Chapter Six
The fire elm branch, taller than I was, kept spinning and toppling over as I tried to prop it in the corner of the crafting room.
Would it be a good instructional aid?
The door clunked open.
“Are we to practice landscaping today, Mister Thistlewood?” Sephimara, carrying a bag in each hand, glared at the branch.
I snorked. “I suppose in a way we are. I picked this off the grounds this morning. Came down in last night’s storm.”
“Benevolent of you.”
“You may not think so by the end of today’s session.”
She frowned.
“Yesterday’s exercise surprised me.” I sighed. “I’d been skipping around, trying to teach you what I thought you’d need. And I’ve missed a few things. So today we start from scratch. The rawest of raw materials.”
“Your assistance is appreciated as always.” Sephimara peered at the branch, where a few dead leaves still clung to the tips. Her eyes were tired, missing their usual sparkle.
“It’s good practice for me as well,” I replied.
“I meant yesterday. I would have surely failed that lab assignment without your assistance.”
I shook my head. “You might not have gotten perfect marks, but you would not have failed. You’re picking this up fast. Faster than I did when I first learned.”
Her lips quirked to a slightly lopsided smile as a hint of that luster returned to her green eyes. “Perhaps my weekend instructor has something to do with it.”
My legs wilted like a fern on the hottest day of summer. Why did even the subtlest of compliments from her melt me? Was the idea of such an amazing person respecting me as enticing as her being attracted to me?
Fighting the urge to take half a step closer, I replied, “Perhaps he does.”
“Was there something else you wished to add?”
Yes. Sephimara, I consider myself fortunate that your lips and eyes are as alluring as those lovely long legs of yours, or I would surely be staring at them in a most unseemly manner.
She cocked her head ever so slightly as the tip of her tongue poked between her lips.
Uuuugh, that. Does she have any idea what that gesture does to my poor brain?
I shook my head. “Let’s get started.”
“As you wish.” I could swear she winked before stepping to the nearest maple wood crafting table and setting her two bags atop it. “Which tools will I need for this project?”
“For now, just the handsaw.”
I guided her through the process of trimming off the smaller twigs while letting her feel the awkward shape of the branch, letting her set it in the clamp in a position convenient for her stature. I handed her one of my tools. “It’s called a drawknife. Good for debarking green wood.”
She examined the tool, which had a handle at either end of the blade. “I will not be obliged to sharpen some shabby, secondhand tool?”
“It’s definitely secondhand, possibly shabby, but it’s my tool, and it’s sharp.”
She ran a thumb over the curved blade. “Indeed.”
After a long gaze, she continued. “Do not sell yourself short, Mister Thistlewood. You’ve as much diligence and perseverance as anyone I’ve ever met. You’ve been with me during some rather trying…” her voice trailed off.
Did she want to finally discuss the clipper incident?
“It’s been trying for both of us. I just wish I knew… well, it seems there’s a lot I don’t know.”
“You’ve been a good friend.” She stepped closer, though her gaze drooped downward.
I hesitantly extended a hand.
She clasped her own hands together.
I dropped mine quickly to my side.
Her gaze met mine again, voice returning to its usual smooth confidence. “What I intended to say, Mister Thistlewood, is that I am certain all your tools are first rate.”
My jaw dropped.
She spun away.
“So how does this one work?” she asked, a moment later.
I stepped next to her, not toooo close, of course, and continued as matter-of-factly as I could muster. “You pull it towards you. The opposite motion of a carving knife or a chisel. The cutting motion will feel a little different.”
She sliced off the bark, gingerly at first, though peeling off longer and longer strips with each cut. “I am not used to thinking of wood like this. Not functional wood, that is.”
“Functional?”
She set the tool down and ran a fingertip along the smooth, pale surface under the bark. “Trees like this are a part of nature. Beautiful things, yes, but a broken off branch like this has no utility.”
“Never quite made the connection between the curves and bends of tree branches, and those nice, straight boards, eh?”
She glanced briefly at me, then back at the branch.
“Well, if you think that’s beautiful, you’re in for a treat.”
“Oh am I?” As she tipped her head to gaze at me, I could swear she blinked those long eyelashes just a little slower than usual.
“Um hum.” I turned to fish through my tool satchel before my jaw dropped from looking at that gaze of hers. “I’ll… I’ll need you to unclamp the base and turn the branch around.”
“Very well.”
I could feel her moving. I could see motion from the corner of my eye. But at the moment, meeting her gaze directly was like…
She’s here to study, to learn. Maybe she’s starting to respect you a little. Maybe she’s… No. There’s nothing more to it.
“This is a little technique we learn in Thorncove.” I tapped the cross section of the stem with an angular punch, creating a pyramid-shaped hole in the center.
“More for show than function, honestly, but it is…” I turned a power crystal, about the size of my thumb, over in my hands.
“Funny, the little things you remember. That sense of awe when an elementary school teacher first showed us this.”
“So you are showing me something suitable for elementary school students?”
I didn’t mean it like… I bit back the words before they slipped out.
Yet there had been the hint of a tease in that subtle lilt of her voice.
I tipped my head. “Even worse.” Glancing away before those green eyes of hers could tongue tie me again, I tapped the crystal into the hole with a wooden mallet. “I’m showing you something suitable for elementary school students in a provincial backwater.”
“How dreadful.” She pushed a lock of amber hair behind her ear.
I sucked in a slow breath. Was I smiling? I was probably smiling.
“We’ll have to dim the lights.” I lowered the slatted blinds.
“Will we?”
I did my best to ignore the mind-clouding effects of her soft words as I stepped back to her. “The power crystal I inserted into the stem isn’t a very good one. But it works for this.”
“For what, exactly? Your skill at dramatic foreshadowing isn’t at the level of your woodworking, I hope you realize.”
“For this.” I closed my eyes, letting the jumble of thoughts and emotions drain out as I felt the magic around me. I aligned the base of the branch with the flow, guiding it the last little bit with my mind, until finally…
“Oh wow.” Sephimara’s voice carried a tone I’d never heard before. No pretense, no calculation, just pure emotion.
I opened my eyes to view the sea of little rose-colored sparkles I’d created, dancing along the branch, bursting into tiny pops of light at the tips. “Nice, isn’t it? Magic doesn’t exactly flow with the wood’s grain, but it’s close.”
“It is… truly beautiful.” In the dim light, sparkles shimmered in her eyes, as if she were on the verge of tears.
I stepped in closer behind her, chest just a handsbreadth from her back, arms wide as I guided the flow of magic.
The colored sparkles shifted to oranges and ambers.
“The flow will shift slightly as the wood dries, so for something like yesterday’s project, green wood like this isn’t ideal.
” I yearned to close my arms around her shoulders.
To embrace her from behind. To hold her as if for a dance.
Why did it feel right? She’d said nothing to me to encourage it.
Yet beneath that exterior was a warmth so enticing.
The sparkles dimmed.
I redirected the flow. Concentrating on the magic, on my posture, on my words. We weren’t touching, yet I felt so close to her. We weren’t touching, yet we were in tune as if we were.
What was I saying? “Green wood. It’s difficult to predict the flow when it dries, but it’s an interesting exercise.”
“It is beyond fascinating.” As she followed a line of sparkles along the crook of a twig with her index finger, my own hand trailed hers, as if pulled along by a marionette string.
I may not be beautiful, but creating something beautiful, something that so captivated her, the feeling was…
The sparkles dimmed as I pulled back again. “Let’s place a gem so you can see what that looks like.” I peeked into the satchel she carried her tools in, shoving an old notebook to the side as I—
“What are you doing!” Her voice cracked through the air, sharp as a whip.
I froze. “Your chisel. I was just going to—”
She stormed at me like a charging basilisk. “I did not give you permission to go snooping through my possessions!”
The sparkling lights died as I leaped half a step back, hands up, as if under arrest. “I just wanted to… I’m sorry. I wanted to…” My face tingled, like that shock when plunging into icy water. When your lungs just stop working.
She snapped the satchel shut and clasped it to her chest.
I stared in silence, unable to think what blunder I’d made. I’d really messed something up. But what? I stepped to the windows to raise the blinds. All I could do is say I was sorry.
“I thought it was just your tool bag. I didn’t know that there was something private…”
She gazed back at me, eyes on the verge of tears. “It is. And there is not. And…” She huffed. Paused a few more seconds. Continued. “Individuals at the palace have not been especially respectful of certain possessions of mine. I… was on edge and overreacted. My apologies, Mister Thistlewood.”
That brief vulnerability faded. No. It was still there. But the fortifications were back up.
I fought the urge to throw myself at her, to wrap my arms around her, to beg her to tell me what was going on.
I knew she wanted it too. Or did I just want her to want it?
I forced the warm feelings out of me like an unwanted flow of magic, extending my hands down, fingers stretched straight to form the opposite of fists. Calm. Composed. Polite.
“It is fine. But if I ever give you reason to doubt my intentions—”
“You have not. You never have.” Her words came sharp and quick. “Not since that first day when you insisted on following me into…” She sniffed. “You really should have stayed away, Mister Thistlewood.”
She needed a warm embrace so badly. I felt it. “Apparently so should you.”
“Perhaps I should have.” She straightened her posture. “I am afraid I have rather ruined your carefully orchestrated demonstration.”
As we continued the rest of the exercise, my body’s residual numb shock flowed out, replaced by that nasty fatigue you feel after exercising too long. I stayed away from her bags. I stood just that little bit further from her. Her words were calm, cool, and entirely focused on the exercise.
“Doesn’t your cafeteria close soon?” She put her tools away.
“Quarter of an hour ago.” I swept bark and wood shavings off the crafting table. “I thought it was important to finish. I’m not really hungry anyway.”
She frowned at me. “I really am sorry for the overreaction. You had no way of knowing.”
“Thanks. I…” just wish I could fix it.
Whatever ‘it’ is.