The first time he asked her had been an accident.

He had been careless. He never could sleep in the hottest nights of summer. The night before he had tossed and turned for hours, sheets glued to his sweaty skin, before he gave up and rose from bed. He had been tired in the morning, too tired to work, surely. But Crian had gone to the other side of the city, and Jarred did not want the old man to return and find that he had done nothing. He had lived in the forge for nearly two years, and he still sometimes felt like an unwanted guest. It was not true, and he knew that deep down. He knew it by the gruff way Crian would clasp him on the shoulder to show his approval; by the way Anna always offered to share the blackberries she picked from her garden, because she knew they were his favourite, too. Still, he worked hard every day, never able to shake the fear that he might lose his home again.

The morning slipped into the afternoon as he worked. He knew he should stop to rest and eat, but that seemed like too much effort. Instead he kept working, his muscles straining against the bellows, until they slipped in his sweaty hands and the fire roared, smoke blowing into his face, and flames lapping eagerly at his arms. Anna had come running at his cries.

And now he sat in the kitchen as she pounded a poultice in her mortar and pestle. Jarred's wound did not hurt so much anymore. The shock had been worse than the pain. But still, Anna had insisted on treating it.

"I have seen infections in worse," she had said, putting her arm around him in the yard, as if he needed help walking to kitchen.

Her touch had been gentle then, but watching her pound away at the poultice made him worry for what might come next. Besides, the paste was a very unappealing shade of green, and the smell was far worse.

"Give me your arm," she ordered, staring determinedly at the wound, and not his eyes. Very purposefully not at his eyes, he thought. A few strands of curly black hair had escaped the tight braid she wore when she worked. Jarred wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to brush those threads of hair away from her face. He imagined her hair would be soft under his calloused fingers.

Without a true word of warning, she smeared her poultice across his prone flesh. He gritted his teeth so he would not scream again, but the foul mixture burned worse than the fire. On reflex, he tried to pull himself free, but her hand on his arm was deceptively strong.

"Do not," she warned. She looked at him then. Her green eyes were hard, angry even. The burning in his arm faded slowly, as if leeched away by her poultice. Jarred sighed his relief, and Anna let him go.

"You can be so foolish sometimes," Anna said crossly, but Jarred had closed his eyes. He had not realized how much the burn hurt, until the pain was gone. He sighed in relief.

"You are wonderful," he sighed. "Oh, I will marry you one day."

His heart clenched in horror as the words slipped carelessly from his mouth. What a stupid thing to say. His eyes flew open, but Anna was smiling. When she saw him look at her, laughter tumbled from her lips. She released him, and leaned back in her chair, still smiling. She thought he had said it in jest. "I was not truly cross," she said. "I was only worried. But you must be fine, if your sense of humour has returned."

His own laughter came only a moment too late. "Yes. I must be."

Anna shook her head, and began to wrap bandages around his arm. Jarred wanted to shudder at the feeling of the slime on his arm being pressed tighter to his skin, but her fingers on his flesh helped him forget.

—

The second time was when they first kissed.

Three years had passed since Jarred had stumbled into Anna's life. It was his first kiss and her second. Jarred had never thought much about what his first kiss might be like. But he had known what the thick tension in the air felt like, when they knew what was meant to happen, and yet both were just a bit too frightened to lean that fraction closer. It had been cold that night, when she led him to the garden. She had brought him out to show the beautiful blood-red flowers that bloomed when the moon was at its highest in the sky.

"Do you see, Jarred?" she had said excitedly, pointing downwards. "If you look closely, the petals are threaded with blue strands. They look like veins under the moonlight, do they not? I wonder, are the petals like our skin, or are the veins under our flesh moulded after theirs?"

She had leaned over, and traced the veins of his arm with her finger, past the slight scar from the bellows. "I do not know," he had said, pretending his shiver was from the cold.

The air crackled, as if lightening had struck the ground between them. Her hand had trailed up his arm to his shoulder, and then to the rise of his cheekbone. They stood in silence for a moment. The world around them was gone. Jarred leaned down, breaking the spell, and kissed her lightly. Her lips responded, and he finally threaded his hands through her hair. It was not as soft as he had imagined it might be, but it hers, and he loved it.

He pulled away to breathe, and her shining eyes stared up at him.

"Marry me," he said he exhaled.

Anna stepped away, her bright eyes flickering across his face. She smiled nervously. "Not now," she murmured. She pulled her hand away, and kissed him again—time on his cheek— and returned to the cottage.

Jarred wondered for a moment if they were too young, but he knew that wasn't true. She had just turned seventeen, and he would too, in only a few weeks. In Del, where many died in their youth, it was not uncommon for people younger than him to wed. And surely Endon had… no, he did not want to think about Endon. Jarred watched her go, and touched his fingers to his lips, wondering if he had just ruined his own life.

—

The first time she asked him was the only time she did.

It was spring, nearly two years after their first kiss. Nothing had been ruined, as he had feared in that moonlit moment. Instead, everything had bloomed, like Anna's red flowers. There had many kisses since, but little talk of the future. Jarred cared little though, not when her work-rough hand was in his. They were shopping in the market, trading sometimes, for many in Del had little coin to spare. They stopped at the butcher's and ordered half of a scrawny chicken. As they waited, a gaggle of children burst into the store. None of them could have been older than thirteen, and all had dirty hair, and poorly-patched clothes. Jarred could count their ribs through the thin fabric of their shirts. The butcher had gone to the back, to retrieve the chicken order, and when she returned her already dour mouth turned downwards as she saw the children.

"We came for chicken, too, Miss!" the leader of the group crowed. He pulled a length of cloth from his satchel. It was not particularity fine, but clearly made with care.

"My father made this," the boy boasted in his child's voice, although it seemed to be likely stolen. "You will find nothing better. We want food for this!"

The butcher grunted, unimpressed, and pointed to a sign on the counter, directly at the boy's eye level.

Jarred watched as the boys' eyes flickered, uncomprehending, between the sign and the woman. Anna finally stepped forward.

"She only takes coin," she said softly to children, gesturing at what the sign read.

"That is fine," the young boy said after a moment's silence, clinging to his pride. "I heard the meat is rotten here, anyway." He turned around, and his loyal group followed as the butcher spluttered angrily. Jarred saw their hungry, heartbroken faces as they left.

Jarred blinked. "Can they not read?" he asked Anna.

"It is not so uncommon," Anna grimaced and squeezed his hand. "Many in Del work too hard to teach their children anything more than what is necessary for survival. My mother could not read or write, or so my father once told me."

Jarred was taken aback. "How could I have not known?"

Anna shrugged as Jarred collected their order. "It is accepted here. Perhaps it is easy to not notice because you spend all your time with Grandfather and I. I was simply born lucky."

Jarred took a deep breath, ashamed of his ignorance and privilege— not a new feeling at all. Again, he saw the desperate faces the children had worn. He kissed Anna on the cheek, and ran right out of the shop.

The bell tied above the door tinkled as Jarred pushed outside. Her looked around for the children, finally spotting them nearly disappearing in a crowd headed toward the city centre.

"Wait!" he called after the group. They did not hear, or did not listen, and vanished in the crowd. Jarred gave chase. His legs were longer and he had more meat on his bones, and so it was not long before he caught up with them. "Stop!" he called.

The lead boy stopped and turned. His blonde hair had turned dark with sweat. He flinched as Jarred stepped forward; all of his performative courage gone.

"I am not going to hurt you," Jarred said, keeping his voice soft. Somehow, he knew what he must do. "Are you hungry?"

"No!" one of the children said— a tiny girl with straggly brown hair. An older girl shushed her, and all of the children stared up at Jarred, their faces a mess of apprehension and hope.

Jarred did not step closer, instead he stretched out his hands, holding the paper-wrapped package of chicken. "It is not much," he said quietly. "But you can have it."

"We do not need it," the blonde boy said proudly, though he could not tear his hungry eyes away from the meat.

Jarred faked a casual grin. "I know," he said. "But everyone likes chicken."

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he reached forward, tentatively accepting the package. He hugged it to his scrawny chest, as if worried Jarred would take it back. Then he turned and ran without a word of thanks, and his friends followed. Soon they were swallowed by the maze of Del's streets.

Jarred turned back the way he had come, and suddenly there was Anna. She was breathless from running, and the midday sun twined strands of scarlet into her black hair. Jarred remembered the first time he went to the market alone, and was conned into buying bread for nearly five times what he should have paid. His heart sunk— had he done it again?

Anna grinned, and she walked towards him.

"Did I make a mistake?" Jarred asked, although he knew in his heart that he had not.

"No," Anna shook her head, still smiling, though her face was flushed as if she might cry. "You brilliant, beautiful man. Marry me. Marry me, and be mine."

Jarred laughed. "You would marry me? A foolish blacksmith who gave away his supper?"

She stepped forward. "I do not speak in jest. You know I love you. You know it."

Jarred's heart beat painfully against his chest. "Do you mean this?

Anna was so close. "Yes. Marry me. Marry me today."

"Today?" Jarred smiled, and took her hand. The streets were busy, but he eyes only for her.

"There is no one else I wish to start my life with," the smile was still strong on Anna's face, but she had begun to cry. "Why not start now? I want to be with you always. I want to grow old with you. I love you."

Pinpricks of tears stung at Jarred's eyes. He had felt the same way for years, and had known deep inside that she did too. His heart was very full. So often he felt alone and afraid. But not with her, never with her. "Let us start now."

—

"It is our love, not our duty, that binds us on this day. You will shine in the light of my heart, and when I am lost, I will find my way home by the light of yours. Let my soul be your shelter, let my hands heal your wounds. I will stand against your fears, and I will be the cause of your joy. We shall be equal in all things, and divided in none. Let not war, nor sea, nor enemies part us. When death comes, it will be in my arms that you find rest. On this day, I give to you my soul, my love, my heart. This I vow."