by A. W. Exley
Hector waved his fork. “Like when you can’t see the forest for all them trees.”
“Trees?” Elijah wondered what detour through the forest the conversation had taken.
Hector swallowed and a lump of potato dropped down his gullet. “When you’re deep in a forest, all you see are trees. You can’t see the forest because you’re too close to it, if you get what I mean.”
“Oddly, Hector, I do know what you mean.” Elijah had been focused on events from his perspective and how they impacted him. The murder of his father and Ava’s betrayal were trees in this particular forest. He needed to take flight and soar high above to see how everything interconnected.
After dinner, he washed up and stacked away the clean dishes. “I’m going for a ride to clear my head,” he announced.
“Be careful, lad,” Hector said as he settled into the armchair in front of the fire.
Elijah saddled up his horse and headed through the night, back to the mill and the river.
He left the horse to graze the lush grass by the river, and he leaned on the old oak that Trixie had drawn and altered to place the phoenix in its boughs.
He watched the flicker of light that escaped the doors bordering the basement. The faint murmur of voices leaked under the doors and wafted to him in snatches. The night shift was at work, but why did they drill into the earth?
In his mind, he flew over events and hoped to discern the pattern far below.
Movement caught his eye as a shape darted around the side of the mill and hurtled down the bank towards him. As the figure neared, moonlight lit her fiery hair and turned it into a copper halo. She had her skirts in her hands to leave her feet clear to run.
“You said you would be here but I didn’t believe it,” Trixie said as she threw her arms around him.
“No matter what, I will always be here for you,” Elijah murmured against her silken hair. Deep inside him, the words were carved into his bones as an eternal promise to her.
Elijah held her close, and Trixie rested her head against his chest. They said nothing and listened to the beat of each other’s heart. The Cor-vitis tapped at the ends of their sleeves, frustrated by the layers of clothing they wore to ward off the slight evening chill.
At length, a deep sigh ran through her and she looked up. “I can’t stay long. Archie is waiting. I told him I left my scarf down here by the river.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, along with the words to chastise her about Archie. He wouldn’t spoil their moment together by whining. Instead, he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks and pulled her face to him. He kissed her softly with a mere butterfly caress.
“Until tomorrow,” he whispered.
“Until tomorrow,” she said, echoing his words, and then she slipped away from him.
Elijah set up the looms to weave new bolts of silk. Trixie’s stockpiled thread ran low as the mechanised looms wove the luxurious fabric. The silks she’d bought were all in the yellow, orange, and red colour range. Not a single earth or water hue appeared among the crates full of bobbins.
On one loom, he used thicker organzine thread for the warp and then tram thread for the weft. There was a shade of difference between the two reds, which would give a subtle play to the finished fabric.
Trixie burst through the door with fire sparkling in her eyes. She kissed Elijah on the cheek and then danced under his arms when he reached for her. “I have marvellous news! Uncle is coming here today to look at the silk we have woven.”
Their work had progressed over the last few weeks. With each bolt they’d woven, they’d refined the process or made adjustments to the warp and weft to produce a better result. One wall was stacked three deep in places with rolls of soft but strong fabric ready to be made into dresses, drapes, or tiny bags for women to carry.
She stood and stared at the bolts, lined up as though they were ready to open a dressmaker’s shop. “Do you think he will approve of the change to silk? It would be healthier for the workers and return a better profit for the mill.”
“I’m sure he will be impressed by the work you have done. How could he not?” Elijah caught her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He placed a kiss on the side of her neck and inhaled her scent. She smelled good. Like bread fresh out of the oven good, except she was spiced with the rich fragrance of cinnamon. Combining the two thoughts, he decided she reminded him of fruit bread. A delicious treat that should be savoured.
“Rose progresses on her design. I saved to be able to afford gold thread to bring the phoenix’s fiery plumage to life. I imagine her piece as the central panel on the back of a gown. What woman wouldn’t want a phoenix spreading its wings over her?”
Elijah could think of at least one—his aunt Lettie shuddered whenever she saw the Soarers’ emblem. But the woman in his arms would be draped in fire in such a garment, and his heart swelled a little to think of her on his arm at some grand event. They could explore the world together, if she would take his hand and accept him at her side.
His thoughts were sidetracked by an elbow in his stomach.
“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his middle as Trixie spun to dive into the bolts of fabric.
She pulled and tugged at a deep red with a flash of orange. “We need to get to work. We’re not here to canoodle. I want the bolts set out for when my uncle arrives.”
“Yes, Miss Hamilton.” Elijah tugged his forelock but smiled. Salamanders were like saltwater undines: both could swing from passion to anger on the surge of a tide. It made for an exhilarating ride.
He moved the bolts three times before she was satisfied. First, they were lined up by quality, Trixie wanting the better silks first. Then she changed her mind and wanted a random assortment. The third move was to arrange them by hue, from the palest yellow to blood red.
Thankfully, a fourth change was stalled when they heard voices in the corridor. The door swung open to reveal the older sylph and a younger salamander.
Trixie rushed to her uncle and stopped before him, clasping her hands together.
Archie Lawson slid an arm around her waist and pecked her cheek. “Good morning, Beatrice.”
“Archie,” Trixie muttered, leaning away from him as she removed his arm.
Elijah bit back a snigger at Trixie’s public rebuff of her fiancé. Shame she didn’t pull the ring off her finger and shove it down his throat.
She stepped sideways to place more distance between them before turning to Francis Hamilton. “Thank you, Uncle, for this opportunity to discuss switching from cotton to silk production.”
He arched a pale eyebrow as he looked around the room. “Good grief. You’ve actually been weaving in here.”
Trixie glanced to Elijah and then back to her uncle. A small frown marred her smooth forehead. “Of course we have. You gave me use of this room to trial silks. I used my own funds to purchase the spools of thread that we have used.”
She waved Elijah over, and he picked up the closest bolt in a vivid orange and carried it over. He gritted his teeth against the resonance rolling off the two men. Standing in the same room as the man who’d ordered his father killed was akin to standing next to a chalkboard while someone scratched their nails down the surface.
The salamander walked around behind Elijah and lounged against the wall. The hairs on the back of Elijah’s neck raised up at the enemy behind him, but he didn’t dare turn to confront him. He reminded himself that being level-headed and playing a long game would achieve more than erupting in a salamander-like fit of temper.
The ability to think rationally and logically instead of lashing out was what separated him from the salamander. That and the fact that he didn’t have to force Trixie to kiss him.
Trixie grabbed the end of the fabric and pulled off a length to show her uncle. “It will take some trial and error to get the looms set up correctly in the main rooms, but we have improved the quality with each length of silk we have worked. We could use uneven thread in the weft to produce
dupioni silk with its higher lustre.”
Francis Hamilton didn’t even look at the material. He walked around the small room and only briefly peered at the work in progress on the looms, and entirely ignored the swatch in his niece’s hands. “Really, Beatrice, did you think I would seriously let you have a hand in running this mill?”
The frown deepened and the joy drained from her eyes. Trixie gestured to the row of bolts all awaiting inspection. “I know I need to prove my plan will work, but there is a far greater return in luxury fabrics. In my office I have a full report for you outlining the difference in costs and greater margins. If you give silk production a chance—”
“This has been nothing but a distraction, girl.” Francis cut her off with a wave of his hand, stealing the words from her mouth. With another gesture, an invisible gust picked up the bolt and unravelled the fabric, spilling it across the floor as though orange lava spewed upon the floorboards.
“A distraction?” Trixie’s fingers dug into her palms as the fabric was pulled from her grasp.
Francis Hamilton’s fine features remained undisturbed; not a trickle of emotion leaked out from behind his cold facade. “It didn’t matter if you were drawing pictures here or doing needlepoint in the parlour, the idea was to give you a distraction while contracts were negotiated. Once you marry Archibald, you will have familial obligations to keep you busy.”
“Oh, I intend to keep your niece busy, sir.” Archie grinned and rubbed his hands together; a single spark leapt between his fingers in response to the friction.
“I had assumed I would continue to work at the mill, even after my marriage.” Trixie bent down and picked up the end of the silk. Hand over hand, she gathered the delicate fabric into a loop. Her shoulders were slumped as she worked to return the material to its roll.
Elijah wanted to shout at Hamilton, to shake him and point out that her plan would revolutionise the mill and the lives of its workers. Most of all, he wanted to defend his mate, who was quietly folding in on herself even as she did the same to the fabric. The sylph was suffocating her flame and he didn’t even notice.
Francis laughed, and Archie pushed off the wall to add his deeper laugh. The Lord Soarer narrowed his gaze at the young woman. “You know that will be quite impossible with the other duties you will take up.”
Elijah rocked on his heels, about to leap forward, when Trixie caught his gaze and shook her head. If he couldn’t defend her, perhaps he could at least wipe the smug smile from Archie Lawson’s face. If the salamander thought he was going to get his hands on Trixie, he was in for a surprise.
He balled his hands into fists, ready to lash out, when Trixie tossed the bolt of silk in his direction. On instinct, he had to open his arms to catch it.
She straightened up and addressed her uncle. “Times are changing, Uncle. Can our family not change with them?”
An eerie silence fell over the room, as though the sylph had sucked all the air away. Elijah found he held his breath in case there was nothing more to fill his lungs. Then, a soft breeze brushed over him and swirled the dust in the corners of the room. The ends on the bolts fluttered, and some unlooped and dropped to the ground.
A hard look pinned Trixie to the spot. “No, Beatrice, our family will not be changing. Your new duties will confine you to the estate. You are expected for dinner tonight, and don’t be late. We need to finalise the arrangements for your wedding, which I have decided will take place next week.”
“Next week? Why so soon?” Trixie’s voice faltered and her eyes widened.
“Your aunt continues to deteriorate. Which you would know if you spent more time with her learning your duties. Seven o’clock, Beatrice. Don’t be tardy.” Francis spun on his heel and clicked his fingers for Archie to follow like a dog called to heel.
As Archie drew level to where Trixie stood, he took her head in both his hands and pressed a kiss to her unresisting lips. “I so look forward to our nuptials.”
Elijah rooted himself to the spot, telling his feet and legs they were tree trunks, forever locked in place. It was the only way he could stop himself from leaping on the salamander and hauling him off Trixie. Nothing would be more satisfying than to hear the thump as he smacked his fist into Archie’s face.
As the door closed, Trixie wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her blouse.
Elijah cast around for something to say. He wouldn’t chastise her for the actions of others. She wasn’t responsible for where Archie put his tongue. It wasn’t like she could set him on fire, since he was fireproof as well. “You can’t give up just because your uncle doesn’t take this seriously. We both know silk production would have immense benefits for the workers here.”
Trixie walked along the rolls of silk and caressed each one as she passed. They had laboured for weeks, together. “You heard my uncle. This has all been a pointless distraction. He never intended to take my work seriously.”
The woman was defeated. Doused like a campfire that had a bucket of water tossed over it. What had happened to her spark of resistance and her fight?
“He will change his mind once he sees the price difference in the fabric. Women of the ton will clamour for your limited-edition designs to grace their clothing. Exclusivity will be the point of difference,” Elijah said.
She moved to brush her hand over the smooth wood of the loom. A sad smile graced her lips when she glanced at him. “I tried, and I will always remember my time here.”
“You cannot do this. You can’t just give up,” Elijah said. He tightened his hand into a fist and dug his short nails into his palm to stop his gargoyle form from bursting forth.
A silent sigh made her shoulders heave. “It is the way in our family. Marriages are business arrangements, Eli. Emotions are not involved, and I will be expected to take up a new role. I will be married next week, apparently, and I have much to do before then.”
With great control, he reached out and gently took her hand, not wanting his anger to make him bruise her skin. The Cor-vitis sprang into life, and tiny flaming leaves sprouted from the tendril that wound around their wrists.
“How detailed are these contracts? Did Archie buy the right to have you, no matter your feelings?” Anger flowed through him, and his stone form pressed against his skin as he tried to shift within the confines of his human form. As he let the rage drain away, it was replaced by a bone-numbing sadness. How could he fight for her if she wasn’t prepared to fight for herself?
“A wife must do as her husband commands. You don’t understand how things are done in my family. I am expected to fulfil my responsibilities. But there may still be a way for us to be together, once Archie has tired of me.” She whispered the words, but each one caught in her throat.
They could never truly be together.
He wanted a thousand years with her, but she only offered him stolen moments. It would kill him to watch her with Lawson. To know the Soarer touched his mate while he paced in a room, waiting for whatever time she could steal to spend with him. That was no life. He would become a ghost, haunting her.
He let her hand go, and the pieces of the Cor-vitis turned into floating sparks that one by one winked out of existence.
“I have work to do before I must leave for dinner. There are a few items in my office I need to pack away.” She walked away from him and slipped through the door.
Elijah stood and stared at the closed door. If he was fated to lose her, then that was how events would unfold. But he couldn’t give her up without trying first, no matter how futile it seemed. The row of bolts caught his eye with their warm, fiery tones. An idea took root in his mind.
Before he watched his mate walk into an unhappy marriage, he intended to give her a glimpse of what she would leave behind.
21
A few hours later, he tapped gently on the door and waited for the muffled “Come in” before pushing into the office.
Trixie stood by the desk, a metal paperweight in her hands. As she glanced at him, she p
laced the object in a box. “What is it?”
Elijah leaned on the door handle to give his hand something to do. “Before you leave this evening, there is something I need to show you in the weaving room.”
She peered at the array of items on her desk and selected a silver pen holder with a crystal inkwell. “Did I leave something behind?”
“It would be easier to show you.” He wanted to plead with her for a chance, for one stolen moment to show her what being mates could mean. He swallowed those words down instead and waited.
“Eli—” A sigh heaved through her chest as the writing set went into the box.
“Please, Trixie. I only ask for a little bit of your time before you go this evening. No more. I would never demand anything of you.” He wouldn’t capture her and place her in a cage like Archie. Love should be freely given. If she didn’t want to be with him, then perhaps her heart was that of a true Soarer after all.
She nodded and followed him out of the office. Silently they walked side by side down the corridor to the weaving room. Their hands were so close their fingertips could brush, but they didn’t.
They turned into the disused part of the mill, and their footsteps rang on the floorboards. At the door, Elijah opened it and indicated for her to walk in first. She stepped inside and gasped.
Since her uncle had refused to consider the bolts of silk they had worked so hard on, he’d decided to put them to another use. He had unwound the delicate fabric and tacked it to the walls. Other lengths were swagged from corner to corner and across the ceiling. More was piled up on the floor in a riotous combination. He’d chosen a burnt orange piece to hang over the window. The light through the orange silk was like an eerie twilight under a sky with a riotous sunset.
He had extinguished all the lamps except one. The flame flickered from high in one corner. The overall effect was as though they stood inside a lush tent in an exotic location. He only wished he had soft pillows to place under the silk. He had made do with empty cotton sacks to act as a barrier from the cold floorboards.