Threads of Desire (Spellcraft) (3 page)

Chapter Four

It had made perfect sense at the time, and while there were few virtues Ily could claim, sensibility was one of them. Funny how Kal could turn even that into a vice.

An image flashed in her mind’s eye of his expression as she’d left him in the marketplace today—the subtle curve to his mouth and the gleam in his eyes. He’d been laughing at her. Well, let him laugh if it pleased him to mock her. Everyone saw how much money had changed hands. Everyone knew that she had no protection from thieves or traders. But she did know how to disappear in a crowd. And she knew Kal wouldn’t steal from her.

She didn’t feel badly for using him. If anyone could bear it, he could. A man who’d been born to riches, who’d never had to wonder where his next meal was coming from, who’d never had to hide from those stronger than him, who rounded up street children as if they were rats. Calef had once told her that Kal only sold trinkets in the market as a way to keep his army of servants busy.
Hundreds
to serve one man.

Kal used people all the time.

She stared up at the wrought iron gates of his palace. The high fence that surrounded the property was standard apprentice work, but the main gates had been created by a master. No matter how talented the craftsman, a non-guild metalworker could not make iron form those delicious whirls and the sinuous shape of the dragon figure at the center. The dragon was the Azi crest. It suited Kal with his dark amber eyes and patient cunning. No wonder that a family bold enough to claim such a creature as their own had managed to amass this sort of wealth. Something about Kal dared her to reach for more. If she could be clever and bold, she could use him to get what she needed. She could escape Lasura and build a new life for herself.

So much depended on this meeting. After selling the rug in the marketplace, she didn’t
need
Kal to barter her smaller works. But the coin she’d earned today wouldn’t last forever. She’d spoken to one of the few caravan captains she trusted and the price he’d quoted her for protection to Cresa had nearly knocked her to her knees. That she was a woman raised the price, that people now knew she was a master level weaver raised it even more. She’d have to choose—stay here, buy more thread and attempt another casting in the marketplace, or buy passage to Cresa and arrive there with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Or she could reach for more.

The gates swung open silently and the guard gestured for her to enter. She gathered her worn cloak around her shoulders. First, she had to claim the money she’d earned in the marketplace. It would give her some breathing room. Some ground to stand on as she negotiated the terms of their business arrangement. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

He was waiting for her where they’d dined the other night, when she’d come to him trembling with fear and desperation. She’d fled that night, still trembling with the feel of his hands on her body. Still desperate.

Tonight, he’d ordered another feast and pride was the only thing that kept her from gorging herself to sickness. During the course of the meal, he didn’t speak of business other than to compliment her on the beauty of her work. She accepted the praise. Found it curious that he seemed more impressed by the fact that she’d used him as a common guard than by the work itself.

Mages were rare, masters rarer still. Yet Kal didn’t seem particularly surprised by the revelation that she was a guild-trained artist. Of course, he
was
an aristo. Possibly he thought artists were as common as ants, that food appeared when he snapped his fingers, that she’d come here for the simple pleasure of his company. The older, wealthier families—come from merchants all of them—were like that, but even
they
respected the guild. After all, what was Saria without its mages? No better than the barbarians to the north. The wisest aristos remembered that while Saria thrived on trade now, it had been built by conquest. Before the guild was formed and they turned their craft to peaceful pursuits, mages had made that conquest possible.
Most
aristos would treat her with reverence or at least deference. Kal seemed merely curious, which was disappointing. She’d been looking forward to seeing him off balance, had hoped to take advantage of that.

When the servants came to clear away the food, she rose. Kal lazed on the cushions, his long fingers cradled around his goblet of wine. She could feel his gaze follow her as she moved about the room. It was open to the night sky but partitioned from the main courtyard by a hip-height wall. Potted fruit trees, orange and lemon, rose from the other side and would shade this place from the morning sun. Flowerbeds lined the wall. A small fountain in the corner trilled a higher counterpoint to the larger one at the center of the main courtyard. Oil lamps were set on the table but there was no other light save that from the first moon, the bright sister, now rising from behind his home.

She lifted a smooth blue stone from a pedestal. Luminous as the moon, cool to the touch, perfectly round and heavy in her hand.

“So many beautiful things. You’re a collector?”

“Yes.” He spoke slowly, his voice dark and deep. But then, he always moved at his own pace and expected the world to accommodate him. Which, she imagined, it usually did.

“Most of the aristo men I’ve met collect blades, slick Valetian steel that will never see a battlefield.”

“Have you known many aristo men?”

Ignoring that question, she replaced the stone on its pedestal and resumed her circuit, feeling the weight of Kal’s gaze with every step. Through a low archway she could see stairs rising into the interior of the house. White steps, well worn and smooth with age. She’d wanted to see inside his home, had hoped it would give her some insight to the man, but she imagined the rest was just like this courtyard. Beautiful, expensive, well tended. It reminded her of the University.

“I should go.” She didn’t belong in a place like this, not any longer. And she didn’t want to, especially when all it did was remind her of...things best left undisturbed.

She
did,
however, like standing over Kal while he lay at her feet. It gave her the illusion of power even though she understood full well that it was an illusion. Outside the gates, she’d been certain she could manage him. But when she wasn’t in his presence she always underestimated the effect he had on her. That dangerous pull made her want to close the distance between them and climb into his lap. No partnership between them could ever be a cold business arrangement. She could hire a guard with the money she’d earned, repeat her performance today. She didn’t really need Kal any longer.

She still wanted him.

He leaned forward and set his goblet down. “Before you go, I have a proposition I’d like you to consider.”

“A proposition?”

A smile played at the edges of his mouth. “Not nearly as...provocative as yours was, I’m afraid. I’d like to hire you.”

She blinked, startled. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear and judging by his expression, he knew it. “Haven’t you enough servants?”

“But no weavers, let alone a master.”

“Ah.”

He frowned. “What do you mean—‘ah’?”

“I am something rare that you don’t already own.”

“I don’t want to own you, Ily.” His voice was level but his expression was uncharacteristically shuttered.

“I know how the aristos work. There are only five other master level weavers—one tied to the Dravon family by blood, the other nearly too old to cast. That leaves three of us to offer our services.”

“Two,” he corrected when she paused to draw breath. “Two weavers who offer their services. One who hides herself in the Southton slums weaving rags.”

She couldn’t completely cover her flinch. “That’s the draw though, isn’t it? There will be rumors about my casting and people will wonder. You want to tell your friends that you’ve engaged the services of the Southton weaver to capture the fleeting interest of the court.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, only regarded her steadily, appearing undecided. He sighed and shook his head. “Why do you hold me in such contempt?”

Something about the look on his face prodded her to honesty. “To remind myself that no matter how charming you are, we are very different people. My life is more fragile than yours and I can’t afford to be careless. I’ll drink your wine, but I won’t overindulge. I’ll take your protection, but I won’t trust you.”

He tipped his head to one side. “You think I’m charming?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think that perhaps I should take my money and go.”

“I don’t think so.”

For the first time, a frisson of fear slid down her spine, a cold touch on the back of her neck. Eyes narrowed, she waited as he rose and walked toward her. He moved like a lion, all easy muscular grace. Confident. Kingly. Gently, he caught her jaw in his hand, thumb resting in the curve below her lips.

“Not yet.”

Anger and arousal warred inside her. She wanted to demand her money from him at knifepoint. She wanted to dip her head and suck his thumb into her mouth, taste his skin.

His sensual lips curved into a wry smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Why would you run away when you’re winning? You need to learn when to press your advantage.”

“Last night...”

“Last night, what did I ask of you? I only gave. Last night, you offered me your body and I gave you mine.” His eyes darkened. “And I will do it again if that’s what you wish.
Freely.
As for business, I’ve told you what I want. To hire you for your craft. I want you to create a magnificent work of art that I will gift to the emperor when I’m summoned to court in the spring. I want to be allowed to watch you work because it amazes me.
You
amaze me. I will pay you in coin. Will you consider it?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, then more firmly, “Good. Then we put business aside and move on to more pleasant negotiations.”

A crude sound of denial escaped the back of her throat.

Pressing two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted her face so she couldn’t escape his gaze. “I’ve been watching you for weeks, and we both know you never would have me made that offer if you didn’t want me.” A strange smile played at the corners of his lips. “You thought you could use me.”

“I did use you.”

His eyes softened and his hand shifted to stroke down her neck. Waves of pleasure radiated from his touch, warming her breasts, her belly. “I can’t deny being flattered...and fascinated,” he murmured. “But I don’t understand why you’ve tangled this passion with money. You can have both, Ily. I’ll pay you well for your work, but that’s not conditional on you sharing my bed. What happens between us as man and woman has nothing to do with money. I won’t let you lie to yourself on that point.”

She wet her lips. “Between you and me, it will always be about money. If I accept your commission, I’ll be little more than a servant to you.”

His mouth tightened but his gaze didn’t waver. “Not when it comes to sex. When we’re together, I’ll be your servant even as you’re mine. I’m not paying you to fuck me, Ily. Come willingly or not at all.”

Willingly? He had to know how badly she wanted him. He
did
know. She could see that awareness in his eyes, shaded by confusion. Only yesterday, she’d offered him sex in exchange for his help. Now, when he offered her everything she desired freely, she balked. But she didn’t trust him. She wasn’t in control any longer and this felt like a trap.

But how could she walk away?

“We haven’t agreed on a price for the rug.”

“Name it.”

“Three thousand adrans.” It was a fortune. He’d never agree to such an inflated—

“Done.”

The hand cradling her face was hard, cool and very steady. Surely, he could feel her trembling.

She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat and gathered her courage as if she were about to cast the most difficult spell of her life. When she looked into his eyes, she felt the strange pull, that connection like an undertow tugging her into deeper water. “Take me to your bed.”

He smiled.

Chapter Five

I will be your servant even as you are mine.
In the end, it was that promise that swayed her. A man like Kal—proud and strong, never broken—offering his body for her service. How could she refuse?

She wanted him. There was no question of that, and she was so very tired of being a mouse.

They’d entered his chambers. A fire was lit in the grate, but it had burned down to embers. A flare from the taper he touched to the flame briefly illuminated his face as he turned to light the candles. His back was to her, straight and powerful. She could see the flex of muscle through the thin fabric as he lifted his arms. He was a work of art himself. He belonged to this place as much as it belonged to him.

“Take off your shirt,” she said, surprised at how bold her voice rang out when inside she was beginning to melt.
I will be your servant.
She wanted to know if he meant that or if it had only been a careless turn of phrase.

He turned his head to the side, placing his face in profile—the straight nose, sensual lips, bold chin. She thought he might balk, but slowly he drew the shirt over his head, revealing golden skin inch by maddening inch. The slopes and angles of him, the way the firelight kissed every curve, drew her a step closer. His house sigil was tattooed on his right arm, the dragon’s tail curling sinuously around his bicep. When he tossed his shirt aside, his muscles briefly flexed and the scales rippled.

“May I turn around?”

“I’d rather you not.”

She wanted to touch him and his gaze always threatened to steal her courage. Or at least her good sense. She crossed the room on silent feet, the thick carpet absorbing every step. That she didn’t as much as glance down to examine the weave was a measure of her desire. It had been so long since she’d been intimate with a man. Ian, who she’d fancied herself in love with at the University. No, Gatin was the last—a mistake. She hoped she wouldn’t count this night as a mistake, too, but she suspected otherwise.

She touched him just above his shoulder blade and it seemed a momentous step, to reach for him after denying her attraction for so long. The heat from his body seeped into her fingertips, and she flattened her hand, smoothing her palm over the jut of bone. Kal lifted his head but otherwise remained still as stone. She thought he might have stopped breathing. When her hand drifted lower, his breath let out in a great rush. The sound reminded her of the horses the aristos rode in the marketplace, powerful creatures, proud.

“Remove your breeches too. Everything.”

Thumbs hooked inside the waistband. He hesitated briefly before shoving the breeches down his well-formed legs and kicking them aside. And he stood there, back to her, hands open at his sides, head bowed and breath shallow. She liked the way the firelight touched his forearms. She’d never realized how erotic that part of a man’s body was. The way the muscles there wrapped the bone, the slight bulge of vein and light covering of hair.

When she touched his shoulder again, the muscle beneath her fingertips twitched. She wasn’t the only one affected by this, and that knowledge emboldened her. She skated her fingers down the long muscles of his back, cupped the curve of his ass, let her thumbs stroke the crevice between those firm round cushions of flesh. She slipped one hand around to his front to see if he was hard. He was, good sized, thick and warm. The smooth skin slid beneath her palm as she stroked him. She palmed the cool weight of his sac and felt the vibration there when he laughed.

“You’re very bold, Ily.”

“You’re surprised?”

“You’ve done nothing but surprise me from the moment I set eyes on you.”

He was a fine specimen of a man. Tight abdomen. Broad chest. Narrow hips. She pressed her mouth to his skin just to breathe him in. He smelled of scented oil, bergamot and sandalwood. Clean skin. Fresh sweat.

“I’d like a bath.”

He turned and she allowed him to do so. “There’s one in the next room. The servants have standing orders to prepare one nightly. It should be ready now.”

Such luxury and he took it for granted. “Will you join me?”

“If you’d like.” His voice was husky, his erection bounced against her hip when he stepped forward to press his hand to the small of her back. “This way.”

Steam curled from the door when he opened it but didn’t obscure the enormous square-shaped bath set in the center of the small room. It was nearly as big as the public baths that could be shared by a dozen men. Two tiled steps led up to a small dais. She couldn’t guess how many buckets it would take to fill the monstrous thing. And they prepared this for him alone nightly?

“It’s a southern design one of my clients installed for me. There are pipes that pass from the kitchens to fill it. You simply turn that spigot,” he pointed to a brass fixture, “and the water empties into the basin. The other rotates the drain plug to empty it.”

She cleared her throat. “That’s terribly clever.”

“I thought so.”

Windows lined one wall, but the curtains had all been drawn. A line of interestingly shaped glass bottles, all in jeweled hues, were set on one edge of the tub. Kal’s hands kneaded her shoulders and he seemed content to wait for her direction. His thumbs stroked the base of her neck, slipped just inside the gap at the back of her tunic before skimming back up her spine. It was a simple tunic; she hadn’t wanted to waste her money on useless trim or even a single crude wooden button to close the neck. She crossed her arms and reached for the hem, lifting it smoothly over her head, gratified by the sound Kal made behind her, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.

He pushed her skirts from her hips, one of his big hands splaying low on her abdomen as he steadied her. She stepped free when he released her and placed her foot on the first stair. Goose bumps rose over her exposed skin at the sudden heat that wrapped around her feet. She didn’t turn around until she was standing waist deep in the water.

Kal remained where he’d left her. When she turned, his gaze lifted slowly from her breasts to her face. “May I?”

Strange to have him ask, but she was quickly losing pleasure in this game. It wasn’t his meekness that had convinced her to stay. It wasn’t his palace or this inarguably glorious bath. She’d humbled him, but it had only skewed the balance in the opposite direction. And that was false. She could pretend all she wanted, punish him as harshly as he could bear, and he still held all the power. She wished she could forget that even for a night. She sank into the water, her hair spreading around her.

“I don’t need a servant,” she said, meeting that hot gaze. “Join me if you like...or not. Your choice.”

He didn’t hesitate. She liked the way the muscles of his thighs moved as he walked, the taut skin above the jut of his cock that gave way to muscle. She watched the water swallow him until only his upper chest and shoulders were exposed, and then he settled back on the submerged ledge opposite her.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“A bath.”

He smiled, a slight knowing curve to his mouth that had always fascinated her. There was something self-mocking about his smile, as if he knew how ridiculous the role he played was. A trap, that smile, because it made her want to like him. To think there was more to him than there really was.

“You already have your bath.”

“And you clearly underestimate its value.”

“Perhaps.”

She reached for the red bottle, water sluicing from her arm, and he came closer. His movement made the water rock, exposing her nipples and making them pebble.

His hand closed around hers, prying the bottle from her hand. “Please, let me.”

She raised her brows. “You’re protective of your bath oils.”

A faint flush stole across his cheeks, but it might have been the heat. “This one is patchouli. I think...” He reached past her to lift a bottle so deeply blue it was almost purple. He removed the stopper and held it a few inches below her nose. “Rock rose. It suits you.”

She nodded and he tipped the bottle, letting the clear liquid pool in his hand. “Allow me?”

She stood and he knelt, sliding his palms together and smoothing the oil down her arms first, shoulders to fingertips in a cool glide. The scent engulfed her, rich and pure. Why would he think something so tantalizing suited someone like her? It didn’t matter.
Enjoy the moment. Don’t think.

She closed her eyes. Her chest, her breasts seemed to deserve extra attention. He pressed his mouth to her belly before covering that too. With a crystalline ring, the glass knocked against another when he replaced the bottle. “Turn.”

He brushed the damp strand of hair from her shoulders and moved his hands down her back, over her buttocks, the backs of her thighs. Another pass and the side of his hand split through her folds. She sucked in a mouthful of steam and he chuckled. She hadn’t imagined he’d bathe her there. But he did, then delved deeper with his fingers, pushing his hand between her thighs, stroking her from front to back while she stood there trembling. Again. The tip of his finger brushed her clit but withdrew far too quickly. He explored her, deftly, thoroughly, and the oil coating his skin and hers made every sensation both more exquisite and more frustrating. She needed more.

He drew her back into his arms, into the water, kissing her shoulder as he whispered in her ear. “Here?” He rocked his erection against her, nestling it in the crack of her buttocks. “Or my bed?”

“Not yet. I haven’t washed my hair.”

She laughed at the expression on his face because it was nearly that hard for her as well. But if she was to bathe like an aristo only once in her lifetime, she would do it properly. Tonight wasn’t about sampling the pleasures of his life in tidy sips and bites. It wasn’t about promise or restraint. She intended to gorge herself on every sensation in greedy gulps, enough to satisfy this desire, enough to sicken her.

To Kal’s credit, he didn’t argue, only reached for a pale blue bottle and poured a creamy substance into his hand. “Come here.”

An order, not a request, but one she obeyed happily. His hands were rougher this time, working through her thick hair, kneading her scalp, pulling through all of the tangles.

“Ouch,” she said when he hit a snag, and he gentled his touch.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. If you tip your head back, I can rinse the soap out.”

She did, feeling curiously vulnerable. But also cared for and then...saddened by that.

Docilely, she allowed him to lead her from the bath and bundle her into a plush length of cloth. He settled her on a stool in front of the fire and a moment later returned with a jade comb. A smaller cloth was tied to his waist, barely coming to his knees. It slung low on his hips and she fought the urge to tug at it as he passed. Without speaking, he began to work at her hair.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve done this before.”

“Perhaps I have.”

She imagined him here with other women and pushed the jealous thought aside. Tonight was hers.

“Ily?”

She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were uncommonly grave, shadowed by uncertainty. “Nothing.” He set the comb aside and touched her jaw. His smile transformed his face back into the man she knew. Arrogant and self-sure, a hedonistic creature of wild and sensual delights. A pleasant ache grew between her thighs. He stood, pulling her up along with him. “Come.”

Tugging the cloth free of her fingers, he tossed it aside. There was nothing mild about the gaze he ran over her. His face was as serious as she’d ever seen it—and as determined. “On the bed, Ily.”

She arched one brow. “Issuing orders? I thought—”

He swooped down and lifted her in one smooth powerful motion. For a moment she was airborne, and then she landed on the bed. She scrambled upright just in time to see him set his knee on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been properly humbled, no?”

Her eyes narrowed and he grinned. Of course, he’d realized what she was doing. He saw far too much. “What happened to ‘you have all the power here’?”

“You do,” he said. “You proved that by abusing it.”

“I abused my power?”

He nodded. “It’s not as easy as you might think, being responsible for another person.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of all the pompous—”

“There’s no reason for name calling. Just because you were raised in the streets, doesn’t mean—”

“You’re an ass.”

He laughed and she tried to calm herself. He was toying with her again, poking at her tender spots to make her squirm. Wasn’t that the reason she’d agreed? To find out what such a perceptive, ruthless man would be like to bed?

Still, self-preservation made her grasp for control. She scooted back. “You said you’d be my servant. You can’t fault me for taking advantage of your offer.”

“No.” He caught her ankle and hauled her closer. Her arms slipped out from under her and she landed flat on her back. Kal loomed above her, a dark curl fallen across his forehead. Gorgeous. Eyes lit with triumph. Dark skin still damp enough to glisten in the light from the fire. “I don’t fault you at all. I only wondered how far you would take it. I wondered what you might demand of me.”

He lifted a strand of her hair, brought it to his nose and inhaled. “For an artist your imagination is sadly disappointing. You could have asked for anything. I offered myself as your servant.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“This was a trap. All of it, from the beginning.”

“I wanted you here,” he said, as if that justified everything. In his mind it probably did. “And I wanted to show you that I can be...accommodating. But there’s no place for that in this bed. Tell me now that you don’t want me and I won’t force you. I won’t cast you into the street. Rael will find you another room—you can leave in the morning. But tell me now Ily and quickly.”

He waited, and she was tempted to throw it back in his face. To win despite herself. But she couldn’t force the words from her mouth. Instead, she reached down and did what she’d wanted to do for the last hour. She fisted her hand around his hard cock and pulled him closer.

He grunted, and his cock seemed to swell in her hand. His arms pushed beneath her shoulders and his hands caged her head. “I promise you won’t regret this.”