Threads of Desire (Spellcraft) - By Stone, Eleri Page 0,19
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.”