Chapter 17 #2
Tears slipped down my cheeks, the mess of emotions swirling around inside my body getting the better of me.
I realized then that I hadn’t yet taken my tincture.
Carefully, I moved the tray to the floor and got up to get it.
Ramsey followed me, her ears perked and twisting as though she could hear several other conversations happening where I only found the gentle hum of the crossroads.
I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave, mistress.
Already upset, I started sobbing in earnest. “Sorry,” I apologized, knowing that the only thing crying was going to get me was another headache. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me lately.”
You’ve been through much, even if it doesn’t seem that way. Do as your demon says and rest today. Perhaps tomorrow as well.
“He’s not my demon,” I insisted weakly. “And I have far too much to do to just lay around. Though perhaps I’ll go get a book or a quill.”
That’s the spirit.
I sat on the floor and threw my arms around the hound, her head heavy on my shoulder. “I’ll miss you. Be careful.”
Always, mistress. When she looked at me from near the door, her eyes glowed red instead of the amber they usually were. Be well and stay safe.
“I will do my best.”
Do not be afraid of what you feel. You are not broken, Phin. And the Fates are never wrong.
“I …” I stared at Ramsey, thoughts muddled. “I don’t understand.”
You will. Her eyes flashed ruby, and a faint puff of black smoke trailed her as she went out my bedroom door.
I emerged from my room after waking from a nap I hadn’t intended to take.
After Ramsey left, I’d indulged in a long hot soak and then finished up all the leftovers on the tray of food.
I’d lay back on the pillows to test how bad my headache might be, and the next thing I knew, I was groggily blinking back awake.
The window was bright, so I hadn’t slept the day away, but it still felt like I was forgetting something because of how off my routine I was.
Carrying the tray and all my dirty dishes to the kitchen was my first task, washing up was the second. Once that was finished, I decided to put together something for dinner, since Tap usually cooked and I had what seemed like unlimited time.
Just as I was putting the dish into the oven, Tap came through the doorway.
“You’re up. Did you get some rest?”
“Yes, I fell back asleep.”
“Good.” He nodded enthusiastically, peeking around me at the mess I was cleaning up from my dinner preparations. “You didn’t have to do that. I was just coming in to start.”
“That’s okay, I can take a turn now and then.”
“How long have we got?”
“Perhaps an hour?”
“We should be quick then.”
“Quick?”
Tap gestured for me to follow him, leading me down the hall to the workshops. He pressed the engraving for the library, and when he opened the door I gasped.
“When did you have time to do this?” I asked, rushing over to the beautiful new second writing desk and chair.
“Seir and I can get many things accomplished when we have a limited timeline, apparently. He responds very positively to being challenged. If it’s not to your liking—”
“It’s perfect,” I gushed, running my finger over some of the intricately carved details in the edging. The wood was a wine color, and the grain pattern in the top had been set to resemble a starburst with alternating light and dark pieces.
Pleased, Tap gathered inkpots, quills, and sheets of parchment. “I rarely use my desk anymore. If there’s something you need more of, please take it from there or the shelves. Nothing is off-limits.”
“This is beyond generous, thank you.”
He dipped his head at the praise. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to leave.
“Wait. Could you please stay? You don’t have to join me, but I’d like your company.”
He turned back, movements hesitant. “Of course.”
I settled into the plush chair, wiggling around and rearranging things until I had everything I needed just within reach. I dipped my quill and realized I had no idea what to put on the blank page under my hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“I always copied words down. Now that I have blank pages and endless ink, I’m not sure what to write.”
“It doesn’t have to be words,” Tap suggested as he pushed his glasses up. “Perhaps you could start with some pretty flourishes on the edges of the page?”
I experimented with the quills, going through three before I found one that was the right weight in my hand and left the best line.
He pulled a sheet of the heavy paper toward himself and dipped a quill, grinning softly as he drew the same symbol over and over until the ink was faded and broken.
It was an interesting blend of symmetrical crosses and loops, but it wasn’t centered and had some other details that I couldn’t quite figure out.
Tap set the quill down and smeared the final one, which was mostly just ink splotches, with his finger.
“What’s that?”
“My sigil.”
“Oh.” A demon’s sigil was in a way their signature, their true name. If one had a sigil, they could in most cases, use it to summon that demon, or in some cases do them harm. And he’d just drawn it for me, several times, as though it were of no significance. “It’s lovely.”
His cheeks pinked and he moved to pick up the page. I simply held the corner down with one finger, indicating I wanted him to leave it. His silver eyes widened, but he ducked his head and let go.
After a long moment of intense eye contact, Tap wandered over to the bookshelves.
He ran his finger over spines and ducked down to see what the bottom shelves held.
Eventually he chose a few tomes and set them all on the low table between the sofas.
I did my level best not to stare, but there was something incredibly attractive about his wide-shouldered stance as he evaluated the shelves and the way his jaw clenched as he adjusted his spectacles.
“Hailon will be going into the city tomorrow,” he said. “Would you like to join her? Visit d’Arcan? Or would you like to wait a bit longer?”
I glanced up from studying the sigil he’d drawn. There were perhaps ten drops, which was only ten short days’ worth left in my vial of tincture. As much as I wouldn’t mind putting off another new experience for a bit, I needed to speak with the woman who might be able to help me very, very soon.
“Yes, I’d like to go.”
“We’ll plan for it then.” Tap sank into the sofa cushion and began to flip through one of the books. He set it down and repeated the process with the others he’d selected. I smiled, watching as he returned to the shelves, gathered several more and began flipping.
“Are you actually reading those?”
“No, I’m …” He paused, silver eyes meeting mine. A flare burst behind my ribs, a hot awareness that took me off guard and made me gasp. “Are you alright?”
I rubbed at the skin over where the ache was, perplexed at what might have caused it. “Fine. But I should probably avoid drinking for a while.”
He chuckled. “That’s probably not a bad idea. When was the last time you had something that strong?”
“Never.” I sifted through my memories for an answer.
“I only ever drank ale, rarely even a little bit of wine.” I smiled, one memory rising to the surface.
“My father had snuck a bottle of sparkling mead back with us from Heaven to serve with my cake my last birthday with them. I drank one glass and had a floaty head all night.”
“Perhaps a glass of wine now and then, so you better understand how it affects you.” He pointed at the books.
“And I’m not reading, I’m trying to find a particular lettering style.
It’s one of my favorites, quite beautiful.
I think you’ll appreciate it. I just can’t seem to recall where I last saw it. ”
The ache flared again, over and over as I drew curves and lines, swoops that led nowhere and angles that aligned with the page edge while Tap looked through books in search of that specific lettering.
We simply existed together until the smell of our dinner floated in through the half-open door and he insisted we go eat before it burned.
I felt better afterward than I had all day, Ramsey’s words echoing in my head.