Chapter Twenty-Two. When Learning Something New #2
His eyes catch mine before he looks away.
“I wear different masks, but they are all a part of me. I don’t put one on and pretend like you have to since Nity.
I…” He shifts in his chair. “I see what people want from me, what they can handle, and I give them that part of myself. But it is a part of myself. Just a different facet.”
A limited view. I’ve always just gotten to see a limited view. “Which part do you show me then?”
He laughs as his warm brown eyes meet mine. “I thought the fact that I’m even explaining this made that pretty clear.”
I frown, not understanding.
“You see all of me, Walsh.”
Thirty minutes later, the metal properly turned into salt-sized dust, James begins teaching me what I’ve spent countless hours trying to master on my own.
He pours the silver into a steaming cup of water. “Everyone thinks metaled tea is just crushing and stirring the metal. And in part it is, but the best and most potent mixtures are those fully integrated and dissolved into the liquid.”
I nod along. “Makes sense.” This is why consuming mere metal flakes won’t cut it. It can help, it can heal, but not like a crafted tea. I focus on the cup in front of me. Steam curls into the air. I move my hands in circles, trying to mimic what I’ve seen James do. The silver below barely stirs.
James’s hands hover over mine much like the night of the hatchlings’ birth, so I echo the same permission. “You can touch me.”
His hands cocoon mine in heat. Slowly, his fingers guide mine to circle over the tea. “It’s not just moving it around. It’s not pulverizing. It’s not cutting. I will the metal to dissolve.”
“Dissolve?”
Our hands keep circling together. I craft the metal to move fast and the particles swirl. But it’s like grains of sugar in a real cup of tea, stubbornly refusing to melt.
“It’s focusing on the inner workings of the silver and breaking it down,” James tries to explain. “Don’t push or pull the pressure.” He pauses. “It’s like flattening it, smearing it, diving beneath it.”
I try to envision the pressure. In my mind’s eye I’ve always imagined crafting as a ball of weight I hold, toss, even juggle.
Now, I visualize dropping that ball and pressing down.
I drag our hands away to inspect the water, hoping for a beautiful gray.
Nothing. Without manipulating the metal to move, the flecks sink like gravel, unappetizing to say the least.
Frustration brings a sigh to my lips. I thought this was going to be easy. One insider tip, and then I could get it. I’ve assumed this form of crafting was hidden from copper, tin, and iron users, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s not concealed as much as too advanced.
Suddenly, James’s hands are on mine again. This time he isn’t only covering them. He’s holding them. “Maybe this is easier. We’ll go step-by-step. Start by thinking about pressing. Like with the hatchling egg.” He directs my fingers up and down. “Break through and keep pressing.”
I glance up at him. Big mistake. It seems for some reason my brain has decided in this moment to notice how James’s auburn curls fall over his forehead as he leans toward me. His freckles scattered across his cheeks. How nice his voice sounds.
He’s just holding your hand, I reason with myself.
You’re appreciative he’s trying to teach you.
That’s all it is. But the air feels snatched from my lungs.
My heartbeat thumps in my ears. And my insides—my insides flutter like a whole colony of riled-up Feylings.
He’s absorbed in the lesson, so he doesn’t notice how I’m reacting to him.
And it’s the first time I’ve reacted like this to anyone.
I thought all those descriptions of attraction were overdramatized.
Apparently not. And apparently, I’m feeling them for James Murphy.
He recites the third step and while I capture the rich, low tone, I can barely process what he said.
The word circle must have been in there somewhere though because he moves my fingers in a delicate circular motion.
Then he lets go and the warmth, the nice firm pressure, disappears.
I almost reach forward, my hands yearning to be back in his.
Then I notice the cup. The silver spins, seeping into the water, clouding the color until it’s a light sparkling gray. Perfectly crafted.
Wait. Perfectly crafted. “Did I?”
“Sorry, that was me.”
He shakes out his hands. “I kept thinking how to explain the technique better and I kind of, well…”
“Were so skilled you couldn’t help yourself.”
He holds up his hands in surrender while stifling a grin. “I wasn’t going to say it.”
So charming.
Wait. No!
I will myself to refocus. Look at the tea, Farren. So pretty. Remember when you would give anything to learn this, to help Shelly instead of being consumed with James holding your hands? Remember!
Like I’m willing myself to jealousy, a pang of envy does shoot through me. I do want to learn. And more so, I want to prove that as a gold-crafter I can do anything, even if it’s in secret.
“Might as well drink it.” He holds up the mug like an offering, a gift.
“No,” I say, too forcefully.
He drops the cup back to the table. A defeat. “Walsh, I’m not going to report you. I was just teaching you how to make it. And you must know it’s not going to hurt you.”
“Still. I don’t…”
“Why do you want to learn so badly, then?”
I sigh. This isn’t my secret to tell, but then again, it’s not really a secret either. It’s fact. “You’ve met Shelly, right?”
“Jeffrey’s fiancée,” James says with a nod.
“She’s um…” This shouldn’t be so hard to say.
But watching Shelly fight this again has been the cruelest of fates.
Voicing it still makes my throat close up.
“When I was nine and she was twenty she was diagnosed with lymphoma. She’s been in remission, but it’s back and it’s spread.
I want to be prepared in case she needs medicine like this. ”
Silence stretches. I imagine he’s thinking back to the night of the hatchlings’ birth. The last time Shelly needed to be rushed to the hospital. The night I was already scared to death, and then Nity called for assistance and fear enveloped me like a cage.
“Then we should bottle this up for her.” He rises.
I motion for him to sit. “They won’t accept it. They can’t. The doctors would know and—”
“They’re iron-crafters,” James finishes for me. “Damn it.” After another beat of silence, he jolts. “What about gold? If you could make that…” He breathes like I’ve been breathing, like the weight of the world rests between us.
“I…” I should tell him. That I don’t plan on doing it ever again, but there is someone who has tasted gold this century. Him. “They’ll run into the same problem, only worse. Plus, we shouldn’t take any from Nity and the babies. Not when we don’t know how much they’ll need.”
James nods. “Okay. Then what about if they saw my doctor? If I recommend Shelly, I think Dr. Burke will at least prescribe her silver.”
I know Dr. Burke from the racing tracks. He’s the kind, handsome doctor always standing by at the medical tent. When an accident occurs, he’s who I bring them to. He’s who I brought James to. “You think he’d give iron-crafters silver?”
“I do,” James says, inflating me with hope.
“Then please. Make the introductions. Thank you, James.”
My heart pounds like it’s in trouble. Never once have I considered that James Murphy might care about others as much as I do. But James is different than I expected in almost every way.
His masks have fallen. You see all of me, he’d said.
I think … I think I’m starting to like what’s underneath.