Page 7 of The Gargoyle's Gift
In truth, my parents—not to mention most of my siblings—were the same brand of terrifying that he was, so I was more than used to it. Besides, I was pretty sure he was actually a little afraid ofme, if only because I was not appropriately fearful of him and had a habit of putting him in his place, especially when he stepped foot in my infirmary.
After taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. I was expecting to get left out in the cool evening air with nothing but my suspicions and half-thought-through scenarios for where he might be. Instead, I heard a deep grumble and the thump of something other than just feet against the floorboards before the door was flung open and his scowling face came into view.
“What do you want?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.
Wasn’t that the question though? What exactlydidI want?
I’d come here with no real plan, just a desire to not be constantly wondering where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he might be hurt somewhere. Or hurting someone else.
Instead of answering, I pulled up every bit of confidence I could muster around me and pushed past him, walking straight into the hut. Inside I was cringing because when the aunts did something like that to me, I absolutely hated it, but I was just being assertive. Probably.
“Sure,” he grumbled. “Come on in.”
I glanced around, finding the bed neatly made, and the jewelry half sorted on a towel lying across it. “I came to offer my help.”
“Help?” He was leaning on a cane, one with a custom handle that looked suspiciously like Imogen’s work.
“With… all this.” I gestured around me to the ledgers on the table and the gold and silver strewn across the bed.
“Is that so?” He crossed to the small table and took a seat, the way he moved betraying a terrible stiffness in both the leg that had been severed and his back.
I shrugged. “Sure, why not? I don’t have any patients, and I’m sure untangling that mess will move faster with some additional hands. Unless you prefer to work alone?” I knew I was risking getting kicked out with that question, but I also knew odds were good he’d take it as a challenge.
“Idoprefer to work alone,” he huffed, staring me down, “but what I meant was, why would I want your help?” I waited, unwilling to give up so easily. Lucky for me, he seemed to consider an alternative option while he sipped at his giant tankard of ale. He finally spoke again, just a breath before I was going to collect my pride and leave. “You might be of some use, I suppose.”
I barked a rough noise, a held breath leaving me in a rush. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Gaius.”
His lips twitched, but a smile never came. “I’m managing fine with the rings and bracelets, but those knotted-up necklace chains will be the death of me. My fingers are too clumsy. They’re all tangled around everything else, besides. They’re slowing me down.”
I turned to look, remembering how my stomach had rolled both putting them into and taking them out of my pockets so carelessly. The disregard Caster had used when he put them in his drawer was terrible, but then I’d gone and crammed them into my pockets, making everything so much worse.
“Sure. I’m good with delicate work, as you know.” I raised an eyebrow and wiggled my fingers, embarrassing myself as I made the gesture. I’d turned into a ridiculous youngling around him all of a sudden and had no explanation as to why. He was an arrogant man who needed reminding he wasn’t in charge of everything, and here I was, nervous to be in his hut. It was silly. He wasn’t scary; he was like an ill-tempered cat most of the time. Though I would admit, the way his voice had made the windows tremble clung to me.
“I’m not sure fine stitchwork on injured flesh is anything the same as this, but sure.” The words were dismissive as he put his attention on the ledgers. While his eyes scanned the pages, he turned a pretty gold ring with a triangle sapphire around the tip of his finger, the gem sparkling in the light.
I picked up a knotted ball of chains half the size of my fist. “Awful. Just look what we’ve done to you,” I whispered in apology as I settled onto the mattress. After kicking off my shoes, I crossed my legs under myself and made a smooth surface out of my skirt over my lap, tucking the ends around my feet. “How many have you matched up so far?”
“Several dozen.”
“That’s great, isn’t it?”
Gaius turned his sharp gaze my way. “I suppose, though there are hundreds here. Decades worth of collecting.” He stared at me so long after that, I wondered if I’d missed him saying something else. “I don’t have any interest in chatting,” he added finally, biting off the last word like it was offensive. “This was never meant to be a team project.” He picked up the tankard of ale again, drinking deep before setting it back on the table with a heavy thud.
I flushed hot, embarrassment warring with a sudden urge to be mouthy. Truth was, I spent more time quiet than I did talking. Imogen had a limited amount of words to share on any given day, and it was hard to talk over the sound of her beating metal into the shape of a blade with a hammer anyway. My days at the forge with her were just as quiet as my days milling around the empty infirmary. If he didn’t want to talk, we didn’t have to talk.
Gaius exhaled loudly, shaking his head as he turned back to the books.
I settled in, pulling out several loose lengths of chain and flattening them along the fabric of my skirt. I smiled at the craftsmanship laid out before me. There were several shades of gold and silver in the mix, different link sizes and shapes. Signature styles of the artisans who made such lovely, delicate things. Pendants were wrapped up in the mess, too, some of them with sharp edges hindering any progress of untangling.
I used my fingertips and nails to coerce the tiny links to separate from their neighbors. As I worked, I made a mental list of tools that would help me with such a tedious task. Some of my finest stitching needles were at the top of the list, along with a board of nails like the one the aunts kept all their spindles of sewing thread sorted on.
The gentle scratching of a quill as Gaius marked the ledgers and the clink of the rings nesting against one another on a dowel was comforting. The hut was warm and smelled like soap and spice. Even the occasional sound of his cup striking the table was familiar.
I felt oddly at home.
“What about the money?” I asked quietly, perhaps an hour into working. It felt like a spell lifting when I spoke, breaking the silence in the little hut. I briefly regretting having done it.
“What money?” Gaius asked, looking up. He’d located and marked four rings in the time it had taken me to separate a single necklace from the knotted ball.
