Page 7 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle

“You’re certain you are fine with doing this?” I ask Rustion.

Once the meddling witch, Tully, sent me a message that Laini and my appointment at the tailor was set for ten this morning, I’d sent the messenger on to Rustion to ask for an hour off.

Now, Rustion takes out a cloth and begins shining the edge of the bell. “Of course! I love being up here. Now, you go and get your proper attire for the event. I won’t need a break until sundown. Nisa is bringing me a bit of lunch.”

Nisa is Rustion’s wife, a quiet sprite whose orange skin and wings glow when she is happy. Sadly, her arsehole of a son dims her shine everytime he is around or even mentioned in conversation.

Rustion shoos me down the tower stairs. “Go on, now.”

I wave a hand in farewell and disappear into the dark of the winding stairwell. When I reach Laini’s door and knock, the sun’s spot in the blue sky tells me we have less than half an hour to get to our appointment at the tailor’s workshop.

Laini swings the door open, her dragonfox perched on her shoulder. “Good morning, Romulus.”

“I don’t mind you calling me Rom.”

She smiles and joins me outside, shutting the door behind her. “You sure? Everyone else calls you Romulus. At least, that’s what Tully claims. I don’t get around much…”

“Why don’t you?” I want to offer my arm, but that feels disingenuous because I don’t want romance. I can’t court her. I won’t. I settle for walking beside her, keeping a keen eye on folks going to and fro. If I see Leo, I’ll steer us away so Laini has a good morning.

“Weaving tapestries takes a ridiculously long time, and I have one to finish before the party.”

“I’m sure Rustion will hire you.”

“You don’t know that. At least three otherweavers are competing, and they’re all very good. I’ve seen their work.”

“I would bet everything I have that your work is better.”

“Have you even seen any of my finished tapestries?”

The autumn breeze lifts the edge of my cloak’s hood, and Spark reaches out a paw to toy with it. I begin to gently disengage his claw from the fabric so he won’t expose my head—my horns specifically—but the claw is stuck in the woolen fibers.

Laini stops and faces me. “Here, let me help.”

Her nimble weaver fingers fold back the edge of my hood, and she lifts and turns Spark’s paw. As she works the dragonfox free, the back of her hand brushes my jaw. Desire plummets down my body, and heat gathers low inside me. I lick my suddenly dry lips. She glances at me, her eyes large and imploring, as if she wants me to say something. I take a deep breath of her dewy rose scent. My body longs to press closer to her, but I fight the urge and remain utterly still until she frees me.

She starts again, letting out a breathy laugh and shaking her head. “Sorry about that.”

“To answer your question, yes, I have seen some of your finished pieces. The one thatshows the lady of the waterfall tale on your workroom’s back wall, and Rustion has one already up in his study—it’s the piece featuring what I assume is what Leafshire Cove looked like during its early days.”

“Oh yes,” she says, her eyes dancing, obviously pleased that I know the subjects and noticed. “I didn’t realize he was the one who bought that tapestry at the summer fair.”

“See? You have the best chance to win the contract.”

“But he has loads of other tapestries in his manor.”

“Yes, but only one other that he selected. The others were there when he took the title from his father years ago.”

“You know a lot about him.”

“He’s like a father to me even though I’ve only known him for a little while. We’ve spent several evenings by the hearth in his hall, and he took me in when I was at a very low point.”

“He is a kind fellow.”

The sadness and anger in her expression—such a contrast to her words about Lord Rustion—tells me she is likely thinking about how Rustion’s son is nothing like his father. Dark Mountain stay my hand… I would love to crush that shifter’s face in.

We amble onward in silence, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with jabbering. Laini glances my way, the corner of her full lips drawn up on one side. I want to nibble on that bottom lip of hers. Breaking my foolish reverie, she points toward a bank of clouds in the distance, their tails pointing toward Leafshire Creek.

“Do those indicate a magical storm?” she asks.