9 #2
“You don’t? Not under those voluminous robes of yours?” I step forward and use the tip of my knife to swish back a fold of his garments. “Looks as if you have a couple pouches of goods there, sir.”
“By the fates!” Vawn releases an exaggerated gasp. “Might those be sample vials of the new Guild glyph paint?”
“Why, if that’s the case, he’s carrying a whole fortune under his clothes,” I say.
“I have a family to provide for.” The man’s lip wobbles.
“So do the others who work at the guild. Yet you’re the one stealing and sneaking away.”
“They’re going to the Redemptive Authority anyway, whatever that is,” he replies, defiance showing through his fear. “They won’t miss a half-dozen vials.”
“And you can spare us two,” I say. “Give us a pair of samples, and you get to keep your life.”
“You would kill me over a few samples?”
“Of course not.” I blink innocently at him. “We’d simply run into the plaza and let everyone know that you’re carrying the only few samples that the public is likely to see. The mob would take care of the rest. I wouldn’t have to dirty my blades with your blood.”
The man reaches into his garments and pulls out two small vials which he extends to Vawn with a shaking hand.
“Do you have any foundation or varnish on you?” I ask.
He appears on the verge of denying it, but when I start spinning my knives around my fingers again, he reaches into another pocket and produces a bottle of black base coat and another of clear varnish. “There. Take them and leave me be.”
Vawn seizes the bottles, tucking them into his pockets along with the samples of paint.
“It’s been a pleasure threatening you.” I give the Guild clerk a quick bow. He scuttles away, cursing vehemently.
“Well, that was fun.” I sheathe the knives. “We should head back to our room and make use of the spoils.”
But Vawn doesn’t move. He’s watching me over the edge of the black cloth, his eyes glowing like molten silver.
“What is it? What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing.” The word is so soft it barely penetrates his wrap.
“Good. Off we go.”
We don’t run, but we walk as quickly as possible away from the Guild sector, and we don’t slacken the pace until we reach the modest inn where we spent the night.
Yesterday I paid for two nights in a room with a pair of single beds, and it’s a relief to walk into our chamber and find all our things still there.
“Lock the door, please.” I crouch and open the carpet’s case, relieved to find that he’s still snugly rolled up inside, dormant and safe.
Vawn finishes securing the room and removes his head wrap. Then he takes the samples of paint, base coat, and varnish from his pockets and lines them up on the nightstand between our beds. “A beautiful sight, isn’t it? Enough for two full sets, and maybe a few toes, too.”
“I don’t want my toes done,” I protest. “I don’t fuck with glyphs that are unpredictable and could activate without my intent.”
“You have nothing to fear with me, sweetheart. Not the way I do it.”
The timbre of his voice gives the words a layer of sly, sensual meaning that he probably doesn’t intend. I’m reading too much into it. It’s my own fault that those simple phrases cause a yearning heat to flare deep inside my body.
“We don’t have the right brushes,” I say. “Just the pocket ones in my nail repair kit, and they’re for base coat or varnish. They’re not precise enough.”
“I can trim one of your varnish brushes to a finer point,” Vawn says.
“And I can use a splinter of wood for the details. Some artificients swear that you have to use expensive brushes, but I’ve used all sorts of things.
The artifice magic is in me and in the paint.
Everything else is simply window dressing. ”
I open one of the pouches on my belt, remove my nail kit, and hand it to him. “How does it work when you’re painting the glyphs? Do you feel the magic leaving your fingertips?”
“Yes, although it doesn’t leave permanently. It circulates into the person whose nails I’m painting, and when I’m done with each glyph, my magic returns to me.”
“So once the glyph is crafted, your energy becomes your own again, and the symbol is dormant, waiting to be activated by the user.”
“Exactly.”
“Do your nails have to be bare to do this?”
“No, but any glyphs I may have must be inactive during the process.”
I know I’m being overly inquisitive, but I can’t help it. When I had my glyph sets done, neither artificient wanted to talk during the process. The first probably didn’t like questions because he was a con man, and the second one said she needed silence to concentrate.
I risk asking Vawn one more question. “How many people have you painted?”
“Dozens, scores. I redo my friends’ nails for free all the time. I’ve been asked to craft the most ridiculous glyphs—things that would make you furious.”
“Furious?”
“Yes, because you’re so determined that everything should be logical and proper, without waste or excess.” He holds up one of my travel-sized varnish brushes, inspecting it. “You’re very like the carpet in that way.”
“I can be easygoing too, and fun,” I mutter. “You saw that at the Pink Lycan.”
“Was that you having fun?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I thought it was you facing another assignment, determined to perform it perfectly. You weren’t enjoying yourself—you were doing a job. Passing a test.”
Pursing my lips, I plop onto my bed. “I have to be watchful at all times, ready to act. Especially now that those soldiers are in town.”
“They don’t know we’re here, though,” he counters.
“They came for the glyph paint. They’re distracted with the mob and with occupying the Guild, so I think you can take a few hours off to relax.
I’ll paint our sets, and then we can order some food and have a drink or two.
In fact, you should have one now, to ease your worries. ”
It’s foolish, but incredibly tempting. My nerves are a threadbare tapestry, frayed to the point of puncture. Maybe, if I take a little time to relax, I’ll actually be able to sleep tonight, and I’ll wake refreshed tomorrow, better able to make smart decisions and keep both of us safe.
“Knife.” The prince holds out his hand.
“Don’t you have one?”
“It slid from my belt and fell during our erratic flight to this city.”
I draw one of my second favorite daggers. It’s rosy amontite, with both the hilt and the tang formed from the same pinkish metal.
“Pretty thing,” Vawn croons, testing the blade’s edge with his thumb. Then his eyes cut to me, and he smiles. “Pretty and useful.”
I watch him trim the varnish brush into a neat point. He does it deftly, with a casual skill that I find deeply attractive.
Competence has always turned me on. It’s one of the reasons I had so many trysts in the Academy.
Even if a guy was an occasional asshole, if he showed proficiency, I could get aroused with him.
All I had to do was think of his high place on the test score list or his excellent performance in the combat ring and I was ready to go.
I’m ready now. But fucking a client isn’t something any bodyguard should do.
I leap up, eager for any excuse to walk it off. “I’m going to get that drink.”
The innkeeper is all too happy to sell me a bottle of wine from his cellar.
He even throws in a bag of sugared nuts.
“For you and your fiancé,” he adds with a wink.
For a second I’m confused until I remember the cover story Vawn shared when we first secured the room.
He had quite a long chat with the innkeeper through the cloth wrapping over his lower face.
I wish he wasn’t quite so chatty with people.
I have trouble remembering all the lies he tells them.
After thanking the innkeeper and paying in advance for dinner to be sent up later, I hurry back to the room with the bottle and glasses.
Vawn is sitting on his bed with his left wrist propped on his knee.
He has completed the base coat, and he’s already painting a glyph on the middle finger of his left hand.
He doesn’t look up when I close the door or when I open the wine.
He remains utterly focused on his task, crafting the glyph with precise strokes.
For the tiniest details, he lays aside the brush and employs a thin sliver of wood with a sharp tip. I’m not sure where he got it. Maybe from the windowsill or the underside of the bed frame.
I sip my wine while I watch him finish the glyph. He lifts his hand to his parted lips and blows lightly on his fingertip, right before lifting his eyes to mine.
A wild thrill bolts through my stomach, with an answering flutter between my legs.
I drink more wine. “What glyph is that?”
His smile is pure sin. “Have a look.”
I lean forward, inspecting the glyph. It’s one for orgasmic intensity, pointed outward to benefit his partner, not himself.
I wet my dry lips with another swallow of wine. “I can’t imagine how you plan to use that. You won’t be having a tryst with anyone for quite a while. At least until Anyssir Castle. And even then, I will have to vet your partner.”
“Or you’ll be in the room when it happens. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen me fuck.” He blows on the nail again, then points to the varnish. “Open that if you would, darling.”
I unstopper the bottle. It’s much larger than the two sample paint vials, about the same size as the bottle of base coat.
Vawn uses another brush to seal the glyph he painted. While the varnish cures, he lights one of the cigarettes he bought at Oeric’s Outfitters, which sends long trails of violet smoke into the lamplit air of our room. I finish my wine and pour myself another glass.
“Easy, precious,” the prince advises. “You don’t drink often, I’m guessing, so you should take it slow, or it’ll catch you unawares.”
“I know what I’m doing.” But in my heart, I know he’s right. I can already feel the warm, pleasant flush of the alcohol spreading through my body.