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

by Wanrow, Laurel

  Her sympathetic gaze darted to Daeryn. The Great Creator still made girls this sweet?

  She nodded. “I can do that. I didn’t realize he’d injured his foot as well.”

  “One pest bit into a tendon,” Daeryn offered.

  “Oh, dear. Is it bad?” This time she looked at him longer, but her cheeks colored red all over again.

  Why…oh, damn. No clothes. Daeryn plucked at the sheet, but pulling it any higher meant getting up, and now he couldn’t…

  “Bad enough for a few days off it, if some of us would listen to Mr. White,” Rivley said. “Thanks for staying.”

  Annmar finally crossed the room and set her tray on the table, and this time Daeryn’s gaze skittered off first. Rivley was not leaving him nearly naked with this proper girl.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He tossed a smile in Daeryn’s direction.

  He was. Daeryn frowned and darted his gaze to the bed. “Kind of cold in here. Would you pass me a blanket?”

  Rivley grabbed the blanket and threw it to him. “Yessiree. Real chilly for someone who won’t stay in his sickbed.”

  Now he decided to open his beak. Daeryn snorted in response, but didn’t meet his gaze as he wrapped up in the blanket. He’d kick Riv’s sarcastic ass later. Better to focus on Annmar. The slender girl handed him a plate, her curls swinging as she bent. He tipped his nose to her and, as her lovely scent filled his nostrils, smiled.

  “Is this cake one of your favorites?” she asked.

  He startled. The cake?

  * * *

  Annmar couldn’t help relaxing as she talked to Daeryn. He was lively, funny and a great listener. He seemed oblivious to his state of undress, asking about her work, but readily switched to talking about Wellspring when she changed the topic to veer from her town life. She edged in a question about his duties on the farm. While he answered, she was finally able to take a bite of the cake.

  This was an actual conversation rather than one of her stilted discourses with Mr. Shearing. After she knew what he’d really wanted, their conversations had been more like fencing duels, with her guard constantly up, her feelings kept as hidden as the scar upon his hand.

  Annmar shook the trying memory from her head. No thoughts of Mr. Shearing need interrupt her time here.

  “So you don’t like carrots?” Daeryn asked. “Too bad, because Mrs. Betsy makes this carrot cake that’s to die for.”

  He looked so concerned she had to laugh. “I’m sorry, I have to admit I lost the train of the conversation for a moment. I’m a little nervous, you see.”

  “No, really?” he said, but he didn’t look too surprised. “Whatever for?”

  “Mistress Gere is taking a look at my first label drawing after dinner. I’m here on a trial until she determines if my work suits her.”

  He frowned. “Well, I shouldn’t be keeping you then.”

  “You’re not. Mary Clare said she’ll fetch me when the mistress is ready.”

  “Can I have a look at this picture that will determine your future?” He smiled.

  She smiled back. “I’d love to show you.” She set aside her plate and, after carefully wiping her fingers, stood and pulled the sketchbook from her work apron pocket. “Your hands are clean?”

  He wiped them down the blanket and held them out. “Yes’m.”

  “Oh, bother.” A giggle broke from her. “Sorry. I only have the one image. I didn’t take time to work up any of the other preserves until she approves the layout.” Parting the cover to the page with her pencil, Annmar discovered she was holding her breath. Silly, really, since Daeryn’s opinion wouldn’t reach Mistress Gere, but she wanted him to like it. She handed him the book.

  He broke into a grin. “Hey, this is good. Quite life-like, if I do say so myself.” He glanced up at her. “I may not have seen much art, but I’ve seen plenty of trees, peaches and girls. I can imagine the sweet fuzz smell on the breeze. This is a tree from outside the kitchen, right?”

  How could he know? Did he see the tree nymph, too, since he changed to an animal? “I-it is.”

  “Thought so. Had that feel to it.” He flipped the page. “Say, hold on a sec. I really look like this sleeping?”

  Oh, Lord, no. She reached for the book, but he pulled it in close.

  Heat flooded over her. What could she do? Tussle with a boy? Or rather, a young man, and one who was hurt and wore only a sheet and blanket?

  His quick fingers slid under the page and turned to the next. “Wow, a close-up. This is great, because I’ve never seen myself with my eyes closed.”

  Another page and he would see her rampant imagination at work, depicting that animal, er, him. And more of him. “Daeryn?” she squeaked.

  He looked up. “Huh?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t look at more of my drawings. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about?” His gaze dropped to the page again. “You got stuck babysitting me this afternoon. Although, from the looks of it, you kept busy.”

  He edged up the next corner and then laid his hand flat on the page just as she put hers on the top. His head lifted, his chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and the closeness of him startled her. But she didn’t move back. She couldn’t, not without her sketchbook.

  Yet nervousness about what he might see wasn’t the only thing holding her in place. Long, dark lashes lined his large eyes, his golden skin stretched like a tea-washed canvas, and his lips…a shade of pink mixed with tan. They puckered and opened—

  “Four portraits of me. How long does it take you to do one? Or were you here for hours while I slept?”

  She blinked. He’d asked a normal question, unlike Mr. Shearing, who at this distance would have said something improper. Annmar forced her mind to answer like a normal girl would, one having a normal conversation. “No, I stayed an hour or so. They’re sketches, no more,” she whispered. “Five, ten minutes apiece. I didn’t mean to…to invade your privacy. I’m sorry.”

  He grinned and lifted his hand, just like he was going to pat hers. But then he drew it back and shook his head. “Heck, quit saying you’re sorry. I’m not. It’s flattering you think me interesting enough to draw.”

  “It’s—” She stopped to breathe. This was awful. He was one page from seeing she was the one who was improper, drawing everything she’d seen of him last night. What could she—ah, don’t make so much of it, Annmar. She took another breath. “It’s embarrassing to be caught at it.”

  “So embarrassing I shouldn’t turn this page? Suppose not, you’re biting your lip and… Here.” He pushed the book to her.

  Thank God in the heavens above.

  She clenched the sketchbook closer than she should let him see, watching him watch her. He had stopped. He hadn’t seen. Knowing he was an animal was a conversation she could have, sometime, but the last drawing…no. Not now, not ever. “Thank you for not being angry. About me drawing you, I mean.”

  “I don’t mind, really. If sometime you’d be willing to share your other sketches, let me know.”

  She nodded. Mercy, she was hot. She had to get away from him. Where was Rivley? And why did a grown man need her to sit with him anyway? He wasn’t sick anymore. “I hope your foot recovers soon.”

  “So do I. Don’t understand it since the rest of me… Say, I’ll share some news, since I discovered your drawings.” He slid the blanket off his shoulder and held out his arm.

  She froze. Swells of muscles flowed under his ever-so-smooth skin. How could she capture this beautiful rich brown… Wait. What did he want her to look at? Lord, he was distracting. “Um, you must be strong.”

  Daeryn laughed. “You drew me earlier, right?” He pulled his other arm out from under the blanket, an arm every bit as beautiful as the first. “Notice anything different?” He extended his arms, side by side.

  Suddenly it hit. “I must look like an idiot. Your arm’s healed. The shoulder, too? But the other cuts? Not that I looked.” Oh, my, she was blushing all ov
er again.

  “Exactly, no bite marks. Just as smooth and healthy as you drew me—” His mouth gaped, then opened and closed several times.

  What was the matter with him? No, she hadn’t drawn the cuts because that would mar his beautiful body, but if he thought she was going to admit to how attractive she thought him—

  “Great Creator,” he whispered. “Annmar, did you heal me?

  chapter Eighteen

  Annmar stared at Daeryn’s arms, his shoulder, his chest. She couldn’t have healed him. But he looks just as I drew him, just as I imagined he’d look. The proof was hard to deny. Her fingers itched to stroke the miraculous skin, perfectly restored…because of her. The thought took her breath away. Yet…

  If healing were part of her family Knack, then Mother wouldn’t have died. She might have cured herself.

  Unless it wasn’t part of Mother’s Knack.

  But Annmar had never seen any inkling her drawings could… That old kitty belonging to the Gapton stationmaster. Soon after Annmar had handed Mr. O’s sketch to Mr. Yates, the orange cat had leaped from Mrs. Yates’ lap and lunged after a bird in the shrubs.

  Annmar squeezed her sketchbook to her chest, so hard her heart thudded against it. If she hadn’t inherited the Knack from Mother, then the talent must come from her father’s bloodlines, and—oh, Lord—if Annmar had only recognized it years ago, Mother needn’t have died. Her knees turned to jelly, and her ears roared with a thousand engines as heartache flooded her soul.

  Daeryn cocked his head. “I mean, I’m fine with you using your Knack on me,” he said. “I didn’t know, so I’m surprised is—say, are you all right?”

  She shook her head and backed to the door. Somehow she wrenched it open, darted through and smacked right into someone. Hands grabbed her forearms and then wrapped her shoulders in a secure hold.

  “Annmar? What in the—” Mistress Gere reached out and snapped the sickroom door shut. “I’m going to skin that boy,” she muttered. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

  The lady steered Annmar through the back door. The cool night air swept over her hot skin and pricked up her hair across her scalp.

  Mistress Gere eased her onto a bench protected by the porch. “There. Take it easy. Breathe,” she directed, and accompanied the short commands with squeezes to Annmar’s elbow.

  Annmar couldn’t afford to sob for Mother now, not in front of her new employer. She sucked in breath after breath, quelling a misery worse than she’d come to terms with months ago. Sorrow clouded her head, but her lungs settled into their normal pattern, and she wiped unshed tears from eyes. She’d somewhat managed to salvage appearances.

  Mistress Gere patted her shoulder. “You’ve had a bit of a shock, I’d say.”

  Annmar nodded, but held her tongue. What could she say that didn’t sound like hysterics? She hadn’t drawn Daeryn’s injuries, and now those cuts didn’t exist? If she’d known about her Knack, she could have saved her mother? Likely she’d be told there was no crying over spilt milk. She was here to do a job, not be consoled. So she said nothing.

  Mistress Gere stared into the moonlit farmyard. “I thought my one caution would be enough. The boy has respected my advice before, so I had no reason to doubt he would this time. But I’ll take care of him. You have my word nothing more will happen.”

  With Annmar’s thoughts circling back to Mother, moments passed before she realized Mistress Gere blamed Daeryn. Why, when this seemed to be Annmar’s doing? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  Mistress Gere patted her hand. “If I may ask, are you, er, hurt? Would you like to talk to our healer, Miriam? Or there’s a newly trained lady surgeon in town. Many women prefer her to Mr. White, to discuss feminine issues. I could send for her to attend to you.”

  A surgeon? Why would she need a…oh, my, Mistress Gere thought Daeryn—“No!”

  “She’s very nice, Annmar. Gentle—”

  “No, there’s a misunderstanding.” One on her part also. Did anyone else know about Daeryn’s healing? Should they? “Daeryn didn’t…nothing happened.” Heat rose again over her body, but she couldn’t let Mistress Gere think what she was most definitely thinking. “He can’t even walk. He never touched me. Nothing. Polite. Totally proper.”

  Mistress Gere raised a brow. “Then may I ask, what did happen?”

  And there it was. Annmar wasn’t sure herself what had happened. How could she tell Mistress Gere? This woman wasn’t one to suffer fools gladly, and how could Annmar look other than foolish with this story? She bit the inside of her lip to keep her face blank, but the lady stared, definitely expecting an answer.

  One that was not a lie. Any slight to Mistress Gere, and Annmar might not pass the trial. Also, if any blame fell to Daeryn, he’d likely be angry. She needed his help figuring out what had happened.

  Annmar averted her gaze. It fell on her sketchbook. Yes, that was a lesser thing to reveal. Far safer. And only a bit of a variance from the events that had happened.

  She cleared her throat. “I was showing Daeryn my drawings and he, uh…” Oh, Lord. Annmar drew a deep breath and opened her sketchbook. She paged to the last drawings of Daeryn, to a page he hadn’t seen, and held out the book.

  Mistress Gere peered down, then carried the book closer to the gaslight. She studied the page, a portrait of Daeryn and beside it the animal drawing Annmar had so carefully crafted from her one brief view of his change.

  It showed a pointed, furry face with circular, wide-set eyes and cute, rounded ears edging the crown of bristle. The snout and nose had been the hardest to render, because the animal, er, Daeryn, had his lips peeled back in pain, and she hadn’t wanted that image on paper.

  Mistress Gere turned, her concern showing clearly in the light. “It’s an excellent likeness. I think I understand now. You’re learning all this too quickly. Has his animacambire heritage upset you?”

  Animacambire? That’s what one called these animal changers? She might have said yes yesterday, but now she knew them. They weren’t like real animals. She shook her head. “Not really. He’s nice enough. Everyone is.”

  Mistress Gere waved to the sickroom. “Are you sure there’s not more to this?”

  Drat, she’d answered too lightly. Mistress Gere glanced at the drawing again, but then returned her gaze to Annmar with raised brows. No, from a Basin resident’s casual view, this animal sketch was commonplace. What then? Her mind raced to—no! But it was the one thing scandalous enough to give reason to why she’d dash from a room in a state of nerves. Something Daeryn, who’d eaten cake while covered in only a blanket, probably wouldn’t mind.

  However, for her, telling it was another matter.

  Under Mistress Gere’s piercing stare, Annmar could think of nothing else, nothing that kept the attention—and blame—away from Daeryn. She wrapped her arms around her corseted middle. “I also saw him, uh, change back. Turn the page.”

  The lady did and angled the book up to the gaslight again. Her lips parted in a slight gasp. “Ohh.”

  Oh, indeed. Had she really just revealed this to her employer? Annmar dropped her head into her hands, but the sketch she’d made of Daeryn this afternoon floated across her vision. Alone in her room, in what had always been her private sketchbook, any risk of exposure never occurred to her. His form seemed burned on her retinas. His manly, naked form.

  “Ah, this is an excellent drawing as well, though I cannot say if it’s an excellent likeness.” Mistress Gere handed the closed sketchbook back to her. “And I’m happy I can say that. The animacambires have no self-consciousness among themselves, but around other species they do keep to human convention. Being injured was, of course, an exception. You said that’s when you witnessed his change?”

  “The first I’d seen.” Time to be blunt. She took a breath and rushed on. “A change or a male naked. I’ve never drawn this sort of thing before, but the whole incident was quite the, uh, revelation for me. I couldn’t stop the drawing from its creation, but th
en to have”—careful now—“it viewed is difficult. Personal.”

  Mistress Gere laughed.

  Laughed? Annmar stared at the woman.

  She covered her mouth, but still shook a little. “I’m sure it was quite personal for Daeryn as well, though the boy has no modesty. He was pleased at the attention?”

  “Er, yes.” Annmar released a breath. The lady’s reaction was odd, but she accepted Annmar’s explanation for her actions. “He told me not to be sorry I’d done them without his knowledge. But I find the whole situation embarrassing.” Now for the key to her—oh, my—deception. “You won’t say anything, will you?”

  Mistress Gere smiled. “I won’t do anything to lose my artist. Especially over something that could make you quite in demand around the Basin, should you choose to, shall we say, expose your skill.”

  Annmar heated at the very thought of rendering such drawings for strangers.

  Oh, Lord, what am I thinking? She didn’t want to render them for people she knew either.

  She needn’t think of that. She had the lady’s word, as well as her indication that she wanted Annmar to stay on. Time to confirm that last part. “Thank you. I do have other, more business-appropriate drawings to show to you.”

  “I should like to view them in my office, if you’re ready to go in?”

  Mistress Gere ushered her into the house, but paused at the door to the sickroom. “I feel I owe Daeryn an apology,” she murmured.

  “No,” Annmar blurted. She had to urge Mistress Gere down the hall, away from this room and its occupant who might spoil everything. “Please,” she whispered. “He probably didn’t notice anything amiss. Much. I’d rather drop the whole incident.”

  “He couldn’t have missed your reaction, ” Mistress Gere whispered back. “The animacambire senses are heightened ones, and the boy’s interest in you was obvious from the moment he laid eyes on you. Your drawing relays you share that interest.”