Threads of Desire (Spellcraft) (8 page)

Stupid. The guild had very serious rules about such things. A death sentence to ignore this particular rule. A blind weaver... You couldn’t form the pattern without holding the image in your mind. If you released your magic without that, you would die along with any number of people you caught within the weave. Certainly anyone in your immediate vicinity but also perhaps anyone your thoughts even touched upon. The guild secretly and humanely put down any of its members who lacked the ability to control their magic—the demented, the old and infirm, the disabled.

“I told them she’d been taken by a fever.”

“And they believed you?”

“Not at first, no, but we buried her in some state. I mourned publicly for months and she disappeared.”

Ily shook her head. He was protecting his child and endangering them all, everyone who lived in this building certainly.

“The guildmaster was willing to take her from me as a pupil and train her secretly.”

“No.”

Ily said it without thought—shouted it really—immediately and forcefully. Wincing inwardly, she turned her head to see the look of open shock on Cassia’s face. To her credit, the woman schooled her features quickly but wasn’t able to completely hide the speculation in her eyes. There was a marked lack of surprise on Kal’s face. Ily had been one of the guildmaster’s private pupils and would not wish that particular sort of tutelage upon any child.
Had he always known the truth about her? What a very great fool she’d been.

Kal didn’t comment, which was a mercy. Or, worse, ask her any stupid questions, which would help no one. Instead, with a gentleness that shook her to the soul, he tugged her closer. His arms came up around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. For some reason even she didn’t understand, she let him do it. The strength of his body, his scent. His hands smoothing down her spine. She tucked her head beneath his chin and he held her thus until her trembling subsided. Only moments passed as they stood there, but at some point while Ily hid herself in Kal’s strength, Cassia discreetly moved away.

“Don’t let him near her,” Ily whispered fiercely.

He kissed the top of her head. “I won’t. But this...this was the only alternative.”

A shudder ran the length of her body. She snaked her arms around his waist and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart. How long had he known that she was running from one particular man? Lanel Hasson, guildmaster for these past dozen years with a taste for young women and not above using his position to coerce them into his bed. Kal had likely suspected something of the sort once he recognized her as a master. There was every advantage to being a guild member and so very few reasons to run. She remembered how circumspectly he’d questioned her about her training.

He’d been planning this for a very long time.

When she lifted her head, he caught her jaw. He searched her face for a long moment and then kissed her deeply. “I’m sorry.”

“For kissing me?”

One corner of his mouth pulled up. “No.”

“Has it all been a lie then?”

His body stiffened. “No, Ily.”

“The rug. The workshop, every generosity great and small. Us?”

“I
have
to stay in the emperor’s good graces. I can’t afford his scrutiny or animosity. Haran likes expensive gifts particularly when they flatter his pride. The rest... I’ve wanted you from the beginning. You wouldn’t have accepted me otherwise.”

“No.” He flinched as if she’d slapped him, but she had no care for his distress. Her own anger was all encompassing. She’d thought that he’d come to care for her as she’d come to care for him. But she’d only allowed herself to be duped.

“You wanted me to train your daughter.”

“Yes. And I wanted you. Simply wanted you.”

She smiled but it was bittersweet. “And of course it would never occur to you that you can’t have everything you want.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

No, but he’d outmaneuvered her at every turn. She’d thought that she could bargain with him and win. She believed he was telling her the truth now. But then, she was a very great fool.

She untangled herself from his arms and stepped back. “I’d like to speak with your daughter.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Ily knelt on the cushions across from Kal and his daughter. The girl, about ten years of age, was tucked in his arms. He must have sensed the anger that still simmered in Ily’s heart because there was a plea in his eyes that couldn’t be feigned.

As if she would take out her anger on his innocent child.

“Nira,” he said. “This is Ily. She is like you, a weaver. She’s come to consider taking you as a student.”

“And then we can live together again, Papa?”

“Perhaps,” Kal deflected. “Say hello, love.”

Nira held out her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Ily took it. “You can train me? I can’t see, you know. The other masters said I was an...an impossibility.”

“Oh, I don’t believe in impossibilities,” Ily said, gaze flickering briefly to meet Kal’s. “Is this what you’re working on now?”

Nira lifted a square of weave, obviously the work of a novice. Many of the threads were looped and snagged yet there was a pattern to the colors. An odd pattern, but if the girl was entirely blind then logically there should be none.

“I can’t make the thread lie flat. It always pops up like that.”

She heard the frustration in the small voice and sympathized. “It takes a great deal of practice, keeping the flow consistent. Especially when it is only one of the many things you must concentrate on when working the weave.”

“I start to think about the colors and the next thing I know...” She lifted one delicate shoulder and let it fall in a shrug.

“Nira, how do you think about the colors?” She glanced at Kal. “Were you not always blind?”

He shook his head. “She was born this way.”

“I can hear them. Each has a different sound. Like music.” Nira touched the yellow. “Bright.” Blue. “This one is cool like the water in the fountain at home.”

Pain flickered across Kal’s face, but Ily barely registered it. Her thoughts were flying. The traditional method of training required that you hold the entire image of the work in your mind as you began the weave. The training consisted in large part in building the mental stamina to concentrate, to hold that single intricately detailed image in your mind for an extended period of time. But maybe...

So long as Nira could distinguish between the different threads, did it matter if she held a picture in her mind or a symphony? It was possible, yes. At least theoretically. And what would the finished product look like? This child might be able to create weaves that no one had imagined possible.

Nira’s face scrunched up. “Rael sings about dogs hunting the moon, do you know it?”

Ily started to shake her head but then said aloud, “No, I’ve never heard it.”

“You should ask him to sing it to you. It’s my favorite one. He has a very good voice and
he
was never trained to use it.”

She met Kal’s gaze and smiled. “I’ll be sure to ask him.”

Nira nodded and lifted the sorry scrap of rug. “I tried to weave it, but the melody kept getting away from me.” She twisted in Kal’s arms and placed her small palm to his cheek. “Can Rael come here, Papa, and sing it to me? I think that would help.”

“The next time I come, I will bring Rael,” Kal promised.

“Soon,” Nira insisted.

“Soon.”

Kal looked Ily’s way, brows raised. She knew what he was asking but didn’t have an answer for him yet. “Does she have any musical training?”

He shook his head. “Do you think it would help?”

“Yes. If that is the way she perceives the color and the pattern, then that is what we’ll have to work with. We need to strengthen her control and understanding of how the notes work together to create song. Anything that we can do to encourage that is good.”

“We?”

She held his gaze. “We.”

Kal hugged Nira to his chest and kissed the top of her head, but his eyes were fixed on Ily. She couldn’t fault him for trying to save his child. She understood the difficulties he faced. The guild believed the girl was dead. Any master would have been honor bound to report the girl’s existence and then she would be killed. Even taking honor out of the equation, every master she’d ever worked with would have rejected a blind child as a pupil. There were some things money couldn’t buy after all.

Finally, she could say that she understood what motivated Kal.

“I’ll stay with her here, then.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“If I’m to be her master then, yes, it is.”

He looked as though he wanted to argue that point but wouldn’t do it in front of the child. Gently, he set Nira on her feet and pointed her in the direction of her nursemaid, who’d been waiting patiently beside the door. “Lunchtime for you. I’ll discuss your lesson plan with Master Ily and we’ll get you started as soon as possible.”

She hugged him tight, kissing him soundly on the cheek, and then ran unerringly to her nurse. Kal helped Ily to her feet. “You’ll do it then?”

“Yes.”

“You can stay at the villa. I’d like you to stay at the villa.”

Ily began walking toward the door, past the children eating their lunch. They ate far better than she had for the past several years. He didn’t have just one child. He was hiding dozens. Seli waved to her from across the room and she paused. Kal had been bringing them here, a safe place, giving them food and training. The rugs she’d mocked were theirs. She couldn’t sort through the tangle of emotions knotting in her chest.

His hand fell on her shoulder. “You’ll need to at least retrieve your things.”

She really looked at him for the first time since he revealed his secret. An echo of the anguish she felt was there in his eyes but none of the confusion, only stark determination.

“There’s nothing there that you haven’t given to me.” Her old clothes had mysteriously disappeared. She strongly suspected that his staff had burned them.

His mouth tightened. “The rug then. You can’t leave it half-finished.”

No, she couldn’t. She would finish what she started, claim the money she’d earned and negotiate a new contract for Nira’s training. This time she’d demand a fortune.

“Until the rug is finished.”

Chapter Twelve

Ily was like a sleepwalker. She hadn’t eaten—and she always ate. He liked to watch her, the way her lips flushed with the wine. The way her eyes hooded when she particularly enjoyed something. That soft hum in her throat. He’d ordered her favorites, slivers of raw whitefish and the sharpest cheese he could find, the crusty bread that Jani made each day. But in the morning the tray lay in the hallway untouched.

He should be pleased. She’d agreed to help Nira and that, after all, was the most important thing. For Nira, he’d risk everything. He had, twice over. And she was worth every sacrifice.

But he’d taken everything from Ily too.

Funny, he’d thought he would give her everything. Shelter. Food. Money. Himself. Pleasure upon pleasure. He’d wanted to bind her to him, to make it impossible for her to say no.

But he’d seen it in her eyes at the school. She would have said no, dropped everything to the ground and run away from him. In the end, she’d only agreed to help him for Nira’s sake. Not greed or comfort or lust. The simple desire to protect a child. He’d come to suspect that she might willingly help him but by then it was too late to change course.

After searching her rooms and seeing that they were empty, he found her in the workroom. The muscles in her shoulders tensed when he entered, and she stood. “It’s finished.”

He came and looked over her shoulder. The border...it was the same pattern as the windows in his bedroom. He wondered if she realized it. “It’s beautiful.”

“You think the emperor will be pleased?”

“I can’t imagine he could be otherwise. You’re very talented.”

He wanted badly to touch her but didn’t dare.

“Red,” she said in a distracted voice. “I should have ringed the medallion with a thin red line. It would have been magnificently dramatic.”

“It’s perfect the way it is. Maybe next time—”

Her laugh was short and hard, nothing that he’d ever heard from her. She’d been wary as a hare when he’d found her but eminently self-composed. She seemed fragile now, as if she’d splinter into a thousand shards if he touched her. He’d been so clever, luring her to feed from his hand. She’d been hard on the outside then, but so gloriously warm and soft on the inside. That laugh was very bitter, very cold.

“I told you I’d teach Nira. The rug is completed. Why are you here, Kal?”

“For you.”

“You’ve had me,” she said quietly. “And I begged you for that pleasure. You should be pleased. It was never free though, was it? Nira was always the price.”

“She’s my daughter, not a weapon...or a fee.”

“I thought I could win, but I didn’t even know the game we were playing.”

There were tears in her eyes when she turned around, and all of his practiced words of explanation died on his tongue.

“You are so proud, so sure of yourself. Did you not care for me at all?”

“Of course I did. This was not a game, Ily. Never a contest to see who could sell more in the marketplace or barter the better deal. This is my daughter’s life. I had to protect her.”

No one had protected Ily from the monsters in this world, from the man whose duty it was to protect the youth in his charge, not prey upon them. She’d been hurt badly and despite that she’d begun to trust him. He was only beginning to realize the enormity of the mistake he’d made. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have taken you to bed until after you knew the truth and understood the entirety of what I wanted of you.”

“You are very stupid, Kal, when I thought you were so clever. I was the one who asked you to bed.”

“I was grateful for every moment.”

“Grateful,” she sneered. “I’m not angry about the sex. I wanted it. You were right about that from the beginning.” Glistening eyes, bright as diamonds. “I was so easy for you to read, like a gullible child.”

Ironic, that. He couldn’t read her now. He knew she was hurting and that he was the cause. He felt that he’d betrayed her, but they’d negotiated every detail. If she wasn’t angry about the sex, he did not understand.

She swiped at her face and her shoulders sagged. “You didn’t have to be kind. To make me feel safe here. I wouldn’t have turned my back on a child. You didn’t have to make me love you.”

He rocked back on his heels, joy and loss crashing into him at the same time.
Love.
He hadn’t let himself dare hope.

“That’s not...Ily,” he called out, but she continued toward the door with quick determined strides.

He was not clever. He was the dumbest ox of a man. He caught her arm, felt the muscles tighten under his grip, but he didn’t release her. Despite her promises, he didn’t trust her not to run.

She spun in his arms and lifted her chin defiantly. He touched her cheek, feathering his fingers over her sticky damp skin. Her eyes were rimmed in red, magnificently dramatic. His heart was like a rock in his chest. “Don’t tangle this. The commission, Nira. They have nothing to do with what is between us.”

“
You
tangled this. Why did you seek me out in the marketplace?”

His jaw clenched. He barely understood it himself. He’d seen her, he’d wanted her, he’d recognized what she was and saw a hope for Nira. All coming together in one perfect moment, one perfect person. He’d reached for everything.

She loved him. He should tell her he loved her. But what did he know of love? His father had trained him to rule. The only love he’d gotten was the devotion of servants, his brief infatuation with Salina, Nira’s mother. He’d only been seventeen then, and she ten years older. From Iril, her people believed blindness was a curse. She’d wanted nothing to do with their child and learning that, he’d wanted nothing more to do with her.

At every turn, what he learned of Ily only made him want her more.

He opened his mouth to try to put that into words. She stepped into him, lifting her body at the same time she grabbed his face and pulled him down. Too stunned to pull away, he accepted her kiss. Her delicious mouth, salty with tears. Still soft and sweet and perfect.

“Ily? What are you doing?”

She muttered something into his mouth. The words were muffled by his lips, but they didn’t sound complimentary. She pulled back just enough to look in his eyes.

“I’m untangling it.”

“What—?”

She nibbled all along his lower lip before catching it in her teeth and giving it a sharp tug.

“This won’t untangle anything.” He grabbed her ass, locking her body against his, pressing his erection into her belly. “We should talk.”

“Talk?” She shook her head, a strand of hair caught in the stubble on his jaw. “I want to know if it was all a lie.”

He tipped her face up. “You think I didn’t want you? Sweetling, I’m not that good of a liar.”

The twist at the edge of her mouth said she disagreed, but she didn’t argue. Her deft hands busied themselves with removing his clothes. He helped her. Eager, willing, desperate to ease her in any way possible. But this was wrong. He thought she meant to punish herself or him with this. That she meant to break them as thoroughly as possible. Not untangle, she wanted to unravel them. She was tearing at the threads that bound them just as she tore at her clothes.

A warm bundle of firm female flesh hit against his chest and his arms came up to gather her. How not? Even if she was trying to prove something to him, or herself, he couldn’t turn her away.

She was frantic and he tried to slow her. It made for an awkward dance, her wanting brutality and him working to seduce. She bit his lip and he tentatively caressed hers with his tongue. She tugged at his hair and he brushed hers from her eyes. She wrapped her hand around his cock and he groaned, closing his eyes and pumping into her fist.

She hissed and his eyes snapped open.
Focus.
He cradled her face, bracing his legs as she tried to push him back onto the cushions, or the rug, he couldn’t be sure which. Her eyes were wild, but he waited until they fixed on his face. “I love you, I want you to stay.”

She tried to turn her head, but he didn’t let go. “Please, Ily.”

A shudder passed through her. She trembled beneath his fingertips, all raw anguish and frantic energy. He needed to convince her. He kissed her temple, moved his mouth across the graceful curve of her cheek, touched the corner of her mouth. Her lips twitched, parted. He traced her mouth with his tongue, licked his way inside.

She shoved him back, hard. His ankles caught on the edge of the raised platform and he landed flat on his back in the center of the rug. Ily’s eyes flashed silver white and the threads crept up his arms, layering themselves around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place.

He pulled against their weight, but he was well and truly bound. A chill passed over his skin. She was very angry.

“Don’t struggle,” she said. “You’ll ruin it.”

He stilled, thinking at first that she meant she would end this. Not climb onto his body as she was doing now, not straddle him so that her soft nest of curls tickled the base of his cock. Then he realized she was talking about the stupid rug.

“I don’t care about the rug.”

She braced her hands on his chest and flicked her tongue over his nipple. “I happen to know that you care very much.”

“You understand nothing.” He flexed his arm and heard an awful tearing noise. The thread didn’t actually break. He’d seen to it that she’d had the best, hadn’t he? But he managed to loosen it just enough that he was able to slip one arm free.

She glared bloody murder at him. The horrific image of his blue and lifeless corpse trapped in thread flashed through his mind. “You’re not going to murder me with a rug, are you, Ily? Allow me some dignity. There’s a knife in my belt.”

Another strong pull and his other arm was free. She was angry, but there was a hint of humor in her eyes when she said, “You don’t deserve the knife. If I’d intended to murder you, I would have wrapped the threads around your neck not your arms.”

He caught her and rolled, pinning her weight to the rug. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“You’ve destroyed it.”

He kissed her nose, her chin. “You’ll make me another.”

“I’ll charge you triple the price...quadruple. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I accepted the commission. I didn’t know my benefactor was such an unscrupulous man.”

He laughed because she had believed that he was a supremely unscrupulous man when she’d accepted the commission and they both knew it. Relief flooded through his body because—
thank the
gods
—she was teasing him, softening with every breath she took. “I never suspected my artist would attempt to weave me into her masterpiece.”

A vibration in her chest that might have been laughter. There was tenderness in her eyes but still wariness. He hated it, would drive that doubt away with any tools at his disposal.

“It was a good deal of work, wasted.”

“Next time, you can weave red into the border. Make a hundred, a thousand. I’ll buy them all. Better yet, I’ll hand over to you all that I own. Only say that you’ll stay with me, in my home, in my bed. Please, Ily.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, he saw her uncertainty and a slim hope rose in his chest. But she wasn’t giving in yet. “You’re trying to buy me again. I’m not a whore.”

She was baiting him. They both knew she’d only offered herself as a whore because proud Ily couldn’t accept that she hungered for an aristo. He hadn’t let her hide behind the lie then and he wouldn’t be baited now. Bending his head, he kissed her gently, stealing the bitterness from her lips. “Will you be my wife?”

Her body tightened and he realized he’d pressed too far. But then, before he could force his arms to open, she began to relax. Slowly, the tension in her muscles eased until she was warm and pliant beneath him.

“You mean that.”

With utter gravity, he stared into her eyes, laying bare his soul to her searching gaze. “It would be best if Nira were with us. We could move somewhere else if you’d rather live away from the court.”

“The guild doesn’t have an office in Cresa,” she said, and he was encouraged that she hadn’t rejected the idea outright.

“I have a house there, it’s small.”

“A hovel, I’m sure.”

He touched her cheek. “Is this yes, Ily? Please say that it’s yes.”

“You’re sure I’m what you want? I meant it when I said I’d help Nira regardless. I’ll even complete this commission if you wish.”

“I want
you
. Help Nira. Forget the rug. I’ll hire someone else to cast it and—”

“Don’t you dare.”

A smile tugged at his mouth but he managed to contain it. “I won’t. No masters but you, Ily.”

He kissed her long and deep and when he raised his head, there were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. He kissed them away before returning to her mouth. He was very aware that she hadn’t answered his question, but he wouldn’t press her. She’d given him so much, he wouldn’t demand more.

“Kal.” The word was a breath against his lips. “I want you inside of me...now.”

No hardship to fulfill that request. He pushed inside her, planting himself as deeply in her body as she was planted in his heart.

“I don’t know how to trust you.”

He propped himself onto his arms so he could look into her eyes. Heartbreaking honesty there and fear paired with a courage that humbled him. “My fault, I’m sorry I deceived you.”

“You didn’t have a choice, not if you wanted to protect Nira.”

“Even so.” It was his one regret. He’d known the first time he’d met Ily that he could trust her, but he’d doubted his instincts. And with Nira’s life at stake, he’d had to be sure. “You don’t have to answer now. When you’re ready, I’ll—”

“Yes,” she said and at the same time, she tilted her hips, twining her legs through his until they were bound tightly together.

A smile burst wide and bright across her delicate features, lighting her eyes and making his mouth curve in answer. Still he couldn’t resist. “Yes, you’ll be my wife or yes, you’ll recast the rug?”

Her laughter vibrated through his cock. “Yes, to both. If you really mean it—” Her words cut off with a gasp. And when she caught her breath, it was to say, “That again, slower. Please.”