Threads of Desire (Spellcraft)

Chapter Four

It had made perfect sense at the time, and while there were few virtues Ily could claim, sensibility was one of them. Funny how Kal could turn even that into a vice.

An image flashed in her mind’s eye of his expression as she’d left him in the marketplace today—the subtle curve to his mouth and the gleam in his eyes. He’d been laughing at her. Well, let him laugh if it pleased him to mock her. Everyone saw how much money had changed hands. Everyone knew that she had no protection from thieves or traders. But she did know how to disappear in a crowd. And she knew Kal wouldn’t steal from her.

She didn’t feel badly for using him. If anyone could bear it, he could. A man who’d been born to riches, who’d never had to wonder where his next meal was coming from, who’d never had to hide from those stronger than him, who rounded up street children as if they were rats. Calef had once told her that Kal only sold trinkets in the market as a way to keep his army of servants busy. Hundreds to serve one man.

Kal used people all the time.

She stared up at the wrought iron gates of his palace. The high fence that surrounded the property was standard apprentice work, but the main gates had been created by a master. No matter how talented the craftsman, a non-guild metalworker could not make iron form those delicious whirls and the sinuous shape of the dragon figure at the center. The dragon was the Azi crest. It suited Kal with his dark amber eyes and patient cunning. No wonder that a family bold enough to claim such a creature as their own had managed to amass this sort of wealth. Something about Kal dared her to reach for more. If she could be clever and bold, she could use him to get what she needed. She could escape Lasura and build a new life for herself.

So much depended on this meeting. After selling the rug in the marketplace, she didn’t need Kal to barter her smaller works. But the coin she’d earned today wouldn’t last forever. She’d spoken to one of the few caravan captains she trusted and the price he’d quoted her for protection to Cresa had nearly knocked her to her knees. That she was a woman raised the price, that people now knew she was a master level weaver raised it even more. She’d have to choose—stay here, buy more thread and attempt another casting in the marketplace, or buy passage to Cresa and arrive there with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Or she could reach for more.

The gates swung open silently and the guard gestured for her to enter. She gathered her worn cloak around her shoulders. First, she had to claim the money she’d earned in the marketplace. It would give her some breathing room. Some ground to stand on as she negotiated the terms of their business arrangement. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

He was waiting for her where they’d dined the other night, when she’d come to him trembling with fear and desperation. She’d fled that night, still trembling with the feel of his hands on her body. Still desperate.

Tonight, he’d ordered another feast and pride was the only thing that kept her from gorging herself to sickness. During the course of the meal, he didn’t speak of business other than to compliment her on the beauty of her work. She accepted the praise. Found it curious that he seemed more impressed by the fact that she’d used him as a common guard than by the work itself.

Mages were rare, masters rarer still. Yet Kal didn’t seem particularly surprised by the revelation that she was a guild-trained artist. Of course, he was an aristo. Possibly he thought artists were as common as ants, that food appeared when he snapped his fingers, that she’d come here for the simple pleasure of his company. The older, wealthier families—come from merchants all of them—were like that, but even they respected the guild. After all, what was Saria without its mages? No better than the barbarians to the north. The wisest aristos remembered that while Saria thrived on trade now, it had been built by conquest. Before the guild was formed and they turned their craft to peaceful pursuits, mages had made that conquest possible. Most aristos would treat her with reverence or at least deference. Kal seemed merely curious, which was disappointing. She’d been looking forward to seeing him off balance, had hoped to take advantage of that.

When the servants came to clear away the food, she rose. Kal lazed on the cushions, his long fingers cradled around his goblet of wine. She could feel his gaze follow her as she moved about the room. It was open to the night sky but partitioned from the main courtyard by a hip-height wall. Potted fruit trees, orange and lemon, rose from the other side and would shade this place from the morning sun. Flowerbeds lined the wall. A small fountain in the corner trilled a higher counterpoint to the larger one at the center of the main courtyard. Oil lamps were set on the table but there was no other light save that from the first moon, the bright sister, now rising from behind his home.

She lifted a smooth blue stone from a pedestal. Luminous as the moon, cool to the touch, perfectly round and heavy in her hand.

So many beautiful things. You’re a collector?”

Yes.” He spoke slowly, his voice dark and deep. But then, he always moved at his own pace and expected the world to accommodate him. Which, she imagined, it usually did.

Most of the aristo men I’ve met collect blades, slick Valetian steel that will never see a battlefield.”

Have you known many aristo men?”

Ignoring that question, she replaced the stone on its pedestal and resumed her circuit, feeling the weight of Kal’s gaze with every step. Through a low archway she could see stairs rising into the interior of the house. White steps, well worn and smooth with age. She’d wanted to see inside his home, had hoped it would give her some insight to the man, but she imagined the rest was just like this courtyard. Beautiful, expensive, well tended. It reminded her of the University.

I should go.” She didn’t belong in a place like this, not any longer. And she didn’t want to, especially when all it did was remind her of...things best left undisturbed.

She did, however, like standing over Kal while he lay at her feet. It gave her the illusion of power even though she understood full well that it was an illusion. Outside the gates, she’d been certain she could manage him. But when she wasn’t in his presence she always underestimated the effect he had on her. That dangerous pull made her want to close the distance between them and climb into his lap. No partnership between them could ever be a cold business arrangement. She could hire a guard with the money she’d earned, repeat her performance today. She didn’t really need Kal any longer.

She still wanted him.

He leaned forward and set his goblet down. “Before you go, I have a proposition I’d like you to consider.”

A proposition?”

A smile played at the edges of his mouth. “Not nearly as...provocative as yours was, I’m afraid. I’d like to hire you.”

She blinked, startled. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear and judging by his expression, he knew it. “Haven’t you enough servants?”

But no weavers, let alone a master.”

Ah.”

He frowned. “What do you mean—‘ah’?”

I am something rare that you don’t already own.”

I don’t want to own you, Ily.” His voice was level but his expression was uncharacteristically shuttered.

I know how the aristos work. There are only five other master level weavers—one tied to the Dravon family by blood, the other nearly too old to cast. That leaves three of us to offer our services.”

Two,” he corrected when she paused to draw breath. “Two weavers who offer their services. One who hides herself in the Southton slums weaving rags.”

She couldn’t completely cover her flinch. “That’s the draw though, isn’t it? There will be rumors about my casting and people will wonder. You want to tell your friends that you’ve engaged the services of the Southton weaver to capture the fleeting interest of the court.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, only regarded her steadily, appearing undecided. He sighed and shook his head. “Why do you hold me in such contempt?”

Something about the look on his face prodded her to honesty. “To remind myself that no matter how charming you are, we are very different people. My life is more fragile than yours and I can’t afford to be careless. I’ll drink your wine, but I won’t overindulge. I’ll take your protection, but I won’t trust you.”

He tipped his head to one side. “You think I’m charming?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think that perhaps I should take my money and go.”

I don’t think so.”

For the first time, a frisson of fear slid down her spine, a cold touch on the back of her neck. Eyes narrowed, she waited as he rose and walked toward her. He moved like a lion, all easy muscular grace. Confident. Kingly. Gently, he caught her jaw in his hand, thumb resting in the curve below her lips.

Not yet.”

Anger and arousal warred inside her. She wanted to demand her money from him at knifepoint. She wanted to dip her head and suck his thumb into her mouth, taste his skin.

His sensual lips curved into a wry smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Why would you run away when you’re winning? You need to learn when to press your advantage.”

Last night...”

Last night, what did I ask of you? I only gave. Last night, you offered me your body and I gave you mine.” His eyes darkened. “And I will do it again if that’s what you wish. Freely. As for business, I’ve told you what I want. To hire you for your craft. I want you to create a magnificent work of art that I will gift to the emperor when I’m summoned to court in the spring. I want to be allowed to watch you work because it amazes me. You amaze me. I will pay you in coin. Will you consider it?”

Yes.”

Good,” he said, then more firmly, “Good. Then we put business aside and move on to more pleasant negotiations.”

A crude sound of denial escaped the back of her throat.

Pressing two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted her face so she couldn’t escape his gaze. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, and we both know you never would have me made that offer if you didn’t want me.” A strange smile played at the corners of his lips. “You thought you could use me.”

I did use you.”

His eyes softened and his hand shifted to stroke down her neck. Waves of pleasure radiated from his touch, warming her breasts, her belly. “I can’t deny being flattered...and fascinated,” he murmured. “But I don’t understand why you’ve tangled this passion with money. You can have both, Ily. I’ll pay you well for your work, but that’s not conditional on you sharing my bed. What happens between us as man and woman has nothing to do with money. I won’t let you lie to yourself on that point.”

She wet her lips. “Between you and me, it will always be about money. If I accept your commission, I’ll be little more than a servant to you.”

His mouth tightened but his gaze didn’t waver. “Not when it comes to sex. When we’re together, I’ll be your servant even as you’re mine. I’m not paying you to f*ck me, Ily. Come willingly or not at all.”

Willingly? He had to know how badly she wanted him. He did know. She could see that awareness in his eyes, shaded by confusion. Only yesterday, she’d offered him sex in exchange for his help. Now, when he offered her everything she desired freely, she balked. But she didn’t trust him. She wasn’t in control any longer and this felt like a trap.

But how could she walk away?

We haven’t agreed on a price for the rug.”

Name it.”

Three thousand adrans.” It was a fortune. He’d never agree to such an inflated—

Done.”

The hand cradling her face was hard, cool and very steady. Surely, he could feel her trembling.

She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat and gathered her courage as if she were about to cast the most difficult spell of her life. When she looked into his eyes, she felt the strange pull, that connection like an undertow tugging her into deeper water. “Take me to your bed.”

He smiled.