Kassy Askel is pale and slim, with the compact, ropy strength of someone who has hauled coal sacks and wrestled stubborn stock into place for years. Her short brown hair curls outward at the ends, as if it has just escaped a tie, and soot dust often gathers in the fine creases beside her nose. She moves briskly but quietly, keeping her weight centered and her elbows close; when she stops, she seems to settle like a tool put carefully back in its place. Her unexpected detail is a bright yellow dress beneath her work jacket, its hem neatly mended with tiny blue stitches. She wears it because her daughter once declared that a forge ought to have one cheerful thing in it.

Kassy is exacting with figures but generous with people in immediate need. She can be brisk enough to seem cold when she is frightened, then unexpectedly tender once the danger passes. She likes the clean certainty of a balanced account, yet will quietly bend a rule to keep someone fed. With customers she is composed and efficient; with her daughter she is playful and lets herself be interrupted; when accused, she becomes sharp and methodical rather than loud.

Kassy grew up above a small smithy, learning figures, weights, and the moods of iron before she could manage a full hammer swing. She became the shop's clerk, keeping orders and accounts while her husband, Odran, worked the forge. When a winter roof collapse killed her sister and ruined the family's first workshop, Kassy took over the books and negotiated the loan that let them start again. The experience left her unwilling to trust a promise that is not written down, but it also taught her that people matter more than a clean balance sheet. Her husband now works away from home on a contract, while Kassy raises their daughter, Nessa, and runs the front of the shop. Lately, forged nails from the shop have been turning up in a string of suspicious warehouse fires. She is trying to discover who is stealing them without exposing the shop to an accusation she cannot afford to fight.