Threads of Desire (Spellcraft) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

The University, where all magically gifted Sarian-born children were trained, was considered to be one of the great marvels of the modern world. The first mage had claimed the land on the eastern shore of the Tigent Sea in a cove located several miles south of Lasura. They were within a day’s travel of the palace but well removed from the sprawl and tumult of the capital city.

The original halls and living quarters had been carved directly from the white cliffs overlooking the crystalline green waters of the small bay. Those rooms had been simple and spare, befitting the warrior mages who’d lived and studied there. After the initial conquest of the lands surrounding the Tigent, Casian III outlawed the study of the dark arts and the University began to train its students in the creation of work fit for trade. Where once the mages based their power on the threat of pain, now their power came from wealth and there was no sign of those bare stone rooms anywhere within the current structure.

The University was a living thing, constantly changing as it was refined by each new generation of students. As a rite of passage, each graduating master would place his or her mark upon the grounds before leaving to enter the world. Intricate carvings coaxed from the stone. Terraced gardens. Waterfalls spilling gracefully between levels. Every vase, rug and goblet stood in silent testimony to the skill of the artists who were trained there.

The current guildmaster, Lanel Hasson, sat in a comfortably worn leather chair looking out over the water as he listened to one of his men give a report on his travels to the north. This was Lanel’s favorite room. The glass that formed the outer wall was tinted and spelled to repel excess heat. It kept the space cool even during the scorching days of high summer. During more clement weather, a word from him altered the spell to allow air and heat to pass. This morning was very fine and the glass was now so clear that an ungifted man wouldn’t be able to see the barrier. Even Randal, mildly gifted that he was, looked nervous, standing a mere two feet from the edge and casting surreptitious glances at the hundred foot drop to the rocks below.

Randal’s discomfort was far more entertaining than the news he’d come to relate. There was little native magic north of the Tigent, and the wild and magically barren land held little interest for the guildmaster. A few small border skirmishes with the barbarians. A witch who’d turned out to be nothing more than an herbalist when Randal was summoned to test her. The barley crop was doing well, so that was something.

Lanel watched the small boats below and listened to Randal’s report with half an ear...until the man smiled. A man who smiled like that enjoyed collecting secrets. Lanel would wager his last bottle of Ulla that Randal held one now.

“You have something else for me?”

Randal inclined his head. “I have news from within the city which you may not yet have heard.”

By city, he meant the stinking, sweating, seething collection of warehouses and shacks that surrounded the palace. It was, of course, impossible to know everything that happened in that warren, but Lanel wouldn’t be led, not by this man. “I’m well informed about what takes place within the city walls.”

“I was given to understand that this information would be of interest to you personally.” The spy spoke with care, which piqued Lanel’s interest as surely as it was meant to do.

He arched his brows and the spy frowned. Lanel was hard put not to laugh at the expression. After all this time, did the man really think he’d be so easy to twist?

“Fine, then,” Randal muttered. “Fine. You pay me what you think it’s worth. I came through the southern gates.”

“My sympathies. Why the southern gate?”

“Market day. The caravan I was travelling with had goods to sell and thought they’d make better time skirting the wall rather than trying to pass through the city streets.” He waved his hand. “That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that I can give you a direct account of what happened in the marketplace these few days past.”

“And you think this would be of interest to me because...”

That crafty smile again. “Because I’ve never seen a master craftsman—a genuine master and a young one at that—ply her craft in the middle of a full market.”

Lanel went very still. “A master. You’re certain of that?”

Randal nodded.

“What craft?”

“Weaver.”

No longer bothering to pretend he wasn’t interested, Lanel lowered his goblet to the table. Silk whispered as he leaned forward, ready to catch every word. “Go on.”

* * *

The wide canopy that shielded the balcony outside of Kal’s bedroom filtered the light from the rising sun but didn’t entirely block it. He sat across from her at the small round table sipping at a steaming cup of clau, bare-chested and far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. When he caught her staring, his lazy smile widened. She blushed and stared down at her bowl. Turning the silver spoon, she scooped up a bright red berry from its bed of clotted cream and popped it in her mouth. It was delicious, rich and tart, the berries bursting with sweet juice. Almost too sweet.

“If it’s not to your liking, I can have something else prepared. Anything,” Kal said in a low voice that shivered through her like a memory of desire. Her body was attuned to him now and she didn’t know how to break that connection.

“No.” She reached for a smile. “I’m not very hungry. I’ve eaten more in this last week than I did most of last month, I think.”

He didn’t return her smile, only sat back and considered her for a moment before closing his hand around hers. Idly, he toyed with her fingers.

“Have the pleasures of my home grown stale already?”

“No.” She flinched at his searching gaze but forced herself to hold it. “At first, I thought they might but I don’t believe that anymore.”

He stole one of her berries with his free hand and she tapped his wrist with her spoon, smearing it with cream. He ate the berry and licked the cream from his wrist. “Why is that?” She lifted her gaze from his mouth to his eyes and he laughed. “You thought you’d grow bored with life as an aristo. What is it that changed your mind?”

She
could
grow bored with life as an aristo. Kal... She didn’t think she’d ever tire of him and it scared her. Once she was done with the commission, Kal would be done with her. She waved her spoon. “Sleeping past dawn, eating rich food, lazing about all day like cats in the sun. You’re changing me. It will be a wonder if I remember how to cast when the thread arrives.”

“It will come back to you. You have as much time as you need.”

She’d take her time and do her finest work. Make this waking dream last for as long as she could, but she wouldn’t be caught in her own trap.

The smile in his eyes faded though his lips still curved. “And you haven’t changed, Ily. You’re the same rose, blossomed.” He squeezed her hand and stood, drawing her up with him. “Come. If you’re finished, I’ve something to show you.”

“What is it?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

Swatches of light cut through the great windows of the hall. The stonemason who’d created his home had been gifted. He’d manipulated the swirls in the marble to trail in one direction. It reminded her of the patterns left behind in the sand when a wave withdrew. Unnaturally beautiful. There were no paintings, nothing so crude as that, but everywhere she looked was the work of a master.

She glanced at Kal, but his eyes were fixed ahead. He lifted his chin and a servant boy scurried ahead to open the door at the end of the hall.

Kal tugged at her hand, pulling her around to plant a gentle kiss on her lips before ushering her inside with an uncertain smile. She was still smiling over the kiss when she crossed the threshold, and it took her a moment to realize what he wanted to show her.

It was a good-sized room, not as large as Kal’s bedroom but empty of furnishings and completely square. If she didn’t miss her guess, the window on the far wall would overlook the kitchen garden. There was everything one would need to cast a weave in here. A chest of thread. Silken cushions spread over the floor. Sunlight and drapes to block it. A lock on the door.

“Your workshop,” he said. “The supplies came in last night and I had the servants bring them here. It’s generally quiet in this wing, but there are other rooms that might suit you better. Larger and with more windows...”

She looked around, throat tight. She didn’t need much light to do her work. In fact, she’d always preferred dim light. It was easier to focus on the weave that way. And this room was far larger than any she’d worked in before, even at the University. She’d long ago given up the hope of ever working in such a place again.

She realized Kal was staring at her, waiting for her to speak. She shook her head. “No need to move anything. This will do perfectly.”

“Good.” Hands clasped behind his back, he studied her a moment longer. “You can start as soon as you like.”

She knelt before the trunk, testing the strength and texture of the thread with her fingertips, examining the quality of the dye. The best money could buy. Of course, it would be.

“Ily?”

She looked up, surprised, and he smiled at her. After a moment, he nodded. “There are papers and pastels in the desk. I’ll leave you to make certain everything’s in order. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“I don’t know what you want, the colors and...what is it?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement and some other indefinable emotion, but he only shook his head. “Surprise me.”

* * *

As the days passed, they fell into a pattern. She worked on the rug during the daylight hours while Kal...well, while Kal did whatever it was that aristos did with their time. He had other business involving the Ulla trade to attend to although she didn’t know exactly what that entailed. It did seem to keep him busy. Occasionally, he seemed distracted but never shared his concerns with her. She wanted him to confide in her, but she kept herself from asking him any questions about his life outside of the walls of the villa. It wasn’t her place. She wouldn’t make the mistake of imagining that there was more to them than sex and the weave he’d commissioned of her.

After the sun set each day, they put aside business. At first, she was suspicious of every kindness but as the days passed, she began to relax her guard. Already, it was difficult to imagine returning to her life on the streets of Lasura—sharing a tiny closet of a room with a dozen other girls, sleeping with her back propped up against the wall, bathing in the sticky-salt water of the bay, scrounging for scraps of fabric to create her rugs and fighting with the dogs over discarded food in the marketplace.

She hadn’t expected to feel safe with Kal, but the more time she spent with him the more she believed that he was what he seemed—a rich man who’d wished to hire her, a sensual man who wanted her in his bed. He didn’t push her beyond what she was ready to accept. Sometimes she wished he would. He made her ask for what she wanted from him and when she did, he didn’t gloat or shame her. He gave her exactly what she wanted, every time. Hard. Soft. Fast. In the workroom. His bath. Against the wall in the gardens.

The other night, when she hadn’t been able to sleep, she’d found a book in his library of men and women coupling in every position imaginable. It described genitalia in coldly precise detail. Common phobias and erotic pleasures she’d never imagined. Of course, it was when she’d curled up in the window seat with a lamp beside her, cheeks burning, eyes wide and greedily soaking everything in, that he came upon her. No teasing. No sly questions or innuendo. He only glanced at the page and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Only ask,” he’d said.

And the possibility of these things, the knowledge of his willingness to explore them with her along with the knowledge that their time together was fleeting, haunted her for days afterward.

Only ask.

It shouldn’t have seemed so daunting.

She wanted.

He wanted to give.

Only ask.
It was such a small thing.

Over and over again, she found herself doing just that. She had only to whisper “please, Kal” and she could have anything she wanted. It wasn’t wrong to take from him; he had so much. She liked the way the word ruined him, stripped away his self-control and made him so desperately eager to please her. And it didn’t diminish her, not who she was. It didn’t change the wary respect with which Kal treated her outside of the bedroom.

She would only be here until her work was completed. Even a work of this magnitude would only take a month or two to finish. Then she would go her way, far richer than she’d come, and he would go his. Why shouldn’t they take full advantage of this short time together?

Tonight, she regarded him over the remains of their meal and shook her head. “How did I misjudge you so badly?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were cold, a hard-hearted businessman who cared only for his own pleasure.”

“I care very much for my own pleasure. I can’t imagine what I’ve done that would dissuade you from that view.”

“But there’s more to you than that.”

He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He was barefoot and his shirt was open at the neck. “In what way?”

“Your servants respect you.”

He gave a slight shrug, but his gaze never left her face. “I pay them well.”

“They like you, I can tell such things. I’ve been a servant for some time. There is competence and there is loyalty. You own their loyalty.”

“It would be a mistake to assign me virtues I’ve no wish to claim.”

But Kal knew very well his people adored him and he wouldn’t abuse their trust. He didn’t press her to give him anything more than she was willing to surrender.

“It’s curious to me that you’re a better man than you let the world see. You’re generous and kind.”

“You’ll ruin my reputation, Ily, with this talk.”

He lifted his cup from the table and took a deep draw of his rich wine before meeting her gaze again. This was the Kal she’d met at the marketplace, completely in control of himself and—in truth—of everyone around him. They were still unbalanced. She asked and he gave everything. She wanted to give something back to him.