Page 42 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
Throat tight, I stared at the cloth, but could only see blurred colours. “It’s all so beautiful. I’ve never…” This was so far beyond the supplies I’d ever been able to afford. And the lace—that had to be fae-worked. I’d never seen anything like that, even in Mama’s old sample book from when she’d worked at the Frankish Court. “The things I could make.” I could create dreams from all this.
“I can’t wait to see them.” He pushed stray hairs back from my face. “Though nothing in those jars can match your starlight.” His soft exhale wasn’t quite a laugh. “The first time I saw you, all I could think was that someone had brought the evening star to earth and turned it into flesh and blood.”
My lashes fluttered. He couldn’t mean that, couldn’t…
But that first morning in his tent when I’d emerged wearing all white, he’d said I looked even more like starlight. Cheeks burning, I dared a glance at him.
His attention darted to the fabrics, and he rubbed a sandwashed silk between finger and thumb. “I thought your first creation might be an outfit for Calan Mai. But as you spend all your time sewing, I understand if you’d rather have a seamstress make you something. I can bring one here from the city—”
“No,” I choked out. “No, I’ll make it.” For myself.
All the silk gowns I’d made, all the goldwork embroidery, all the lace and beadwork—and I’d never worn a thread of it. I’d never had anywhere to wear something like that, never mind the money to pay for it. If I managed to escape, I might never have another chance.
He gave a low hum, and when I looked up, he had this private smile that teased the dimple in his cheek.
It tightened something deep in my gut and made my thighs squeeze together.
“I was hoping you’d say that. I also saved this.” He pulled a roll from the back that was wrapped in brown paper. “I thought you might like to open it. I doubt you’ll have seen it before as it’s a well-guarded secret.” He deposited it on the nearest table and stood aside, biting his lip.
“Lysander.” I sighed as I approached. “This is too much, you shouldn’t waste—”
“None of this is a waste.” His mouth flattened. “Not a penny of it. And I won’t hear a word otherwise, so save your arguments and please open this.”
I snorted. “I can’t decide if you’re arrogant for shutting me down or kind for pleading with me to unwrap this… this… gift.”
His teeth flashed as he grinned, all wicked and sharp. “Can’t I be both?”
“Apparently so.” I smirked back, one eyebrow raised as I peeled back the paper. My mocking expression died the instant I saw what was beneath.
The palest silvery cloth, so lightweight my breaths rippled it, so fine it must’ve been woven from thread thinner than hair. “What is…?” Almost afraid to touch it, I brushed a single fingertip where it pooled on the table.
“Spidersilk.”
“My gods. I’ve heard of people trying to spin and weave it, but it’s so delicate no one’s succeeded.” I slid my fingers under the edge and lifted a corner. So light, it felt more like a breath on my skin than cloth. But within a second, as if to illustrate my point, it disintegrated. “Oh!” I gasped, heart sinking. “Oh, no, I’ve—”
“Don’t worry.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m actually impressed—normally when humans touch this stuff, it falls apart instantly.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my thumb over my fingertips, but there was nothing left. So I could look at this marvel, but I couldn’t work it. I was glad to have seen it, but knowing it existed and I couldn’t use it was a kind of torture. Wasn’t that the nature of fae madness? Knowing of a thing so wondrous it changed how you saw the world and yet being denied it.
“You don’t think I’m going to leave you to only look at it, do you?” The confidence of his grin made me narrow my eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can grant you a boon so you can work it.”
A thread of something bright darted through me. “A boon…” Dangerous. Especially when I didn’t have much else to lose. I bit my lip. “And what do you want in return? Everything’s a bargain—what’s my side of this one?” It just might be worth it.
Something flickered at the edge of his mouth, but he only shook his head. “I already have what I want.” His voice was low, but it thrummed as though magic ran through it, and the look he gave me… The flecks in his eyes were bright with intensity, the midnight blue glowing like those nights when the moon was full.
My heart tolled in my chest, hard and heavy like when I stood too close to the drums at midsummer. For one fleeting, foolish moment, the way he looked at me said the thing he wanted was me.
But I was a “mere human” and a stupid one if I thought that.
His throat bobbed in a slow swallow, and one shoulder rose as a ghost of his smirk slid in place. “Besides, the way you looked at it with such longing”—he shook his head—“if I don’t make it so you can work with the stuff, you’ll only try anyway.” He held out his hands in the space between us. “Consider this a token in return for ‘stealing’ you.”
“And I don’t owe you anything?”
“Nothing.”
