48. Saige
Saige
“The war hero draws flowers, wears glasses, and now… he makes you tea?” Raven gapes across the bindery from where we’re tucked away at my workstation.
“Get your jaw off the floor, Rave.” I found the steaming mug of hibiscus tea waiting for me on my bench first thing this morning.
I take a sip, sighing contentedly as I glance towards the front of the shop.
The General with no shirt, hair tousled, jaw tense and stubbled, wearing glasses as he reads a book on botany is the most salacious thing I’ve ever seen.
In the soft morning light, he is glorious—golden skin, corded muscle, a slight furrow between his brows as he mouths the words on the page before him.
My body heats in response and I clench my thighs together at the memory of him coming undone at my touch.
He tried to reciprocate, but something told me that Archer needed to have something just for him, to have his needs put first for a change.
We’d fallen asleep in the armchair, tangled up in one another.
“I should say the same to you,” Raven says with a snort and a knowing look. “What’s going on between you two?”
I don’t know what to say to her. I busy my hands with preparing my equipment and tools: brushes, talc, gilding boards, rabbit skin glue and the gold I’ll need for the edges.
Before the grief of losing Leo, I was happy.
Or, as content as I’d ever been. Yes, I had debt looming over me, but I’d always managed to figure it out.
I loved my independence, the purpose of my work, I loved the stages of achievement I felt as I marked jobs off a list. I fully believe I could have lived a full and content life just like that.
And then I met the surly Azkari general.
A man who took the mundane and made it extraordinary…
“I like him,” I say at last.
“You think?”
My gaze lands on Archer up ahead where he now paces with the botany book in his hands. “I don’t know… I just… I feel like I understand him. Sort of. And that maybe he understands me…?”
Raven raises a brow. “You don’t think it has anything to do with the tattoos and the rippling muscles?”
“I mean… they don’t hurt,” I reply with a grin.
“There’s my girl.” But then she hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’m happy you’re happy. It’s just…” A grimace passes over her face. “You’re not completely free here, are you? You’re still bound to him through the bargain.”
Uneasiness tugs low in my abdomen as she voices the one thing I’ve been keeping buried in the back of my mind. “I trust him, Rave.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine and she pauses for a moment. “Then that’s good enough for me,” she says at last. Raven claps me on the back, beaming before heading towards the door. “Now, I’d best get back to my miserable workplace where men with less skill get paid more coin than me. Oh the joy.”
“Raven, wait.” Archer stops her by the counter, pressing a small parcel into her hand. He’s leaning there, with his sleeves rolled up revealing his muscular, veined forearms. I catch myself shamelessly surveying him, drinking in the sight of this man in my space.
“This is willow bark,” he says. “If you steep it in hot water and give it to the old woman, it might help that joint pain she’s been on about.”
Raven looks down at the bundle, frowning. “Willow bark? For Yevna?”
Archer grunts a confirmation. “Mmm hmm. It should help alleviate the inflammation.”
“And you’re not giving it to her yourself because…?”
“I didn’t think she’d take it from me,” he replies with a shrug.
The only other time I’ve seen Raven look so stunned was when I joked she might be pregnant after a late menstrual cycle. Her jaw practically fell through the floor, and her expression now is a close second to that instance. Her lips move as she struggles to find the words. “Fair point. Uh… Thanks?”
“Don’t mention it,” he replies. “Really, don’t mention me to her.”
Raven nods with gratitude before glancing at me with wide eyes, mouthing, what the fuck?
Smiling to myself, I return to the task at hand.
“Can I help?” Archer’s voice sounds from the doorway as the door swings behind Raven.
Ordinarily, someone else in my workspace would irritate me.
I’d get frustrated that everything was taking twice as long, that they’d get in my way, that I’d have to explain and justify the way I do things, but with Archer…
With Archer I find that I want to share this with him, I want him to understand my passion.
“You can use Leo’s apron,” I reply, pointing to the leather hanging from the hook.
He hesitates. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I think he’d get a kick out of it if he could see the Black Flame wearing it.”
Archer chuckles. “Alright then. What are we doing?”
I motion to my supplies. “Pass me that jar of talc?”
When he does, I explain the task at hand.
“Preparing the edge of the book with talc prevents the pages from sticking together when we use the adhesive for the gold.” I lightly dust the powder over the Confluence’s edge with a small, circular brush.
“That’s the task for today, to gild the edge.
See how there are flecks of old gold there?
We want to restore it to its former glory. ”
Beneath my touch, the Confluence hums and I glance at Archer.
“I can feel it too,” he murmurs, reading my mind. “Does it feel stronger to you? Like a signal of sorts?”
I find myself nodding. “It feels like with each element I restore, it gets a little more powerful. At first these energy pulses were faint, but… But now I don’t know what to make of it, or if we should be concerned.
” I use another small brush to apply the rabbit skin glue, careful to create an even layer before I take a thin, delicate sheet of solid gold.
“Is that the same gold we got from Indigo John?” Archer asks.
“Indigo Jack,” I correct him with a smirk.
“And yes. From the supplies we bought from him, I created what’s called transfer gold by pressing the gold grains on squares of tissue so we can then apply them to the edges like this.
” I demonstrate, placing the leaf on flat and repeating the action until the edge is covered.
I blow on the area to activate the adhesive and lay on the repair.
Archer watches me intently and I can feel the temperature of the room rise.
“Easy there, Black Flame, I can’t afford to have the shop catch on fire.”
But before he can answer, the door to the shop slams as it’s kicked open. “Heard you were back in town, Saige,” Ivor Thorne’s voice booms across the bindery.
I flinch but manage to grab Archer’s arm in time to stop him charging towards the intruder. “Don’t,” I hiss, panic gripping me in a vise. “I can’t have violence in my shop. I can’t risk its reputation; I can’t have things destroyed. I can’t afford—”
“Breathe, Grayson,” Archer commands, holding me by the shoulders. “Breathe.”
Shame floods my face in a wave of heat. Archer knows everything.
He knows what I did to survive. When I shared that piece of myself in the Temple of Truth, I didn’t fathom that he’d ever come face to face with Thorne or Reid again.
Now, they’re in my bindery. In the space that we’ve shared together, in my home that has been ours for this last little while.
My stomach roils as my mind fights to pull those deeper memories to the surface and my mouth fills with saliva as though I’m about to be sick—
“Hey,” Archer’s voice is gentle, reassuring. His touch is light as he hooks a finger under my chin and lifts my gaze to his. The piercing green of his eyes seems softer somehow as he says, “You’re safe now. I’m here. And I see you.”
I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, and I take a second to blink back the tears stinging my eyes, threatening to spill over before I dip my head in acknowledgement. “Thank—”
“Saige!” Thorne barks, the harsh sound echoing through the shelves. “Get your ass out here. You and I need to have a conversation.”
My shirt is damp with perspiration, but I shove my fear down into the pit of my gut where it belongs.
I can’t look at the Azkari war hero. I’m too embarrassed about my sordid past coming back to haunt me, that the evidence of what I’ve done has shown up in my home.
“Stay here please,” I tell Archer, praying to the Triad that he’ll actually listen, before ducking out into the shopfront.
Thorne is in one of the armchairs, his muddy boots propped up on the table, his hands linked behind his head, waiting.
To my dismay, I see that he’s not alone. Reid stands by the counter, one foot kicked up under him, a sneer pasted on his face as he flips through my book of inventory, turning the pages so roughly they might rip.
Despite all our previous dealings, Thorne and Reid have never entered the Awl and Cradle, preferring to accost me in the Copper Kettle or on the streets.
I hate that they’re here now. I don’t want them anywhere near Leo’s legacy, tainting the memories I have here, disrespecting his space, disrespecting my space.
But I lift my chin and meet his smug expression with defiance. “Thorne. Reid. What do you want?”
“The nerve of you,” Thorne scoffs. “You owe me a new stronghold, Saige. I’ve come to collect, be it in coin, several pounds of flesh… or the deed to this pitiful little place. Likely a combination of all the above.”
“You’re not getting your hands on the bindery,” I spit.
“So we’ll start with a pound of flesh then.” Thorne nods to Reid and I hear the click of a pocketknife.
Cursing myself for leaving my tools back on my bench, I take a step back. This isn’t going to end well. And for once, I’m not concerned about me. “Reid…”
“You’ve had plenty of chances, Saige,” Thorne says, his eyes gleaming as Reid raises the blade.
“And I’ve been a generous man, more than most. Patient, too.
But your little stunt at the compound cost me ten good men and one of my favorite premises.
I’ve let this go on long enough. Now, I need to make an example of you. ”