Powerful, page 3
There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful – a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.
‘Soooo.’ She draws out the word, giving me enough time to stop staring at her before I’m caught in the act. ‘Where is it you’re taking me?’
‘Somewhere that will likely have you sneezing all over me.’ Blandly, I add, ‘So I’ll be keeping my distance.’
She shrugs. ‘So long as you’re close enough to keep me company.’
This, unfortunately, piques my interest. ‘I don’t remember that being a part of the deal.’
She looks at me as though this is common knowledge. ‘That’s because it is a part of the deal that is knowing me.’
‘Do you come with any other rules I should be made aware of?’
The expression she wears is the embodiment of a shrug. ‘I don’t like carrots. So none of those, please.’ She taps a thin finger against her lips as though pondering something of far greater importance than our current topic. ‘Oh, and I get scared very easily when I’m focused on my sewing, so don’t sneak up on me or anything. I may poke you with a needle, so consider yourself warned.’
‘Noted,’ I sigh. ‘Any other demands?’
A mischievous grin pulls at her lips. ‘I expect a sticky bun every day. For my hard work, of course.’
I run my eyes over the length of her lean frame. ‘Well, that’s one way to get some meat on your bones.’
Turning my attention back towards the crowded street, I’m forced to dodge several carts along with the scrambling children weaving between them. Which, in turn, means I’m also guiding an alarmingly oblivious Adena.
‘What are you looking at?’ My tone is accusing. ‘Because it certainly isn’t the street in front of you.’
She smiles slightly at our surroundings. ‘We clearly see the world quite differently.’
‘See the world however you’d like, but at least watch your step while you do it.’ I pause long enough to take in my own words. Then I’m glancing over at her with a surprised quirk of my brow. ‘That was good advice. You should write that down.’
She laughs, though I’m certain it is at my expense. Nevertheless, I still get to enjoy the sound of it washing over me. ‘Yes, very wise.’
I nod in the direction of a merchant and his cart of colorful fabric. ‘How much do you need for the uniform? Couple of yards?’
I’m heading for the display of dizzying colors when a hand clamps round my bicep. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she blurts, exasperated. ‘I need to get your measurements before any fabric can be bought.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ I say dryly. ‘Why don’t we get some now, and then—’
‘We are doing this my way, Mak.’ Her sudden sternness is almost startling. ‘Or not at all.’
I raise a palm in mock surrender. ‘Fine. I’m shocked you could stop smiling long enough to tell me off.’
She smiles at that, further proving my point. After several more steps down the street, I nod towards the alley on our right. ‘This way.’
She follows me closely, like a too-short shadow attached to my heels. I lead her down the alley, stalling outside one of the many shop doors surrounded by crumbling brick. After fishing a key from a pocket decorating my leathers, so begins the routine of forcing the toothed iron into the lock.
It’s only after me ramming my shoulder against the wood that the door swings open on squealing, rusty hinges. I brace an arm against it, gesturing for her to step inside. After she’s offered me a quick smile, I watch her take in the entirety of my life with a single sweep of her eyes.
She paces around what can generously be described as a glorified shed. It’s odd, watching someone take in the mess that is me.
She runs her fingers along the various tools and metal carelessly cast about the room. A thin layer of coal dust coats anything in the vicinity of the massive fireplace, staining half the room in grime.
My whole life takes place in this small amount of space. On one half of it all, I make a living as a blacksmith. But a messy bed lies on the other side, accompanied by several mismatching cabinets filled with whatever clothing and food I happen to have.
She seems to shy away from that intimate part of the room, though I watch her gaze linger on the crumpled covers of my bed. Her eyes stray back to the assortment of weapons lining the walls before poking at the large anvil beside the fireplace. ‘You’re a blacksmith.’
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘How incredibly observant you are.’
Ignoring my comment, she asks, ‘Who do you sell these weapons to?’
I shrug. ‘Whoever is smart enough to want one.’ I’m met with a questioning look, urging me to elaborate. ‘Everyone in the slums should have a way to defend themselves. It’s survival of the fittest.’
Her eyes are locked on the several shelves of weapons. ‘I guess I’ve never seen Loot that way.’ She frowns solemnly. ‘It’s always felt like a home.’
I swallow. ‘Homes tend to hurt you the most.’
At that, she’s quiet for a surprisingly long moment. That is, until she’s not. ‘So, you just hand someone whatever weapon they want?’
I lean against a wall, watching her take in my handiwork. ‘Well, they typically ask me to teach them how to use whatever weapon they choose.’
She turns to face me with a shocked smile. ‘And you help them?’
‘Don’t act so surprised.’
‘Sorry,’ she laughs defensively. ‘It’s just that, I thought you didn’t have any goodness in your heart to give?’
‘Well, not to you,’ I scoff. ‘I’m not wasting any of my goodness on someone who clearly already has an abundance.’
She laughs again, and though that wasn’t my intention, I’m not complaining about the outcome. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Of course you will,’ I mutter before pushing off the wall to stride towards her.
She tilts her head up to meet my gaze. ‘Ready to get your measurements taken?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
She beams. ‘Nope!’ Her eyes scan the room in search of something before she finally asks, ‘Do you have a measuring tape?’
After tearing through my cluttered cabinets, I happen to find the rolled tape I stowed away. Adena makes quick work of unraveling it before I’m being ushered into the center of the room.
When she clears her throat, I look down at her in question. ‘Um.’ Her eyes shift uncomfortably. ‘I’m going to need you to take your shirt off.’ Before I can even open my mouth, she’s rambling rapidly. ‘See, I can’t get a true measurement with all the pockets on your clothes. I mean, you can keep your pants on because the ones Imperials wear are loose as it is, so it’s really just the shirt that needs to come off. Unless, you don’t want to, of course—’
‘This is not worth a ten-minute explanation.’ I sigh while pulling the shirt from my body in one swift movement. It slides easily over my head, considering it’s mostly made of a spandex material with a protective leather panel down the front.
I throw the shirt to the floor, watching her eyes follow the movement as she thoroughly avoids the sight of my bare chest. She squints down at the crumpled fabric before bending to run her fingers over it. ‘The leather prevents most of the sparks from burning your skin?’ When I nod in agreement to her observation, she adds softly, ‘But the rest remains breathable enough to wear beside the fire.’
‘And the pockets are just convenient for miscellaneous tools,’ I add simply.
A small smile curves her lips. ‘Reminds me of something I made for Pae. Except, the pockets were for stolen goods.’
We are quiet for several slow heartbeats.
‘Alright, stretch out your arms for me, please.’
I reluctantly obey, standing before her with a bare chest and arms outstretched. She’s quick to run the measuring tape along the length of each limb, jotting the measurements down on a scrap of paper she scavenged. Her eyes dart over my body, never staying too long on any patch of skin in particular. But I don’t miss the bob of her throat, the brush of her fingers. Which are incredibly cold.
She smells of honey, of happiness incarnate. And it’s entirely too distracting.
She then reaches her arms behind my back, encircling the tape round my chest. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she mumbles awkwardly, her breath warm on my skin. After reading the measurement and proceeding to jot it down, she looks up with a comical look of concern. ‘Well, someone is not eating their sticky buns.’
I give her a flat look. ‘Well, someone has been eating – or stealing – them all before I can get one.’
‘I certainly hope you’re not accusing me.’ Her eyes are wide, her frown impressive. ‘Trust me, I would love to eat Loot out of their supply of sticky buns.’ She looks me up and down, coming to a profound conclusion. ‘Now it makes sense why you’re so grumpy.’
‘Ah, yes.’ My voice is dull. ‘My lack of ingested sticky buns. You’ve finally figured it out.’
But her attention is back on the crumpled paper in her hand. ‘Okay, get me five and a half yards of white fabric, just to be safe. You’re much taller than my typical model – which would be Pae.’ She shoves the parchment into my palm. ‘Oh, and don’t get the cheap fabric that unravels. This needs to look real, so get polyester.’
I blink as though that is question enough. ‘And why aren’t you coming with me?’
‘Because,’ she says slowly, her tone suggesting this is obvious, ‘I have things to prepare. And a pre-sewing ritual, if you will.’
I suddenly feel a pounding headache coming on. ‘Of course you do.’ I quickly pull on my shirt before walking towards the door. ‘Don’t break anything.’
Her shout follows me out into the alley. ‘Only if you get me a new needle!’
CHAPTER 4 Adena
I’m snooping.
A dangerous concoction of boredom and curiosity made me do it. After organizing my notes and calculating measurements, there was nothing left to do but poke around the messy collection of Mak’s life.
I avoid the more personal side of the shop he lives in, though I study the bed and cabinets from afar. Oddly enough, it’s his impressive assortment of weapons that intrigues me the most. I’m causing quite the commotion, clanking steel together and running my hands over everything in sight.
And then I gasp.
And that gasp is followed by a very unpleasant stinging.
Blood pools in my palm.
A crooked slice mars the center of my hand, spilling scarlet across my skin. The culprit lies on one of the many shelves straining beneath the weight of countless tools, its sharp blade buried harmlessly among them. I’ve barely held a dagger, let alone been sliced open by one. In fact, the most I’ve ever interacted with a blade has been when I hand Paedyn hers.
I’m considering dashing out the door and fleeing the kingdom. I haven’t known Mak for long, but I do know that he will hardly be sympathetic. He’ll likely mock and—
The door swings open, as though I’ve summoned him with my stupidity.
‘I don’t know what polyester is, but this shit better be that because it sure as hell wasn’t cheap.’
I spin to face him, pushing my bloody hand behind my back. Tugging on a smile, I glance at the white bundle in his arms. Without warning, he’s suddenly striding towards me, swallowing the space between us.
‘Go on.’ He nods down to the fabric. ‘Make sure this is what you wanted.’
Swallowing, I pull the uninjured hand from behind my back while trying to ignore the biting sting of the other. Within one heartbeat, my fingers hover above the fabric. And in the next, his hand is clamped round my wrist, halting the movement.
‘What did you do?’ His voice is even, deliberate.
‘Hmm?’ I can feel my eyes widen with guilt. ‘What are you talking about?’
A sigh. ‘Let’s not start lying to each other, hun. There’s blood on your knuckle.’
My eyes fly down to my hand. ‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh.’ He reaches behind my back, brushing my hips in a way that sends a jolt down my body. After snatching my incriminating hand, his eyes widen slightly at the blood dripping from it. This may be the most emotion I’ve seen from him yet.
At the concern flitting across his face, I smile warmly. ‘I’m fine, really. I just nicked myself with a blade. No need to worry.’
‘It’s a little late for that,’ he says, eyes flicking up to meet mine. My heart warms at his sentiment, at this anticipated show of kindness. I knew he would come around, begin to show some sort of kindness for—
‘Shoo, you’re going to get blood on the fabric!’
My soft expression flattens into familiar dislike. ‘And here I was, thinking you were worried about me.’
He strides over to his crumpled bed where he dumps the bundle of fabric, deeming it a safe distance from me and my staining hands. ‘Well, maybe if I had to pay three silvers for you too, I’d be a little more worried.’
Plagues, I’ve never paid that much for fabric. Then again, I rarely pay for fabric, considering that Pae has her own methods of acquiring it for me.
He’s suddenly towering over me once again, eyeing my bloody hand while I try my best not to wince in pain. An accusatory look lifts his eyebrows. ‘Snooping?’
‘Maybe a little,’ I admit with a grumble.
He lifts my hand, his hold shockingly gentle as he examines it. ‘How the hell did you manage to do this?’
‘It’s a gift, really,’ I sigh. ‘The only sharp object I trust myself with is a needle. And even that can be dangerous.’
‘All right.’ The hand he places on my back is light, feeling like the phantom of a touch, as though I’m simply imagining it. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Out of the goodness of my heart, I might add.’
I glance over my shoulder at him. ‘I thought you weren’t giving any of that to me?’
‘You’ve forced my hand.’
He guides me towards the intimate half of the room I haven’t dared venture into. The half that feels too personal for my prodding.
His disheveled bed looms closer with each step, along with a string of makeshift cabinets lining the opposite wall. I stop before I collide with the counter, turning to give him a questioning look.
That’s when my feet leave the ground.
I gasp, possibly squeal, when he lifts me onto the surface with ease.
The gawk I give him is met with a dry look. ‘I’d rather you not bloody my counter while trying to get up here.’
His hands are still firm on my hips while my breath is still lodged in my throat. I attempt to blink the bewildered look from my face. ‘Right. Yeah, of course.’
He manages to pull most of his hair into a strap, though several pieces fall around his face, some slipping down his neck.
My face flushes at the sight, as though seeing his bare chest earlier was less of a distraction than the sight of his messy hair.
Grabbing my injured hand in one of his own, he uses the other to lift a canteen of water off the counter beside me. After unscrewing the cap with his teeth, he tips the liquid out onto my palm. Cool water meets my bloody gash, stinging as it seeps into the slice now drowning in crimson swirls.
I bite my lip in an attempt to ward off the tears welling in my eyes. I’ve never been much good with pain. Never needed to be. But I refuse to be ashamed of my softness. Gentleness is the strength that fragility lacks.
‘I’m sorry,’ he starts quietly, ‘that something of mine has already wounded you.’
I shrug slightly. ‘And I’m sorry about your knife.’
His eyes flick up to mine. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because I got it all bloody.’
I happen to look up in time, witnessing the beautiful accident that has happened.
I’ve made him smile.
At first, it looks as though he’s trying to fight it, like a habit that has been long broken. And then it’s all white teeth and crinkled eyes; smile lines and deep chuckles.
It transforms his face, painting his features in warmth. His icy expression melts, revealing soft accents and a stunning smile. The thin scar gracing his lips stretches into something much softer, something far less intimidating.
This is the face of a boy who hasn’t yet been hardened by life itself.
‘So, he does smile!’ I say, wearing one of my own.
And then I immediately regret opening my mouth. It’s as though the words have smothered the spark that lit up his face. The stony expression suddenly seeps back in. ‘Don’t go getting used to it.’
‘Yes, Plagues forbid anyone thought you were actually happy once in a while,’ I mumble teasingly before suddenly deciding on something. ‘I’m determined to make you smile again.’
I watch him dab lightly at the wound, staining the towel he uses with each swipe. My knee bobs anxiously atop the counter, awaiting his response while rattling the now empty canteen beside me. He glances down at the commotion I’m causing, then back at his hands still tending to my own. With every other limb occupied, he simply leans towards me, pressing his body against my bouncing appendage.
The weight of his hip burns through every layer of clothing, every rational thought, every fiber of my frenzied being. My knee stills beneath the pressure he applies, my heart doing the same at the sheer closeness of him.
He manages to lean in further, murmuring, ‘You’ll have to earn it, honey.’
I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but it’s suddenly difficult to swallow the lump growing in my throat at the sound of his deep voice. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because I’m hardly deserving of them myself.’
