He set off up the steps from the forge, taking them slowly, seeing no point in hurrying now. He couldnt go home; his father had made that much abundantly clear. Would there be a place for him around the castle? Not that long before, the answer would have been obvious. When Rodry had been alive, he was there to be generous to his friends. Even the king might have shown some kindness to the smith who had obeyed his commands. Now, without them, Devin depended on Master Grey to say whether he could stay or not.

He came out into the sunlight, glancing up at the walls and hoping that he would catch a glimpse of Lenore there. There was one reason at least that he wanted to stay more than anything, yet maybe that was a reason he should go, too. Every thought he had seemed to be of Lenore, yet she was married to Finnal now. Devin had even given the sword to him at their wedding. Of course he would be the one to end up with both Lenore and the finest weapon Devin had ever seen; he looked like everything that a prince out of legend could be. Devin… he was no more than a smith who no longer even had a place in the House of Weapons, given purpose only because Master Grey had wanted someone to work star metal.

Devin turned his eyes toward the sorcerers tower, thinking of the things he had read there. Perhaps he would be better off plunging back into the city, away from everything the sorcerer had in mind for him. He could find work somewhere, perhaps in a village where a smiths skills could be put to use making horseshoes and fixing plows.

That would mean going away from all of this though, away from Lenore. Could Devin really do that?

He tried. He walked from the castle gates, heading down into the city, over the first of the bridges there, then the next. Each step felt like Devin was dragging a lead weight, though, or fighting against a chain pulling him in the other direction. He made it as far as the marketplace in the shadow of the House of Merchants before he stopped, knowing that he could not bring himself to go further.

Around him, the stalls were busy, people pushing and bumping as they strove to get the best bargains for themselves. Hawkers cried out the benefits of their wares compared to those of all the others there. Burly porters lifted crates. In one corner, a pen held sheep, men crowded round them for an auction.