The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (16 page)

Annmar entered the office, determined not to let the conversation return to Daeryn. Or her feelings. She took the same chair she’d sat in the day before and opened her sketchbook on the cleared end of the desk while Mistress Gere pulled her chair around to sit beside her.

“I tried several of your preserves today,” Annmar said, “and created a sample label for the peach.” She flipped through the pages, showing Mistress Gere the studies of the tree, its leaves and blossoms, as well as the fruit, on and off the tree, solitary and in a group, whole and sliced. “I’ve brought a few of these elements together for the label, but if you like others better, or would prefer a different angle, I can easily provide another mock-up.”

Annmar turned to the label and slid the drawing closer to Mistress Gere, as she’d done so many times for clients at Rennet’s Renditions. Then she sat back and folded her hands to wait.

Mistress Gere framed her hands around the image border, her gaze centered on the girl beneath the tree. She nodded, but didn’t speak for some time. Annmar found her hands starting to squeeze together and had to remind herself that not everyone analyzed a sketch as quickly as Mr. Shearing…and hopefully, with her Knack at work, this one had more to study than anything she’d shown a client in Derby.

Finally, Mistress Gere lifted her gaze to Annmar’s. “If I may ask, how do you feel about the drawing?”

How did she feel? And why should it matter? “But I’m not the person paying for it,” she protested.

“Humor me.” Mistress Gere smiled.

Annmar glanced at the drawing, but she didn’t really need the image to remember those intense feelings. “It’s summer. Hot for the Peak District. Warm breezes carrying the smell of sweetness, peaches ready to be picked. They fall off in your hand, and you can’t wait to take your first bite. I doubt there’s even a need to add sugar. The flesh inside is so juicy you must lean over when you do take that bite.”

“And yet you’ve never been here,” Mistress Gere said softly.

A laugh rose in Annmar’s throat. “I’ve never seen a peach growing, a peach tree, or even been on a farm.”

The lady smiled. “This first label is more than I hoped for after you indicated you weren’t aware of your Knack.”

“I was, but not in a formal way,” Annmar said cautiously, “and certainly not what I could do if I purposefully wished to use it.”

She nodded. “Exactly, and the more you push a Knack to work for you, the better it works. You also have years of art training to support your Knack. Your drawings are precise and accurate. I imagine I might pick up this peach and eat it. Well done.” Mistress Gere bent to study the label again.

Annmar murmured her thanks for the compliments, but she really wanted to shout and hug the lady. To Mistress Gere, the words were a passing comment. To Annmar they were an answer, one solution to learning how to use her Knack. Annmar could improve simply by doing more of the sketching she loved.

She settled in to wait for what else Mistress Gere had to say. It sounded like Annmar had produced what Mistress Gere had hoped Mother would have provided her—

Another source of help for her Knack fell into place. Mistress Gere had sent Mr. Fetcher after Mother because she had seen her old paintings. Who had them? Perhaps Mistress Gere knew. It might even be her.

* * *

Daeryn stretched on
the bed, trying to make his aching foot more comfortable. “Uh, I might have a problem. Miz Gere told Annmar I like her.”

“Well, you do,” Rivley said. “What’s the problem with that?”

“
I
wanted to tell her. When I was ready.” Here was his chance to bring up their binding. “When we had the gildan worked out.”

Rivley’s brows shot up.

“Don’t act so surprised. We have to resolve this between us sooner or later.” And if it had been sooner, this wouldn’t be so awkward for them. “What do you think Mistress Gere was after by telling her that?”

“Who knows?” Rivley said. “She usually stays out of our relationships.”

“It’s not a relationship. Nowhere close.” He wished it were. Daeryn stared at the ceiling. “I really like talking to her.” And her scent. He nearly had it worked out.

“Yes, I see why. She’s pretty, and she must like you, defending your ass to Mistress Gere.”

“Say, you think so?”

Rivley rolled his eyes. “Come on. Females are nothing new to you.”

Daeryn snorted. “To you, either.”

“I wish it wasn’t the case.” Rivley crossed his arms.

And that’s what made this so hard to talk about. Hell, he hadn’t meant to keep Rivley from finding a serious mate, but in their first months here, watching Rivley mingle with the females made Daeryn heartsick. Rivley had no reason not to. He hadn’t been drowning in the sorrow of losing a mate…like Daeryn was. For a year, he didn’t push beyond the pain, refused to even acknowledge he might move on. Then—

Uh, he still hadn’t. Daeryn clenched his fists. He had not moved on. Not really. Sure, he’d had dalliances with Maraquin, but she wasn’t a serious mate possibility, as
she’d
told him. He’d been fooling himself.

Who knew if Rivley and Mary Clare would be more permanent without the gildan standing in the way? It was time to give Rivley the chance to find out. And himself. “So,” Daeryn said, “you know it’s hard to tell about females sometimes. This one is different.”

“That’s an understatement. She isn’t your usual type, for some of the same reasons you’ve claimed MC isn’t mine. Non-’cambires, who even if they ever did accept pack ways, we’d never be able to live other than in the Basin’s towns. And as humans, they might yearn to travel Outside, which you’ve sworn never to do. Not sure why you’re trying to pursue her.”

Daeryn blew out a long breath. He didn’t either, and he had more than one reason not to. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

* * *

Annmar was learning
Mistress Gere had an eye for detail as well. The farm owner offered ideas for what presentation would work best for different crops. Annmar sketched the proposed layouts for tree fruits versus root crops and many others as they discussed them. Then they pored over lettering samples from the printers. Lastly, Mistress Gere’s gaze tracked the border.

“I have doubts about using the plant leaves. While the fluttering peach leaves convey a nice country feeling, other leaves may be dull.”

“I can work up a standard border,” Annmar offered. “Does an image suit the farm overall? Possibly a trademark you’ve used in the past?”

“Just the name.”

Well, she’d best be honest about that. “I’ve seen it on the crates. It’s rather plain,” Annmar said.

Mistress Gere laughed. “In other words, it’s not doing a thing for us.”

Annmar laughed with her. “It’s not. But a border or image for the printed labels can be more elaborate than something you’d stencil on the crates. Something that shows the variety of products? The seasonal abundance?”

Mistress Gere waved a hand. “Test out a few ideas as you mock up more labels. I’m sure the right look will come to you.”

“Speaking of Wellspring’s image, I should like to go to Market Day, to see your customers and competition.”

Mistress Gere’s eyes narrowed, and though the lady’s face quickly cleared, if Annmar wasn’t mistaken she’d looked uncertain. “I see the value in the survey,” Mistress Gere said, “and I will find someone to show you around.”

Something lay behind this offer, but Annmar couldn’t discern what, nor did she wish to ask when the request had been agreed to. “Perhaps Mary Clare can accompany me. Growing up here, I’m sure she knows the ins and outs of Market Day.”

“Agreed, but she’s spoken for. Mary Clare always works our stand because she’s familiar with recipes for our produce. Our customers count on seeing her. I’ll see what I can do to replace her, but perhaps someone…”

“I can make my way alone, if it’s trouble—”

“Rivley.” Mistress Gere nodded at her own suggestion. “He knows the town well after three years here and can point out the other farms in our consortium. I don’t necessarily think of them as competition. We support each other in learning all we can. Rivley shall accompany you, if this meets your approval?”

The question was a courtesy, not a point of discussion. Annmar would abide by the lady’s wishes. A guide would help, and besides, she might learn why he appeared to flutter. She nodded. “Thank you.”

“So it’s decided. And we have a plan to go forward with the labels?” Mistress Gere started to rise.

Annmar quickly said, “I have another request, if you have a moment?”

Mistress Gere settled back in her chair and gestured for Annmar to continue.

“When Mr. Fetcher spoke with me in Derby, he mentioned seeing artwork—paintings—of my mother’s. I didn’t think to ask him where he saw those and thought you may know.”

This time the smile definitely faded from Mistress Gere’s face.

Had Annmar overstepped? She hurried to add, “With my discovery of my Knack only after my mother has passed on, I’m curious to see some of the art she did while living here.”

“I understand,” Mistress Gere said. “I hesitate because I borrowed those paintings to show to Mr. Fetcher. I will need to speak with the owner to gain permission for you to see them.”

“Of course. I appreciate your efforts in relaying my request.”

Mistress Gere rose, so Annmar did, too, and extended her hand. “Thank you.”

She left the office, closed the door behind her and stopped after a few paces in the dark hallway. With her business completed, she could allow herself a moment to revel. Several hints for how to work her Knack had fallen into place. For the Knack she
thought
she had. The memory of Daeryn’s smooth golden skin sent a tingle up her spine.

She’d healed a person with drawings. The idea was simply fantastical.

The sadness for what might have been possible for healing Mother had to be put aside. If Annmar dwelt on it, she’d waste time in Blighted Basin that could be spent learning more. Her father wasn’t in the picture any more than her mother, which left her with the sources at hand.

Would Daeryn be willing to help her unravel another part of this incredible gift?

* * *

Daeryn tried to
ignore Rivley’s heavy-browed scowl. He didn’t know himself why Annmar had his attention. He rubbed his palm over his chest where the cuts had been. He did have to admire a girl so different and who was trying hard to fit in. And doing well at it. He couldn’t do it if their positions had been reversed. Outside? No. “I’m not chasing her. Can’t. Even if my foot let me, I wouldn’t have followed Annmar when she left. Miz Gere told me to avoid Annmar’s territory until Annmar gives her approval.”

“What?” Rivley stilled. “You never told me that.” He waved both hands in a cutting motion. “If Mistress Gere set down a restriction, you honor it. She doesn’t want this girl scared off, and we don’t want trouble.”

“I know that,” Daeryn snapped. “She’s let me stay team lead even laid up. I aim to keep it. That means either making myself invaluable from here—unlikely—or getting my ass back out there as soon as possible. I can ask Annmar—”

“You
cannot
ask Annmar. Are you daft?” Rivley kicked the bedstead, his brows cutting a sharp vee. “Approaching her to ask her to heal you is the same as approaching her for any other reason,
which you have been told not to do.
” He enunciated the last words in a low voice, his fierce gaze locked on Daeryn’s.

In the silence that followed, faint footsteps in the hall grew louder. They stopped before the sickroom door.

Daeryn inhaled deeply. “She’s at the door,” he whispered and scrambled to cover his already clothed body. What was he doing? He stopped and laid back against the pillows.

Rivley shook out his fisted hands and stepped to the middle of the room seconds before the rap sounded. “Come in,” he said and opened the door.

Annmar’s gaze lit on Rivley for only a moment before it shifted to the bed and Daeryn.

The hope Rivley’s words had killed in Daeryn rekindled for a second…then wavered. She could be here for any reason, including giving him a tongue-lashing. He attempted a smile.

She drew a breath. “May I speak with you?” She darted a look to Rivley. “Alone, please.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait outside.” He waved her in, stepped out and closed the door.

Daeryn knew he hadn’t gone farther than the doorjamb, but kept his gaze on Annmar.

She drew a breath. “I’m not sure what happened earlier. As you claim, possibly I was responsible. I apologize. I am sorry also if it has made you uncomfortable—”

“No.” He shook his head. Whatever Annmar wanted—maybe only to apologize—he wouldn’t have her thinking that. “I feel loads better. I would choose a fast, painless healing any day.” Then he held his tongue, because if he was not the one to ask, he stayed in Miz Gere’s good graces. And Rivley’s.

She nodded and lifted the sketchbook. “Until I figure out what happened, can we keep this between the two of us?”