Page 9 of The Iron Dagger
“If she can use any candle, then what is the point?” He said. “Why come to you?”
“If you have become stuck in one way of living for too long, it becomes confusing to separate your thoughts from reality. It helps to have an external source to turn to, and my spells are made with intention.”
It sounded like sentimental tosh. But the coin to be made from gullible bumpkins was real.
“And how much money do you earn from your spells? Two silver guilds for your cure for piles? A penny for a love potion?”
“I don’t make money from it,” she said quietly, turning away from him. “They come to me when they cannot pay for the apothecary.”
He was mildly shocked by this. “Then how do you live?”
“If I need help the village offers it. Otherwise I take care of myself.”
“But you could make a fortune doing this. Fixing problems no one else can fix.”
“Careful now—it almost sounds as though you respect my magic,” she said with a sidelong glance at him. Then she continued, “I have no desire to make a fortune. The payment I receive is a man from the village coming to help thatch my roof when it leaks, or a woman caring for my animals if I am away from my home. A service for a service.”
Gideon immediately thought of the fair-haired man, and he wondered what she had done for him to earn his wood chopping.
As if his thoughts had summoned him, a knock sounded at the door. Hara rose to answer it, and Gideon caught a glimpse of the burly oaf before she walked out the door and closed it.
He collapsed back on his pillows with a huff. The sun had set, and they had finished their evening meal. What business could the man want at this hour?
Gideon glanced out the window just in time to see Hara reach up on her toes, her mouth meeting the visitor’s. The man wrapped his arms around her waist and Gideon felt a curious heat crest behind his eyes. Acid churned in his belly as though he had eaten something rancid.
When she returned to the cottage alone, her cheeks were pink and her lips were reddened. The sour feeling persisted, but Gideon ignored it. It was no affair of his, he reminded himself. She could let anyone engulf her face that she pleased, no matter how much the fellow resembled a boar that had learned to walk upright.
Hara went to the table to gather up the plates. Gideon felt restless. He was tired of feeling so helpless while she worked from sunup to well past sundown. He sat up in bed, took up his crutch, and hobbled to her side.
“What can I do?” he asked.
Hara looked at him with some surprise, which gave him a twinge of discomfort for being such a useless guest. No, that was absurd; he had not asked to be brought here. He had no cause to feel anything but generous for offering his help.
“Well . . . you can fill two basins with warm water,” she said.
He maneuvered himself to the cauldron and drew up the basins.
“You can rinse and dry,” she said, handing him a soapy dish. He did as she said, and they worked quietly side by side. Simply for something to talk about, he felt some of the burning questions he’d harbored begin to surface—namely, finding out why she needed the help of tall, muscular neighbors.
“Why don’t you use magic to make your chores easier?” he asked. “Surely you can enchant these plates so that they never become dirty. Or you could multiply the wood in your shed so you don’t have to split any. Why don’t you?”
“All this work comes at a cost, you know. Whenever I perform a spell, I become fatigued and I need to recover. If I magicked my way through the daily chores, I’d fall dead asleep until sundown the next day, so I have to be selective. Besides,” she said, “There is value in completing something from beginning to end. It creates appreciation for the cycle of things. First we serve food on a clean plate, then we enjoy our meal, then we wash it, and the plate is clean again. There’s magic in cycles.”
This was on the stupider end of things he had heard deserved appreciation, but he said nothing.
They were quiet for a time, washing and rinsing. Gideon’s arm gently nudged hers, and he shifted slightly to put space between them. Other than the regular bandage changes, Gideon tried to avoid touching her if he could. Not out of fear, but because he was disconcerted by the prickles that formed along his skin at her touch. They weren’t altogether unpleasant, which alarmed him most of all.
The cat, who he had heard Hara call Seraphine, perched above them on one of her wooden pedestals. Keeping well away from the splashing water, he thought. It watched him with unblinking eyes.
“Your cat won’t stop looking at me. All day, she just perches and stares.”
“She finds you dodgy.” said Hara with a shrug of her shoulders. “We aren’t sure what to make of you yet.”
“We? Is she your . . . ” He tried to remember the word he had heard for animals with special connections to their masters.
“Familiar? Yes. We were born in the same year, and she has been my companion ever since.”
“But . . . ” He looked up at the cat again. It seemed young and sprightly. “How old are you?”
