Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Thomasin had never been so happy that she carried her tattooing kit with her. She never knew when the whim would strike her to add another piece to her collection. But this … this was a thousand times more exciting than any new tattoo she could give herself.
She had Edith lie down on the bed, her arm stretched out to one side, inner forearm facing up. Thomasin dragged a chair next to the bed and sat down. “What do you want?” she asked as she prepared her little pot of black ink.
Edith let out a small laugh. “I don’t actually know.
” The nerves brought her voice up a few octaves.
Thomasin turned to face the wall as she dipped her needle in the alcohol so that Edith wouldn’t have to spend too much time looking at the needle and contemplating what it would feel like being jammed into her skin.
“I have an idea,” Thomasin said as she turned back around. The image was suddenly so vivid in her mind.
“Okay.”
“Can I surprise you?” She didn’t want Edith to have to get muddled down in the details, and she thought it would be easier for her to not have to decide on the intricacies of it. But this was also permanent, and she knew she might be asking far too much of Edith.
She nodded without hesitation.
Seized by sudden doubt, Thomasin asked, “Are you sure?”
Edith met her eyes. “I trust you.”
Something lodged in Thomasin’s throat. Trust. She realized then that no one had trusted her, maybe ever. Feared her, obeyed her. But never trusted. Sometime in the last ten years, she had confused obedience with trust, and fear with respect.
“Thank you,” she said without thinking.
Edith’s brow scrunched. “For what?”
Thomasin swallowed, shook her head as she dipped the needle into the ink pot. “For being you.” She saw the blush rise on Edith’s cheeks out of the corner of her eye. Thomasin wanted to look up, but she didn’t think she could take seeing it in full. The force of it would bowl her over.
Silently giving thanks for her steady hands, she held Edith’s arm in place with a hand right below the crease of her elbow.
She pretended that the satin feel of her skin didn’t send shivers throughout her entire body.
She admired the vein of her wrist, like a river cutting through a pale sand beach.
Thomasin shook her head and gently placed the tip of the needle against Edith’s wrist. “Are you ready?”
“How badly will it hurt?”
“Nowhere near as badly as being shot by an arrow.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Edith mumbled.
“It’s all about perspective,” Thomasin agreed with a smile, then raised her brows, waiting for the go-ahead.
Edith squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. “Do it.”
At the first touch of the needle, Edith went impossibly tense beneath Thomasin’s hands, which was saying something because Thomasin had thought Edith had already been holding herself at maximum tension.
She drew the first line, pulling and poking the needle in equal measure down the center of Edith’s inner arm. “Are you okay?” She made sure her voice was calm, steady as a frozen lake.
“It’s—” Edith paused, and then peeked one of her eyes open, looking at Thomasin, but avoiding the sight of the needle dipping into the pot of ink. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”
Thomasin smoothed her hand down Edith’s wrist and gently pried her fingers open from the tight fist they had curled themselves into.
When she lifted the needle back to her arm, Edith shut her eyes again. Thomasin smiled to herself as she worked, the picture that she had seen in her mind coming to life perfectly against Edith’s pale skin. Only halfway done, and Thomasin could already tell that this would be her proudest work yet.
But no matter how much she liked the tattoo, the strange sensation of nerves still fluttered in her chest. It was odd, because Thomasin was rarely nervous about things.
She didn’t understand the point of being nervous, thought it was a waste of time.
What was going to happen was going to happen, and there was no use in getting riled about it beforehand.
All that being said, though, her heart picked up speed, and she had to wipe sweat from her palms before finishing the last of the tattoo.
She was terrified about what Edith would think.
What if Edith regretted trusting Thomasin?
What if Edith was stuck having to look at this thing that she hated every single day for the rest of her life, and it was all Thomasin’s fault?
She was still marveling at the novelty of being trusted, and it would be just like her to lose Edith’s trust the very same day.
The ink ran out, and the tattoo was finished far too quickly for Thomasin’s liking.
She wiped away the excess ink with a clean cloth, then leaned back, her spine bumping into the uncomfortable wood.
“I’m done,” she announced, bracing herself for at best a scolding, and at worst a complete and utter verbal thrashing.
She’d been too cocky. There was no way Edith would like it.
Can I surprise you? What an unforgivably stupid idea.
“Already?” Edith’s eyes opened, but she didn’t turn her head to look just yet.
“Told you, I’m good.” Thomasin mustered a bravado that she couldn’t have felt further from feeling.
Edith turned her head a fraction, just enough to look at Thomasin. Her eager smile dipped into a frown. “Why do you look so grim? Did something go wrong?”
Shaking her head, Thomasin said, “Uh, no, I’m just—” She broke off, weighing whether or not she should admit her feelings.
Just after opening her mouth for a clever lie, she’d thought of how much Edith had shared with her, how honest and vulnerable she’d been.
Edith had laid some of her deepest worries and insecurities at Thomasin’s feet, and the last thing Thomasin wanted to do was stomp on them or use them against Edith.
No, she wanted to hold them close, and prove to Edith that she was worthy of knowing her secrets.
If Thomasin wanted to do that for Edith, then maybe—just maybe—Edith would want to do the same for her.
So, Thomasin cleared her throat and said, “I guess I’m just nervous.”
Edith’s eyes softened immediately, and she rolled over, stretching out her un-tattooed arm, her fingers reaching toward Thomasin, who met her halfway.
She noticed Edith had deliberately not yet looked at the tattoo, as if she were waiting for Thomasin’s permission to do so, which was vaguely ridiculous considering it was her body.
Edith just held Thomasin’s hand and said, “What are you nervous about?”
“That you’ll hate it.”
Tilting her chin down, Edith said, “I promise you, I won’t.”
“You don’t know that. You let me tattoo a design on you that you’ve never even seen! Who does that?” Thomasin rocked forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
Edith gave her a mildly reproachful look. “When you thought of it, did you genuinely think I would love it?”
“Of course I did.”
“Well then there you go. I trust you, just like I said.”
“But I could’ve been wrong about what you’d like, and then all that trust was for nothing,” Thomasin said. “If you hate it, then I’ve ruined everything,” she admitted in a small voice.
“Did you tattoo one of those awful spiders on me?”
Thomasin barked a surprised laugh. “No!”
“Good, because that’s the only thing I’d hate.” Edith squeezed Thomasin’s hand, urging her to meet her gaze. “You could have given me the worst, most ugly tattoo in the world, and I would still love it, just because it was done by you.”
To Thomasin’s horror, there was a sudden lump in her throat.
She had only ever been accepted because of the skills she brought to the table.
There was no room for faltering, for imperfection.
If she couldn’t be of use to people, then she wasn’t worth anything.
But here was Edith, telling her that even if she was a terrible tattoo artist, her art would still be worth something.
With Edith, she didn’t need to be perfect; she just needed to be herself.
No one had ever taken her without conditions, without contingencies before. She meant something to Edith not because of what she could do but because of who she was.
Thomasin closed the space between them, fisted a hand into Edith’s hair, and brought their lips together.
Edith froze, and Thomasin was just about to back off when the other woman melted into her.
Hands came up to cup her face. She felt Edith’s thumbs tremble as they hesitantly stroked over her cheeks.
Edith’s lips parted slightly, and Thomasin darted her tongue out to trace the broken seam between them. She didn’t want to push her too fast. This was all new to Edith. Thomasin could feel it in every achingly slow, cautious move Edith made with her lips, her hands.
Though Thomasin had done far more than kiss, with more people than she could count, kissing Edith felt new to her as well. It burned in a way nothing else ever had.
When Thomasin dragged a lazy hand down Edith’s side, skimming across her ribs, fingers coming daringly close to her breasts, to the laces of her tunic, Edith pulled away with a gasp.
Thomasin lurched back, but Edith’s hands held fast to her shoulders, not letting her get too far away. “I’m sorry, that was too fast,” Thomasin said.
Edith let her forehead fall against Thomasin’s. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just not very good at this yet.”
Thomasin let her thumb run across Edith’s lower lip. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And trust me, you are very good at this.”
A small laugh fell from Edith’s lips, and her cheeks heated. Thomasin watched her throat bob as Edith swallowed before saying, “Can I look at my tattoo now?”
Thomasin had practically forgotten all about it, that was how much power Edith had over her. The innocent, exploratory touches and relatively chaste kissing had somehow thoroughly muddled her mind and started a fire in her body that didn’t show any signs of burning out.
God, she was gone for this girl.
“Alright,” Thomasin said, “let’s get this over with.”
Edith squealed with delight, eyes sparkling. She looked down at her inner arm, and her entire face fell slack.
Heart sinking deep into her stomach, Thomasin began, “I can fix it—”
Edith covered Thomasin’s mouth with her hand and looked up at her with glistening eyes. “I love it.”
In thin, black lines, Thomasin had etched Excalibur into her skin.
The blade cut down the center of Edith’s arm, sharp and precise.
The jeweled hilt was shaded just enough to give the impression that the jewels were shining.
It was delicate and powerful all at once.
Perfect for Edith, Thomasin had thought.
“You do?” Thomasin asked, her heart slowly making its way back to where it was supposed to be.
Edith struggled for words, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I can’t even believe it’s real. Thank you so much,” she said, her voice watery but also impossibly happy.
At the sight of Edith’s tears, Thomasin felt her own throat choke up. Just a little. I’m going so soft, she thought ruefully.
But she wanted to be soft for Edith. She wanted the whole damn world to be soft for her. And if it wasn’t, then Thomasin would make it so with her fists and knives. Because Edith believed the world was a beautiful, magical place, and she deserved it to be so.
Not wanting to pressure Edith into anything she wasn’t ready for, Thomasin retreated to her own room.
They’d spent many nights together at the last inn, but that was before they had kissed.
Before they had opened the door to anything more between them.
She was so amazingly happy they had stepped through that threshold together.
Thomasin didn’t think there was anything in this world that could sour her mood.
She should have remembered that Worthing existed.
He cornered her in the stairwell, blocking the hall to her room as she stepped onto the second-floor landing.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked.
Thomasin leaned back on one heel and looked down her nose at him. “Why, yes, actually, I am.”
“Do you know who else is having a good time?”
“Not you?” Thomasin guessed with a tight smile.
“The Metropolitan Police of London. They’re having a jolly old time right now, rounding up syndicate members and questioning them for your location.”
Thomasin flinched. “Why would they do that?”
Wrinkling his nose, he said, “Because they think you’re holed up somewhere, avoiding your charges. Tell me, when all this is finally fucking said and done, how do you plan on waltzing back into London without being immediately arrested?”
“I have contacts,” Thomasin said. It was true. There was a vast network of safe houses that she could hunker down in until things calmed. Some of them were pits, but there were a couple that might be suitable enough for Edith to join her in.
That is, if Edith even wanted to stay with her after the quest. Thomasin didn’t know when she’d started hoping that she would.
Worthing’s voice dragged her from thoughts of Edith. “What fucking contacts? If we keep up this treasure hunt charade any longer, there will be no syndicate for us to go back to!”
“They can survive well enough—”
“Do you hear how fucking selfish you are? We are being surrounded on all sides!” Worthing stepped into her space, fuming, and jammed a finger at her face.
“Not only are the police tearing the syndicate apart because they know you’re on the back foot, but my scouts reported that Edith’s father is scouring the country for her, sparing no expense.
There is no way this ends well for any of us, and yet you refuse to change course, all because you want to fuck some highborn bitch. ”
Thomasin’s fist was slamming into his jaw before he could even get the final word out. “The treasure will be worth enough money to solve every problem we could ever have,” she hissed.
Worthing’s eyes flicked up to her, something like surprise simmering in his gaze. He was bent over, cradling his already-swelling jaw. After spitting a wad of blood on the ground, he said, “You believe in it, don’t you?”
Thomasin ground her teeth together, tilted her chin up. “So what if I do?”
“It’s your funeral.” Worthing rose to his full height. “I always told Marshall you’d be the end of the syndicate. I’m glad you’re finally proving me right.”
With that, he strode off down the hall, his footsteps an aggressive echo in the quiet of the inn.
His words didn’t change her mind. Thomasin still believed in the treasure, believed all this effort was worth it. But he had been right to call her selfish, right to think that she’d run the syndicate into the ground. After the high of her night with Edith, she supposed she deserved the reminder.
That she wasn’t good, not for anyone.