Read To Bear an Iron Key for Free Online

by. Out of all of them, only Rusty had remained true; only Rusty still laughed with her and teased, not caring that she was a witch who could spell him into a toad.
    Out of all of them, Brend had been the first to walk away.
    At the age of ten, Bromwyn had learned how easy it was to be hurt by those she cared about, and how quickly friends could become strangers.
    But none of that mattered now. Standing in the doorway of the forge, her eyes already watering from the charcoal dust riding the air, Bromwyn stretched her mouth into a proper smile. Perhaps this morning, Brend would be civil. Most of the villagers let their grudges and prejudices pass on a festival day, and today (well, tonight) was Midsummer.
    Nostrils crisping from the fumes and the heat, she called out, “Good morning, Sir Smith.”
    Brend stiffened, then glanced over his shoulder to regard her. At least now he met her dark gaze; when they had first been betrothed a year ago, he had barely been able to glance in her direction. Either he had grown bolder regarding her, or he simply was too busy to bother with showing his unease around her. Bromwyn didn’t mind either possibility. Anything was better than being feared by the one she was supposed to marry.
    Her stomach pitched from the thought of her upcoming wedding, and she ground her teeth together to keep smiling.
    After an indeterminable amount of time passed, he acknowledged her and said, “Lady Witch.” As always, his tone was proper, and cold, and completely out of place with the heat of the hearth fire in its pit. He gripped his hammer tight enough to whiten his knuckles, and the set of his shoulders showed he was ready for violence. Beneath him, his anvil gleamed as it caught the firelight. Voice tight, Brend asked, “What brings you to the forge this morning?”
    Bromwyn kept her smile in place. “As every morning, I simply wished to see you and bid you a good day.”
    “Lady Witch is too kind.”
    “My mother sends her regards.”
    “Do extend my thanks.”
    “She thinks highly of your master,” Bromwyn said, grasping for conversation. And it was true; Jessamin always spoke fondly of Old Nick, praising his strong arm and stoic character. That was why, she had said many a time over the past year, Jessamin had matched her daughter with his apprentice.
    There was a pause, as heavy as the dusty air. Bromwyn had reached the limit of small talk; anything further would be prying.
    Fire and Air, why did the man have to make this so difficult?
    She asked, “Where is Master Smith this morning? Surely not preparing for Midsummer.” The thought of the village blacksmith taking part in the afternoon’s festivities was enough to make her lips twitch in a sudden smile. Old Nick was not one to do anything even remotely considered fun. He was like her grandmother in that regard.
    “Off to the smelter’s for ore.”
    She floundered for conversation. “And that is not something for the apprentice?”
    His eyes punched a hole through her. “What Master Smith deems appropriate for his apprentice is surely no concern of yours.”
    She felt a blush smack her face, the embarrassment more brutal than the forge’s heat. “I meant no disrespect. I was only curious.”
    “It’s not your business,” he said abruptly, thrusting his tools into a vat of liquid. Over the hiss, he said, “As I don’t ask you about your deviltry, so you won’t ask me about my work.”
    “Deviltry?” she echoed, stunned. “Surely you joke.”
    He scowled at her. “Magic isn’t natural.”
    Perhaps her curse had come into effect this morning after all; how else to explain that just after her mother had warned her of small-minded people thinking foolishness about witches, her own bridegroom turned out to be one of those fools?
    “Magic is more natural than blending metals at inhuman temperatures,” she said, her voice rising, “more natural than forcing iron to your will. I never force Nature to do anything, unlike you with