The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

  Annmar caught her breath. His brown eyes were like none she’d seen, wide and slanted, the rich chocolate color making a strong focus in his paler brown-sugar skin. Face on, his rounded ears were prominent, nearly animal-like, and cute.

  Oh, to capture this strange, no, exotic look… Her finger slid along the side of the sketchbook and found the pencil splitting its pages.

  He grinned, the smile open, friendly and playful all at once.

  Before realizing she’d done it, Annmar smiled back. He was gorgeous. And her age. Much more suitable than Mr. Shearing would ever…oh, my! Her chest and neck heated.

  Something hit her foot and clattered away with a familiar sound. She ducked toward the windlass to pick up her pencil. Straightening, her gaze caught the gold-edged, green lettering emblazoned across the machine’s water tank: Shearing Enterprises.

  The flutter of excitement died. So there would be reminders, even here.

  Mistress Gere gripped her elbow and guided her inside. “I’ll introduce everyone at dinner,” she said, “after you’ve seen your room and had a chance to freshen up.”

  The workers ferried the crates past overstuffed chairs circling a wood-burning stove and piled them on one side of an open room. Swings, ladders and ropes led upward to more ladders set in mazes with crisscrossed beams in the second-story rafters. The height had Annmar swaying. Who would risk their necks up there?

  Mistress Gere murmured, “A gathering place in poor weather.”

  Behind her, someone called, “All clear!” and a hiss erupted.

  “Come into the preservation kitchen,” Mistress Gere shouted above the chain’s clinking, and led the way through swinging doors that swished closed, blocking the noise. An herbal-scented moisture hung in the empty kitchen, one far larger than any Annmar had known. Large gas cookstoves stood between washing sinks and high preparation tables, half of them cluttered with glass jars, canning kettles and cooling preserves. Wellspring continued to use glass jars, not the more popular tin canisters or cans as they’d become known, because Mistress Gere felt her customers should see their food.

  They had just agreed on the size of a label that would still allow this when the door opened again, and in walked the fascinating young man, wiping his palms down heavy brown trousers held by worn leather braces.

  He was big. Much bigger than she’d realized from across the platform, he had the firm muscle of a broad, well-defined body. His rolled sleeves revealed fine, dark hair that covered the lovely brown arms he loosely swung. He planted his feet before them.

  “This is the artist from the city?” His deep voice nearly purred.

  “Yes.” Mistress Gere crossed her arms, but couldn’t keep a smile from curling her lips. “I should have known you’d be in here as fast as you could manage, my boy. Annmar, may I introduce Daeryn Darkcoat, perhaps the most gregarious individual among our farm family. Daeryn, Annmar Masterson, who, as you noted, is a city girl and not at all used to our casual country ways. You will keep to the borders of her territory until she gives you permission to enter.” The tall woman fixed him with an eye-to-eye look.

  Annmar blinked at the bizarre introduction, so forthright, and made while he lacked a jacket, or even a waistcoat…never would such an impropriety occur in Derby. Yet she’d been warned and had promised to pardon their atypical customs.

  Daeryn, which Mistress Gere pronounced day-rin, seemed to take it in stride. He nodded, a single dip of his chin. “Yes’m.”

  He didn’t pause between that acknowledgment and extending his hand. His gaze searched hers curiously, and he smiled, not the grin of before, but almost shyly.

  Her stomach flipped. Sweet wasn’t how anyone would normally describe a young male who had so clearly crossed into manhood, but that was her exact thought. She wiped her clammy palm discreetly in her skirt folds before shaking his hand.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Are you finding the Basin to your liking?” His rough-skinned hand clasped hers in neither a strong nor a weak manner, but one that conveyed gentleness for its size.

  His warmth felt nice, and her head muddled a bit. “I, uh, I’m happy to have arrived, to be here. Yes. It’s all been…fine,” her mouth murmured.

  Then, too quickly, he released her. Somehow, Mistress Gere took over the conversation, discussing an animal problem in the fields and listing several possibilities she wanted Daeryn to look into. His brows came together over narrowed eyes, changing his face into a calculating contemplation that had Annmar glad she wasn’t the source of the problem.

  “We’ll delay dinner,” Mistress Gere said. “After I show Annmar to her room, I’ll speak with your team and the growers.” She shook her head, and when she spoke again, her tone was solemn. “The damage isn’t significant at this point, but the rate at which it’s increased bothers me. If the losses continue to rise, the squash harvest will suffer like the tomatoes, and I’m afraid what we’ve seen so far with the turnips means the onions will follow the same track. The last we can’t afford to lose.”

  Daeryn patted her arm and, to Annmar’s surprise, gave the older woman a quick hug. “The creatures can’t avoid us long, don’t you worry. We’ll wait in the yard.” He nodded to Annmar. “Be seeing you.” He strode out of the kitchen, leaving the doors to swish closed.

  Mistress Gere turned her gaze back to Annmar. “That boy heads my nocturnal guards. I trust him with my property and my life. Having just met you, I hesitate to say this but feel I must. Some of the farm members can be overly friendly, but everyone will be respectful of your person and your territory…er, social needs.”

  Social needs better explained what her employer probably meant when warning off Daeryn. He had to be from one of the Basin’s cultural pockets with different customs. Telling him to keep to the borders of her territory must be a country way of describing propriety. Good. Mistress Gere set out the rules more clearly than Mrs. Rennet could have in town.

  “I’ll make the rest of the introductions at dinner,” Mistress Gere said. “Please come to me with any questions. Or if you prefer to talk to someone closer to your own age, may I suggest Mary Clare? She has an excellent grasp of the subtle differences in individuals and how to set them straight.”

  Annmar did not want to admit that she might just do that, and apparently an answer wasn’t required, because Mistress Gere resumed showing her the canning operations. Then she led Annmar across the gathering area to a door in the far wall.

  “On either end of this building are the living quarters. We have assigned you the north end, where the light will be best for an artist. I’m sorry we don’t have a proper studio for you.”

  “I’m sure what you have will be fine. I can work on any flat surface.”

  “We have done a little better than that. Come along.” Mistress Gere opened the door.

  Instead of a straightforward passage with more doors, it opened up to a warehouse-like space stacked with furniture. The afternoon sunlight streaming in the windows lit the area, just… Annmar rubbed her eyes and peered around, but no item would resolve into a distinct image.

  Mistress Gere took her arm. “All right, dear?”

  Lord forbid, her nerves must be unsettling again. “Yes, I…perhaps I’m tired. My eyes don’t seem to be adjusting in this light.”

  “No, I don’t suppose they are.” Mistress Gere urged her forward. “But you needn’t concern yourself with this part of the building. Your room has its own stairway entrance, as does each person’s room.” They edged around what might be a wardrobe. Or a large mirror. “There, see your window just ahead?”

  A triple wide window of smaller panes dominated the gable wall. Annmar saw that clearly enough. They wound through crooked aisles of stacked chairs. This couldn’t be the promised rooming arrangement. Though the place smelled fresh and clean with no sign of dust, Annmar didn’t want to sleep among open storage, especially after the owner’s warning. Perhaps she should take a room in town, with a door and a lock. The wages would cover o
ne, and she could still take her meals here.

  “Tight squeeze, this last one.” Mistress Gere pointed to a narrow space leading to steps between a wardrobe and a stack of bins.

  Annmar turned sideways and felt her way up three steps. At the top, she looked back over numerous balcony protrusions, dormers and angular alcoves. Another triple window graced the far end, but the floor they’d just traversed lay in a jumble of shadows.

  “Annmar? Will your room not let you in?”

  Whatever did she mean? Annmar pivoted. The space fronting the windows appeared dim, as if gray gauze hung before it. Reaching a hand and feeling nothing, she shuffled beyond the wooden case at her back. The room popped into clarity as if a lamp had been lit.

  Annmar gasped. This was exactly what had happened in the Gateway. Mercy, I’ve gone beyond a case of the vapors. The edges of my sanity are coming apart.

  But did insanity look this pretty? She took a few steps toward the sparkling-clean windowpanes, beneath which stood a new drafting table and stool. An oil lamp hung above, and another stood on a small table next to a buttercup-colored wing chair. It sat on a hooked rug in hues of orange, reminding her of carrots. Tucked into a cozy niche was a rather wide daybed, and beyond it a door opened to a bathing room, complete with a ball-foot bathtub.

  For her? Alone? After months of sharing, this room presented pure luxury.

  Mistress Gere came up the last step of the narrow passage. “Do you think it will do?”

  Annmar glanced around the homey room again, this time noticing her trunk and valise already set to the side of a chest of drawers. She drew a breath and answered what she ought to, the truth really, if the strange entrance hadn’t piqued her nerves. “Oh, yes, I like the room very much.”

  “Surprised?”

  A skittish giggle burst from her. “Pardon me, but I never expected anything like this after—” She gestured to the part of the building they had just traversed, and blinked.

  Beyond Mistress Gere, mist gathered, white, not the myriad shadows from less than a minute ago. Was it…a wall? No, they had just walked through that spot, a squeeze, but she’d definitely… The mist graduated itself into, well, solidness, from denser at the bottom to thinner near the high ceiling. It was even coloring, into a pale, pale yellow, a tint she’d make with one part yellow cadmium to ten titanium white.

  What a ridiculous thought to have.

  Roaring took over her ears. Her vision blurred and her knees gave out. Firm hands grasped her elbows and steered her to a soft seat. “Breathe, dear.” Mistress Gere rubbed Annmar’s hands, the brisk motion warm and reassuring.

  Annmar took the breaths and her muscles eased. Her head cleared. Lord forbid, the lady had seen her completely fall apart. Trial or no, she’d surely be sent away. Annmar forced herself to lift her gaze.

  Mistress Gere’s concerned gaze met hers. “How much did your mother tell you about her life in Blighted Basin?”

  chapter NINE

  Daeryn ambled from the kitchen back to the dormer opening where he still had crates to move. Great Creator, that new girl smelled more wonderful than when he’d first scented her. Pretty blue eyes, a color ’cambires didn’t have. Nice, too. Huh, maybe a bit too nice in her fancy clothes. She wouldn’t want to befriend a crew of farmworkers. He pulled at his rolled shirtsleeves and hiked up his canvas work trousers.

  A throat cleared. Daeryn looked up. The windlass was shut down, the crates stacked. Jac and Maraquin were watching him, along with Zar and Terrent.

  “What?” Daeryn said.

  Jac flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Oh, please. Just because you’re lead now, you think you can ditch your chores to meet the new girl?”

  “I didn’t—”

  The fellows snickered, the older Zar hiding it better with a hand to his sandy beard. Maraquin threw them a dark look, then, without looking at Daeryn, stormed out onto the platform extending from the loft. Her footsteps pounded the wooden stairs.

  So the digs were starting. Hell, being part of the group had been much easier. But taking orders from Jac wouldn’t have been. “So what? You’re done and we’re not late. The lady says the evening meeting’s in a half hour.”

  “What?” Terrent cried. “After dinner?”

  “Before,” Daeryn said. “She wants the growers to tell us what they’ve found in the crops today. Might give us some guidance on what areas the vermin are hitting worst.”

  Terrent grabbed his gut with an exaggerated groan.

  “You’re making it up,” Jac snapped. “It’s that girl delaying our meal. I’m starving.”

  “Yous?” Terrent lifted his shirt to bare a bellybutton hugging his backbone.

  The boy was lean, but Daeryn knew he was sucking it in to make himself look thinner. Teasing Jac wasn’t the best idea before she’d eaten. Her tone made it clear, to Daeryn at least, that she’d woken up on the tetchy side of her queenly bed this afternoon.

  Sure enough, one side of Jac’s mouth bunched into a near snarl. Her wolf scent rose, a sure sign of agitation. Zar shook his head behind her, but Terrent didn’t see. Or didn’t care. The mountain boy’s feisty attitude matched his flame-red hair. Jac took a step forward.

  Terrent opened his big mouth. “Look what’s left of me after yous ran—oof!”

  Daeryn’s backhand to his gut was lighter than the punch Jac would have landed. “We’re all hungry. Don’t make out like you just woke outta hibernation.” He swatted playfully at Terrent again, and thankfully, he was distracted.

  “I did sleep like a hibernating bear. Never deeper. Never hungrier,” he added, throwing a wrinkle-nosed glance to Jac.

  “Great Creator, you just don’t get it, do you?” Daeryn said in exasperation. “Go offer to help those kitchen girls carry in the dishes so they’ll take pity on you.”

  “Because we aren’t,” Jac spat out.

  At that, the light dawned in Terrent’s eyes and he all but scampered out of the loft and down the stairs, Zar in his wake.

  Jac stepped between Daeryn and the stairs. From her advantage of several inches, she stared down at him. “Clever.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked innocently, but her attitude set his nerves on edge. Terrent was just Terrent. Skilled in defense, but still slightly immature. They knew that after a summer with him on the team.

  She continued to stare. One brow rose slowly, a look he knew, though such a challenge had never been directed at him. Before. The urge to pounce Jac overtook him.

  His hands fisted, but he stayed rigid. If he jumped her now, it wouldn’t be a surprise like last night. Nor, her strong wolf musk told him, would the fight stay human. It’d take no time for either of them to shift in the empty loft. Then it’d be a wrestling feat to keep his polecat form on her brawny wolf shoulder long enough to mark her—

  An image of what that would be like—what it almost had been last night—shot to his head. But just as quickly, it interchanged with the last time he’d completely marked a ’cambire into pack. Sylvan. It’d been Sylvan, and he’d been so much in love with his polecat mate. Daeryn’s heart raced as he thought of her, and what had… He shoved the memory off. It did no good to think of Sylvan and why he no longer had a pack, despite how hard Rivley wanted to make him remember. And fix it. But not this way. He owed Rivley not to mark Jac. If he could manage it.

  Under their matched stares, Jac hadn’t moved. Great Creator, she was baiting him, taunting him to slip. Now he had more at risk: The leader took the fall for the group. He’d learned that lesson. Unfortunately, he hadn’t learned the new lessons the Elders had determined he’d needed when they’d bound him in the gildan with Rivley. Three lessons bespelled into the three piercings, still unresolved. So what to do… Fight her with words, Rivley had said.

  Jac couldn’t challenge him for the lead. Her current alpha status in her pack and his lapsed one didn’t matter. Not to Miz Gere. Not for leading the nocturnal team. Daeryn released his hands, stretched his fingers. “This isn’t
a lead position won through fighting like a pack alpha spot. Last night I made a mistake. I let my ’cambire instinct loose when I shouldn’t have. Right now we can’t be in a row.”

  “Oh?” She said only the one word, but her stance shifted back.

  Just slightly, but Daeryn took the opening. He swiped back his hair while she studied him, disdain evident in her curled lip. A faint scent tickled at his memory. The city girl. What had possessed him, following her to the kitchen like that? He had a new duty. The vermin, foremost, and running the team. Why would he work himself up over a female?

  Finally, Jac huffed out a breath. “I suppose the pest problem is your excuse?”

  This time Daeryn held his tongue, and after a few moments, Jac’s scent dissipated. He swept a half bow toward the stairs. “After you.”

  She swung around and took her time descending to join Maraquin waiting at the base. They sauntered off, their heads tilted together, thick hair melding and shaking with laughter.

  Damn wolf, baiting him like that. But he hadn’t fallen for her tricks. In fact, they only cemented his determination. He might not like that he got the lead position, but now he had it, and he was going live up to it.

  Chapter TEN

  “What did Mother tell me about her life in Blighted Basin?” Annmar bit the inside of her lip while Mistress Gere waited. Annmar thought her mother’s birthplace was Gapton, but had Mother ever said that? The stories about her childhood in the country could have happened anywhere. Mother had been frank about what she did tell: She’d gotten pregnant and realized she didn’t want to live with the father. She’d left so she wasn’t forced to.