his tail against the stone floor, looking up at Henry with bright, expectant eyes as if asking where he had been all afternoon.
Henry smiled, leaning down to give the dog a vigorous scratch behind his ears.
“Did you wait long, boy?
Come on, let’s go collect our armor and get you something good to eat.”
Mutt barked once in agreement, falling in smoothly at Henry’s heel as they stepped out into the chilly evening air of the Central Square.
The blacksmith’s hammer had gone silent by the time they pushed open the timber door of the armorer’s shop.
The air inside remained thick with the rich, familiar reek of leather dubbing, machine grease, and cooled iron.
Mutt trotted in behind Henry, sniffing curioisly at the bellows before settling near the door.
Behind the counter, the bald master smith was just wiping down his anvil with an oily rag.
He looked up, his face brightening as he recognized Henry.
“Ah, the squire returns!” the armorer rumbled, pointing toward a wooden rack where a freshly burnished, polished set of plate armor rested under the warm glow of an oil lamp.
“Your harness is ready, lad.
All the Cuman dents have been beaten smooth, the torn leather straps replaced with fresh cowhide, and the buckles reset.
Strap it on and check the fit, will you?”
Henry unbuttoned his outer coat and slipped into the breastplate, cinching the side straps tight.
The iron plate sat snugly against his chest and shoulders without pinching his collarbones or restricting his breath—a night-and-day difference from the awkward, ill-fitting harness he had stripped off the bandit leader.
“Fits like it was forged for me,” Henry said approvingly, unbuckling the pieces and carefully wrapping them back into his heavy canvas cloth.
“Thank you, master smith.”
He reached into his pouch, counted out the remaining ten silver groschen owed for the labor and materials, and stacked them onto the counter.
The armorer swept the coins into his leather pouch with a nod of satisfaction.
“Wear it in good health, squire.
Keep it oiled, or the damp Rattay air will eat it alive before the week is out.”
Leaving the armorer’s workshop with Mutt trotting loyally at his side, Henry looked around for a quiet, secluded spot.
He ducked into a dark corner where no one was looking, shielded from the sight of patrolling town guards and lingering townsfolk.
Reaching into his cloak, he accessed his inventory and stored the heavy armor, padded armor layer, and mending kit safely inside—instantly freeing his shoulders from the crushing physical weight.
With his hands free, Henry set about gathering food for the evening.
Mutt trotted beside him, his nose twitching intently at every delicious scent wafting through the darkening market.
After a bit of sharp bargaining, Henry bought a generous link of smoked garlic sausages, a slab of salted pork fat, and a thick cut of prime beef wrapped in oiled parchment.
Next, he visited the baker’s bench for two loaves of dark rye bread fresh from the hearth, then stopped by a wine merchant’s cellar cart near the lower church to secure a small jug of spiced red wine.
With his provisions packed away for the meal ahead, Henry and Mutt turned down the road toward the mill as dusk settled over Rattay.
The air was crisp and cool as Henry made his way down the sloping dirt road out of Rattay.
Since his horse and cart were still back at Pirkstein Castle—something he’d need to fetch in the morning—walking was his only option.
But he didn’t mind in the slightest.
“It’s good to walk at evening in weather like this, Mutt, don’t you think?” Henry said, looking down at his hound, who trotted happily at his heel.
“I bet you’re just as excited for dinner as I am.”
Mutt gave a soft, eager perk of his ears and let out a light bark, sniffing at the cool night breeze carrying the scent of river mist from the valley below.
As they approached the mill near the riverbank, the warm glow of oil lamps lit up the yard.
Outside, a silhouette was moving—Theresa was leaning over a wooden tub, cleaning off some laundry before setting it away for the night.
“Henry!” she called out, catching sight of him in the gloom and waving her hand with a bright smile.
At the sound of her voice, Mutt bolted forward, his tail wagging frantically.
Henry chuckled as he watched Mutt bound up to her, immediately leaning into her skirt as Theresa knelt down, laughing and petting the energetic dog.
“Well, someone’s happy to see you,” Henry said, approaching the yard.
Before rounding the final bend toward the riverbank, Henry paused to pull his market purchases out of his inventory, carefully transferring the meat, bread, and wine into a heavy canvas sack.
Theresa looked up from Mutt and glanced at the heavy sack resting over Henry’s shoulder.
“What do you have in that bag, Henry?
And how did the meeting with Sir Radzig go?”
“Well, shall we go inside first?” Henry replied with a smirk.
“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you out here in the yard.
Besides, if your uncle is inside, he might want to hear it too.”
Theresa dusted off her apron and shook her head with a weary sigh.
“Uncle muttered something about a miller down the river near Ledetchko owing him money for an old delivery.
He grabbed his cudgel, muttered a few curses under his breath, and stormed off, saying he wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow.”
Henry nodded, keeping his expression neutral.
He knew well enough what Peshek’s “deliveries” and “unpaid debts” usually entailed—the old miller was the spider at the center of a vast, quiet network of fences, poachers, and stolen goods stretching all across the Rattay valley.
Having Peshek away for the night meant they wouldn’t have the cynical old man grumbling over the cost of tallow candles or eyeing Henry’s fine purchases with greedy suspicion.
Tonight, the mill felt entirely like theirs.
“Alright then, inside we go,” Henry said, gesturing toward the warm light of the doorway.
They entered the warm, timber-framed interior of the mill.
Henry set the canvas bag down on the sturdy trestle table while Theresa pulled out a bench and sat down, watching him curiously.
Henry reached into the sack and pulled out his newly repaired armor first, along with a small kit of leather straps and oil rags, setting them neatly on a side bench out of the way.
Then, with a flourish, he began unloading the food.
First came the heavy slab of prime beef, followed by the ring of smoked garlic sausages, two fresh loaves of dark rye bread, and finally, a dusty glass jug of spiced red wine.
Theresa’s eyes widened as she took in the spread.
“Henry!
Such expensive food and wine?
What on earth is the occasion?
You look like you’ve been living like a noble, not a blacksmith’s boy!”
Henry smiled broadly, reaching into his doublet.
He pulled out the bronze-and-silver badge he had received earlier and set it on the table right in front of her.
“You’re not looking at just a blacksmith’s boy anymore,” Henry declared proudly.
“You’re looking at the official squire of Sir Radzig Kobyla.”
“Sir Radzig made you his squire?!”
Theresa practically jumped up from the bench, her face lit up with pure excitement.
“I thought he might take you into his guard as a soldier or a man-at-arms, but a squire?
Henry, that means…
that means you could actually become a knight one day!”
“I know,” Henry said, his smile softening as he watched her joy.
“So…
“Partly,” Henry admitted.
“And partly because I bumped into our old friends from Skalitz up in Rattay—Matthias, Matthew, Fritz, and Johanka.
I invited them all down to the mill for dinner tonight.”
“Johanka is here too?” Theresa gasped, clasping her hands together as her face lit up.
“Thank goodness!
Oh, I need to start cooking right away.
You know what?
Tonight, I’m taking the secret spices Uncle Peshek hides under the floorboards.
We’re going to have a proper feast!”
She turned hurriedly toward the kitchen nook, but before she could step away, Henry reached out and gently caught her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
“Wait a moment,” Henry said softly.
“Why are you in such a hurry?
I bought something else for you.”
Theresa paused, looking down at his fingers wrapped around her wrist, then up into his eyes.
“For me?”
Henry reached into his inner pouch and withdrew a silk ribbon—a delicate, deep crimson band that caught the soft glow of the lantern.
Taking her hand, he laid the smooth ribbon across her palm.
“I saw it at the tailor’s stall,” Henry murmured, his tone softening.
“I thought of you the moment I saw the color.”
Theresa stared down at the silk in her hand.
Her fingers traced the clean edges of the fabric, and the lively, the easy banter slipped away, replaced by a quiet, expectant stillness.
Ever since the terrible morning Skalitz fell, their lives had been reduced to blood, mud, borrowed clothes, and survival.
Holding something so fine and unnecessary felt almost overwhelming—a quiet reminder of the beauty they thought they had left behind in the ash.
“Henry…” she whispered, her voice wavering slightly as she looked up at him with shiny eyes.
“You shouldn’t spend your groschen on things like this.
You need every coin for your gear.”
“I wanted to,” Henry said, holding her gaze.
“You deserve something nice, Theresa.
After everything.”
A deep, warm flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks.
Looking away for a fleeting moment to catch her breath, she held the crimson band out toward him and turned her back slightly, brushing her hair over one shoulder.
“Here…
tie it for me?”
Henry took the ribbon, stepped close behind her, and gathered her soft, dark hair.
His hands were calloused from the blacksmith’s hammer and bruised from sword practice, yet he handled the fine silk with painstaking care, tying it into a neat, secure knot at the nape of her neck.
As his fingers lightly brushed against her skin, Theresa drew in a quiet, ragged breath.
When he finished and stepped back, Theresa turned around slowly.
She raised a hand to touch the silk knot behind her head, looking at him with sparkling, expectant eyes.
“Well?” she asked, her voice carrying a soft, hesitant tremor.
“How do I look?”
“You look beautiful,” Henry said honestly, stepping closer.
“Fits the most beautiful girl in Skalitz.”
Theresa let out a quiet, flustered laugh, her cheeks burning bright crimson.
The warmth between them grew thick and heavy, her heart thumping against her ribs.
Before her nerve could fail her, she leaned in quickly, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed a light, warm kiss against his cheek.
“Thank you, Henry,” she whispered softly against his skin.
Before Henry could process the warmth on his cheek or utter a word, Theresa spun on her heel with a flustered gasp, snatched the slab of prime beef off the table, and scurried off toward the hearth with her head ducked low, frantically busying herself with the iron pots and kindling.
Henry stood there for a moment, touching his cheek with a lingering grin, while Mutt thumped his tail against the floorboards in expectation of the meal to come.