Page 15 of Tangwystle
I stayed in my chair, the thick cushioned wingback one of the nicest spots I’d ever sat in. He, on the other hand, spread out, lying on the rug in front of the fire.
Sometimes his shirt crept up, showing off a sliver of his muscled abs. He’d watch me out of the corner of his eyes, while I watched him from my spot on the chair. He only ever read; the quiet peaceful, and the nights warm.
“Shall I go with you to the market?” he asked one morning when we were in the kitchen.
“No.” I snorted, taking down my hat from the hook by the side door.
“You don’t want my protection but you wear that silly little thing?”
I placed it atop my head, grabbing my black cloak. We couldn’t all be like Baz with his gift of magic. “I’ll make do.”
“You’re not fooling anyone,” he said, leaning back in his chair, eating an apple. “There’s no way you’d ever pass for a witch.”
I shot him my best scowl. He responded with a smirk.
“You’re a fairy, Tangwystle.”
“A fairy?” How could he think I was like one of those little flying things that sparkled?
“A fairy,” he replied, his eyes the brightest I’d ever seen.
I didn’t understand the nickname, but he increasingly used it.
“Good morning, fairy,” he’d greet me at breakfast.
“Let me help you, fairy,” he’d offer during my midday chores, trying to grab the broom out of my hand. I promptly swatted him away, the man laughing, but never fully leaving me alone.
“Come along, fairy,” he’d say on our way to the library in the evenings.
Other than my height, nothing about me screamed sweet and enchanting. Yet he continued to persist that I was fairylike.
I would’ve thought it was the opposite. Me with my black dress and dour facial expressions. He, with his quick, bright wit.
But there were times I caught sight of the man he kept wrapped up. Hidden beneath a gentle, kind exterior. I noticed it first, the few times his voice grew darker. Like the night he told me to keep reading, uttering my real name, Tangwystle, in a stern tone.
This voice never disturbed me. Neither did the demand. It pulled at me, strumming something deep inside me.
I craved order and command. I’d always thought I liked control. But when Baz made demands, I found myself happy to comply. Willing because I knew it satisfied something in him too.
Those first few days, I thought Baz to be a good-natured fool. Someone who needed to be spoon-fed. But he was educated and much more aware of himself than others thought. He let his visitors talk because he knew they liked to be petted. And there was no point in giving away information that could later be used against you.
The longer I got to know him, the more I realized most people didn’t see the real Baz. The one who wrote off missives to his accountant and had a true understanding of his finances. The one who spent more time in his office, reading reports than dining and gambling like most gentlemen his age. He helped me in the garden because he realized I hated dirt under my fingernails.
So I came to realize he liked helping, but he liked order just as much as I did. And there was a bit of give and take. As in, he left my kitchen alone, and I left his office alone. But whenhe ordered me to come and sit beside him in the library. . . I couldn’t say no because I liked giving in to the demands.
One night as we read, the clock struck midnight. That was later than normal, but my tale of romance and pirates had swept me away. I rose from my chair, though, knowing if I didn’t sleep, I’d be cranky the next day. And that wouldn’t do me any favors.
I stumbled, and for a second worried I’d just walked right over my employer, who remained stretched out on the floor. Thankfully, it was just the pile of books next to him I had tripped on.
“Don’t worry about those.” He blinked like the night had also escaped from him.
“And let them remain there, on the floor, for months.” I scooped them up, heading toward one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves. My own books were stored in my room until I had to return them to the rotating library, but for a second, I let myself lean into the idea that this was my library. That I was the one with all these books, no matter the fact that they were stuffy old history texts.
“Tangwystle,” Baz tried to protest as he come by my side.
I tucked the first two back, reminding myself in the morning to come in here and dust. Then the books in the crook of my elbow slid to the floor. Horrified at the thought of damaging them, I dropped to my knees.
“Tangwystle,” Baz murmured.
