Page 11 of The Weaver

Korahla growled, and the end of her spear clacked on the floor. “I will not be here to oversee it, Ahnset. The city will survive an eightday without its queen, butIcannot survive without you again.”

Rekosh’s chest tightened, and his hearts stuttered.

He was not going to waste another moment. He’d waitedlong enough, had delayed long enough. When he returned to Kaldarak, he would make the foot coverings to finish his mating gift, and the instant the final stitch was in place, he would present the garments to Ahmya.

He would claim his mate before all, and he would not spend another day apart from her.

CHAPTER 3

With held breath,Rekosh pressed the tip of the bone needle into the silk. His whole world was silent and still but for his fingers and that needle. This was the moment. After more than an eightday of toil in Takarahl and three days more work here in Kaldarak, his vision was finally about to be complete.

The needle pierced the fabric. He pinched it between forefinger and thumb and drew it fully through. His hearts thumped as he carefully pulled the fine thread taut, tied it off, and trimmed the excess with a small blackrock knife.

Rekosh slowly released his breath through his nose holes. Somehow, that only made his chest tighter. His fingers ached and his hands trembled as he set the needle and thread aside. Angling the tiny foot covering, he studied the lacy embellishments he’d just finished attaching around its opening.

His mandibles rose. The white silk was strong and durable, and the bottom of each covering was reinforced with thick, supple leather. Pleasing to the eye and capable—just like Ahmya.

He slid his fingers further into the shoe and spread them. It was snug just where it should have been. Rekosh could onlyhope that his measurements were correct. He’d had only guesswork and the memory of how his hands fit on Ahmya’s body to go by, and his opportunities to touch her had been limited even before his return to Takarahl.

Setting the foot covering beside its companion, he took hold of the dress and lifted it. The sunlight coming in through the window of his den struck the garment, setting off hints of color in the undyed silk.

The material was so finely woven that it was sheer, making its intricately stitched adornments stand out. Flower and leaf patterns ran across the silk, placed with consideration as to what part of Ahmya’s body they would cover—like those tender mounds of flesh humans calledbreasts. The flecks of white crystal he’d sewn into the patterns caught the light and set the garment aglow as he turned it.

The dress was lovely, and, at a glance, exceedingly delicate. But much like the female he’d made it for, the garment was far tougher than appearances suggested.

He hadn’t been boasting when he’d told his friends that this was his finest work. Neither Takarahl nor Kaldarak had ever seen its like, and it was the perfect gift for an alluring little creature whose kind was also unlike anything the vrix had ever seen.

“No more waiting,” he said.

From the instant he’d first seen her, Rekosh had been drawn to Ahmya. Her appearance had intrigued him—small and lithe, with soft, pale skin. She was different from his kind, his opposite in many ways, and he found such beauty in it. Such beauty in her strange, rolling brown eyes, which glittered in the sunlight, in the silken shimmer of her black hair, in the malleability of her lips when they curled into a smile or fell in a frown. In the light, lyrical sound of her laughter and the soothing gentleness of her voice.

His want for her, hisneed, had grown day by day, and it wasbecoming increasingly difficult to control his instincts. Everything inside him demanded he wrap her in his silk and claim her as his mate.

And his recent visit to Takarahl had only further proven to him that the time had come.

Zurvashi was gone, Ahnset ruled Takarahl, the humans had settled in Kaldarak, and peace had been made between the two vrix cities.

Rekosh would wait not a moment longer to claim his little flower.

Mindful of the decorative stitching, he folded the dress and laid it on a large piece of cloth. Folding the cloth over the dress, he plucked up the tiny foot coverings and set them atop it before wrapping the items into a neat, snug bundle.

In his mind’s eye, he saw his long, claw-tipped fingers sliding those foot coverings onto Ahmya’s feet, saw her remove her human clothing to reveal the soft, smooth flesh beneath before she pulled on the dress, saw the sheer silk—hissilk—caress her skin, and?—

No. I will not imagine. I will see it myself with all eight eyes and both hearts.

With his lower arms, Rekosh clutched the bundle to his abdomen and rose fully, stepping back from the table. He brushed aside the many-colored pieces of silk and bundles of dried flowers—the latter of which had all been gifts from Ahmya—hanging from the ceiling as he strode to the doorway. The scents of those flowers, though faded, filled his nose. As sweet as they were, they could not compare to the only fragrance he longed to have in his den.

Ahmya’s fragrance.

Soon.

The dress would demonstrate his skill, declare his intentions, and convey his feelings, his want, his passion and dedication. It would speak all the words he’d not yet dared to say.

Sweeping open the heavy cloth hanging across the doorway, Rekosh stepped outside.

Warm, pleasant air flowed over his hide, redolent of growing plants, roasting food, and mist from the nearby waterfall. Though he and his companions had lived here for only a few moon cycles, he’d greatly missed its air while he’d been away.

Towering trees with lush leaves surrounded him, their trunks stretching both above and below. Kaldarak’s buildings stood upon platforms built around the tree trunks and atop the thickest boughs, their walls and roofs crafted of interwoven wood, leaves, and silk. A network of bridges connected the platforms in a weblike pattern.

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