Page 63 of Too Many Beds

He reached for a sturdy piece of oak, a dark, rich piece of wood he'd hand-selected for its beautiful grain pattern. Marek had planned this bed on his travels, sketching out its design, and knew this oak was the perfect material for a solid foundation. He began by carefully milling the oak, using his hand plane to bring it to the exact thickness and dimensions he needed. The sweet scent of freshly cut wood filled the air as he worked.

The passage of time blurred as Marek lost himself in the task, each stroke of the plane a step closer to his vision. But it was hard to ignore the occasional flash of light and the soft hum of magic emanating from Arcanus’s workstation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marek saw Arcanus raise a slender wand, its tip glowing with a soft amber light. Still humming that infernal tune from earlier, he moved the wand over the surface of a piece of oak. The wood, bathed in the wand's glow, yielded. The air around Arcanus whispered with a faint energy, the oak slowly conforming to his will, smoothed with a grace that seemed almost effortless.

“Is that supposed to impress us?” Marek muttered, his deep voice barely audible over the din of the workshop.

Arcanus glanced over, a smile playing at his lips. “Jealousy doesn't suit you, Marek.”

“Hard worksuits me,” Marek snapped, keeping his gaze fixed on his own piece. Arcanus’s magic-infused craftsmanshipheld an allure Marek couldn't deny. But it also represented everything he stood against—the idea that shortcuts could rival true skill and dedication.

Arcanus waved his hand again, and a piece of wood suitable for a bedpost took the place of the wizard’s current milling prospect. “Magic is just another tool.”

Marek grunted in response, unwilling to be drawn into an argument. It was best to focus on his own work. Despite his resolve to ignore Arcanus, Marek couldn't help but steal glances at the wizard's work. The bed was taking shape, though not as quickly as one might imagine. Didn’t he just have to wave that wand, and a beautiful bed would appear?

But there was no time to wonder. Marek had a job to do. He picked up a plane and began smoothing the surface of a headboard panel.

Arcanus's bed was taking shape slightly faster than the other artisans’, which earned him glares all around. What the others didn't understand, though, was that the magic only gave him the rudimentary structure.

Magic, by itself, was not creative. Without the guidance of a caster such as Arcanus, magic would do a slipshod job of creating furniture. But what Arcanus did, besides ensuring that every piece fit together perfectly, was to hone the design further to allow his creativity to ascend to new levels, adding subtle details that infused his creations with unique elements.

At the end of the long first day, King Aldric's steward called for a break. Tools clattered to a stop, and artisans wiped sweat from their brows. Arcanus stretched his arms, feeling the day's tension ease away. He glanced around, noting the clustersof artisans forming, their voices blending into a chorus of camaraderie.

Genevieve and Damon exchanged animated banter about their designs. Alistair shared a hearty laugh with a crafter named Thalia, who mimicked some exaggerated carving motions. Arcanus's gaze lingered on them for a moment, wishing he could share such feelings with other magical artisans.

He turned back to his workstation, where the beginnings of a bed frame stood. The wood gleamed under the enchanted light orbs hovering above.

Marek caught his eye. The broad-shouldered carpenter stood alone, his deep blue eyes scanning the room with an expression that hovered between indifference and longing. Arcanus approached Marek without thinking, driven by an impulse he couldn't quite name.

“Seems like everyone’s found their little group,” Arcanus remarked softly.

Marek looked up, surprised. “Guess so.” His voice was gruff.

Arcanus gestured to Marek's bed frame—a sturdy structure that would be lovely upon completion, he was sure. It was far from finished, but it was a solid start. “Your work is impressive.”

Marek's shoulders stiffened at the compliment. It wasn't the reaction he had hoped for. Marek's piercing gaze flicked over Arcanus’s work, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Impressive? Coming from someone who relies onmagic, that means less than a sheep’s fart.”

The words stung more than Arcanus cared to admit. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain composed. “Magic is just another tool, Marek. It doesn’t replace skill or creativity.”

Marek’s jaw tightened, and he gestured to his own spread of tools. “Tools are supposed toassist, not do the work for you.”

Arcanus struggled to keep his voice even. “You think my magic makes it easier? That it takes away from the effort I put in?”

Marek paused, meeting Arcanus’s gaze with an intensity that was almost challenging. “I think it gives you an unfair advantage,” he said slowly, each word heavy with conviction. “True craftsmanship comes from hard work and dedication.”

The accusation hung in the air like a thick fog. Arcanus bit back a retort, knowing that anything he said would only escalate the situation. Instead, he took another steadying breath and tried to convey his thoughts with calm.

“You misunderstand my magic,” Arcanus began. “It doesn’t replace my effort; itenhancesmy vision. My hand and my heart guide every spell I cast.”

Marek's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing Arcanus’s words. For a moment, the tension between them seemed to waver.

Arcanus cleared his throat. “Look, it's been a long day. Whatever you think of me, I thought perhaps we could take a meal together?” He raised his brows, hoping for an endearing look.

It didn't work. Marek's scowl deepened, and he shook his head. “I'd rather be alone.” The other man whirled and hurried away. Arcanus watched him go, shaking his head.

Marek hadn't slept well, his mind full of the cheating mage who, he was sure, would win the contest simply because of his magic. How could he, or any of the others, compete with that?

The grand hall loomed as he walked in, the other artisans already at work. He took a deep breath, the scent of sawdust grounding him as he made his way to his station.

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