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

by Wanrow, Laurel

  There hadn’t been another attack.

  Good. She didn’t want to see anyone else hurt. However, if someone was, and last night’s experimental drawing proved she’d actually healed Daeryn, she’d disclose her additional Knack to Mistress Gere and offer her services.

  But so far, Annmar was free to learn more in secret. She pinned her hair at the mirror and pinched her cheeks to bring them color. Belly aflutter at the thought of seeing Daeryn, she collected her sketchbook and pencils in her work apron, trotted lightly down the winding staircase and walked as quickly as her heels allowed across the now-empty yard. She looked neither left nor right, for if anyone was coming or going, she didn’t want to notice or be noticed. Her turmoil today was nothing like that from recent weeks, when her mornings started wondering if Mr. Shearing would call on the shop, or request a dreaded factory visit.

  Blighted Basin might be strange, but this morning a more pressing question had a hold of her: Would Daeryn be as pleased to see her as she was to see him? She opened the back door and entered the hall, a broad smile gracing her face now that no one could see.

  Clinking of dishware echoed down the hall, but otherwise the house was silent. She eyed the sickroom door. Daeryn might still be sleeping, but if she didn’t see him while alone, they couldn’t talk. She knocked.

  “Come in,” Daeryn called, his voice groggy.

  Annmar turned the knob. “Good morning. I came by to see…to see—” Her stomach dropped.

  He wasn’t alone.

  A wolf sprawled across the foot of the bed snored lightly, rows of sharp, white teeth showing in an open mouth.

  “Annmar, you’ve come around early.” Daeryn scrubbed a fist across his face. “You did the, er, it? I haven’t been up yet to test it.” Smiling, he rose on an elbow and started to throw off the covers. His mouth fell open. “Great Creator. Maraquin!” He shoved the…

  Did he say Maraquin?

  Annmar’s grip on the doorknob fell away. She whirled and nearly ran into the back door swinging open.

  Jac stepped in. “What’s wrong with you?” Her tone was soft, her tired face creased with concern. Yet Jac was the last person to whom Annmar could admit she’d made an error of this sort.

  “Wait,” Daeryn called. “I can—”

  His words were lost under the back door creaking open yet again and a thunk of paws hitting the floor in the sickroom. A moment later the wolf ran into the hall, the long muzzle of teeth rising as high as Annmar’s waist and coming at her. She toppled back, heart pounding. She had to get away—

  Rivley caught her from behind and pulled her against his chest. The giant animal shoved past and ran out the open door.

  “Mar!” Jac jumped to the doorway, her face contorting, pointed teeth extending over curled lips. “What the hell is going on, Dae? I thought your rolls with her had stopped.”

  Annmar gulped air. Jac’s angry demand confirmed her guess. Just then, the fuming girl swung around, and their gazes met. Annmar’s cheeks heated.

  Jac’s eyes narrowed, darting between Annmar and the sickroom. “Them being together embarrasses you? I was wrong. You won’t make it through Market Day.” She stomped into the sickroom and slammed the door.

  Annmar stared after her. Jac’s barb stung as much as what she’d stumbled upon. These Basin dwellers didn’t follow common etiquette, but this…this…it was like she’d been punched in the belly.

  “Annmar?” Rivley asked.

  Mercy, she’d forgotten he was there. “Sorry.” She stepped from where he’d pulled her to safety, or rather, where she’d pinned him to the wall. Her knees wobbled. She grasped the door for support. Ohh, she needed to leave. Facing Daeryn’s best friend was worse than seeing him with—

  “Don’t apologize,” Rivley said. “Daeryn’s the one who should be doing that. Or me. Sorry I was too late to intercept you.” He squeezed her elbow, his touch as gentle as the rhythmic inflection of his quiet words.

  She stared up, transfixed by his amber eyes, and tried her hardest to keep her composure. Under Rivley’s concerned scrutiny, a flush of heat rose, bringing a stinging to her eyes.

  “Let’s get you away from here.” He pivoted her by the shoulder and guided her outside.

  * * *

  Daeryn steeled his gut when Jac blew like a storm into the sickroom, her eyes flashing, chest growling, lips pulled back to emit a roll of thunder.

  He flipped up a hand. “Before you say a word, use your packsense. Or even your senses.”

  “So I can…can…” She exhaled and stepped forward, inhaling again. Her fisted hands clenched and unclenched before sliding into crossed arms over her bib-and-brace. “Then what were you doing together?”

  Still fully clothed from the evening before, Daeryn swung his feet from under his blankets, careful the bandaged one didn’t touch the floor. In front of Jac, there would be no testing his foot. “Mar was worried about you. We talked. Decided we each need to get serious about our jobs…and someone else.”

  “About time.” Jac dropped her arms. “Look, I’m here to meet with Miz Gere. You seen her?”

  He shook his head. “Just woke up, as you probably guessed. Can you hand me the crutches?” He itched to put his foot down and test that the stiffness was just from non-use, but didn’t dare.

  By the time he stood, a knock came at the door. One thing he knew for certain: This time it wasn’t Annmar.

  * * *

  Unshed tears blurring her vision, Annmar sat on a bench against an outbuilding, unable to tell if this spot was as private as Rivley said, and half-wishing he’d just leave her instead of hovering.

  He removed his leather apron and dropped beside her, leaning close to whisper, “The beast has no concept of modesty. Very typical of most animacambires. I don’t mean that as an excuse, but as an explanation.”

  A proper girl would sit up straight, staunch her tears and rearrange her face into polite disapproval…

  Oh, bother.

  The morning was fresh with the smell of windblown leaves and the earth, and the nice warmth of Rivley’s body made her want to fall into him and forget everything. He displayed the polite consideration she thought she’d get from Daeryn, the proper rat.

  “Some of us aren’t housebroken, so to speak,” Rivley said. “Being raised Outside, you probably never walked in on ’cambires denning. The mammals are very physical. What you saw is”—he heaved a breath—“common.”

  It took a second to comprehend, but denning was different wording for the animals sleeping together. Maybe just sleeping? She had to reserve judgment on how her co-workers acted, as she’d promised Mistress Gere. Jumping to conclusions never got anyone anywhere.

  And yet something else bothered Annmar far more: A man was explaining this to her. He was practically a stranger, and initiating the conversation.

  This was all just too much. The rural isolation of the Basin. Magic in her drawings. Wild animals. People who—Annmar sucked a breath. They were strange…and exciting. These feelings inside her were…absurd, foreign and possibly wild. Avoiding the improper conclusion was impossible. Daeryn had been in bed with a wolf. Maraquin.

  Her usual stoic front crumbled. She raised a shaky hand and wiped her eyes.

  Rivley pressed a soft cloth into her hands. “It’s all I have to offer, but it’s clean.”

  She dabbed at her eyes, and then suddenly dabbing wasn’t enough. She pulled the cloth to cover her face, but it wouldn’t come loose.

  “Give me a second, and you can have the whole shirt.”

  What? His shirt? Lord forbid. “Forgive me,” she managed through quivering lips. “No.”

  “It’s the least I can do when my best friend has returned your effort to heal him with no thought to your sensibilities.” He pushed it into her hands and swept his arm around her as if it were the most natural thing to place his body and its welcome warmth against her.

  Oh…well. She turned into the planes of Rivley’s bare chest and buried her tears in the
shirt’s softness between them. Hopefully the red of the shirt would offset her face’s color, because Annmar couldn’t stop the tears. Not when all the things she knew to be right, and normal, and proper, were unraveling.

  * * *

  Joining the morning communication planted the idea he was healing, but Daeryn had to give in to Miz Gere’s insistence he sit on the bench. Jac, by way of apologizing, was overly helpful, bringing a crate for him to prop his foot on. His decision with Maraquin had been the right one, and though they had both overslept, it looked like the beta wouldn’t receive much putting down.

  Famil arrived, and Jac announced, “We finally killed some of the vermin.”

  She had no idea how many, or even how many remained, because the animals were so elusive. However, the lines in Miz Gere’s face cleared just knowing they’d caught some.

  “With the first kill just after midnight,” Jac said, “the ropens settled into my request to stay in the fields along the northern border. Not that I knew what I was doing or anything.” She rolled her eyes, then gave Daeryn a side-glance. “To spread us out, we made a change on the paw.”

  He nodded his approval, since it looked like she was asking.

  “Because Zar has seen few pests in his southern section, I had him take over some of my middle fields so I could focus on the northern ones.” She looked around to Famil. “I think we stopped the vermin from advancing, but can you confirm that by carcass locations, and with what the growers say?”

  Famil agreed, and talk turned to salvaging those crops early in the day before the plants withered and Miz Gere’s plans to inspect Wellspring’s fields and boundaries.

  Daeryn’s attention wandered and his nose tilted to sample the breeze. The day inside had been one day too many. The scents around the farm had changed. Not just with autumn coming on…the worry of the growers setting out, and the tinge of the new hires mingled with another variety of apple ripening…and the scent of spring grass and freshly dug soil wafting across the farmyard. His breathing quickened at the wonderful sensation, but he cringed. That scent was Annmar’s.

  A hand landed on his shoulder. “Perhaps this is enough for you today?” Miz Gere asked kindly.

  Daeryn jerked his gaze from the orchard. “I’m not tired. Just thinking how wonderful it is to be outside again.”

  Jac snorted, and Famil laughed. “It’s clouding over already,” said the diurnal team lead. “Supposed to rain.”

  Daeryn shrugged. “It’s a good thing I got out now.”

  “Glad you could join us,” Jac said, and it sounded like she meant it. “I asked the others before coming in, and they think this north-middle-south division is a good system, at least while we’re still shorthanded.”

  Her tone had lilted into a half question, so he nodded. “Good plan. It’s keeping the vermin in check. You have every right to change up the coverage as the situation changes.”

  “I agree,” Mistress Gere said. “Communication over?”

  Damn. He’d rather it go on if there was a chance he’d spot Annmar, but Daeryn took the crutches they handed him without comment and made his way inside, keeping his bandaged foot well above the ground. Oh, well. A conversation with her might go better after he checked if the healing worked, and they’d have something else to discuss.

  * * *

  The rhythm of Rivley’s patting soothed Annmar’s nerves, along with a lulling tsk. Some minutes passed before she realized the clicking hummed from within his throat.

  He was an animal, too.

  However, animal or not, Annmar hadn’t received such nice attention since her mother died. A fresh wave of tears threatened to break loose at that thought. She immediately squelched the memory. Rivley’s good humor shouldn’t be pushed. She was grown. She could handle her emotions properly. Drawing a breath that shuddered only a bit, Annmar lowered the shirt, wiping her face for what she hoped would be the last time. She straightened, trying not to stare at his freckled chest.

  Rivley gave her a crooked smile and dropped his arm. He took the offered shirt and pulled it over his head, though it was rumpled and damp.

  Annmar composed herself, watching his quick movements tucking the shirt into striped trousers and sliding up the leather braces. By the time he replaced his work apron, the wind had cooled her face. “I don’t think Daeryn expected me to drop in this morning. After this I shall make an appointment.”

  “An appointment.” Rivley rolled his amber eyes. “Girl, that is flat-out too sophisticated a concept for us Basin folk. You did nothing wrong. You knocked. He bid you enter. The beast was at fault for not thinking through who was at the door.”

  “True. It could have been someone younger. Mary Clare.”

  At that, Rivley’s face contorted. He bit his lip and shook his head. Then he abruptly offered her a hand to rise. “Mary Clare wouldn’t have cared. And there’s an idea. Have this conversation with her. This is female talk.” He gestured her toward the farmhouse.

  Perhaps he did mind having her cry on his shoulder, though he’d seemed quite the old hand at comforting. She cast down her gaze, taking advantage of the rough ground and the need to make careful steps in her short heels. “I’m not usually such a geyser. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. The Basin takes some adjusting to. I’m sure Mrs. Betsy will know just the tea to brew to fix you up. In the meantime, I’ll have a little talk with the beast.”

  “Oh, don’t. That’s—” Too embarrassing.

  Rivley waved her off. “Nothing else to do. He’ll never get the point on his own.” He unlatched the door of the screened vestibule outside the kitchen door.

  He’d do it regardless of what she said. These boys didn’t keep secrets from each other. She didn’t know what was worse, that they thought her a complete innocent, or a prude. She cleared her throat. “So, thank you for…uh”—she gestured the direction they had come—“rescuing me. I appreciate it.”

  “You are very welcome. You don’t want me to talk to Dae, but it’s for the best. It’ll make sure he gives you a mite more space, girl.”

  He turned to go, but she laid a hand on his forearm. “Rivley, my name is Annmar. You must know that. Why do you keep calling me girl?”

  He looked surprised. “Because you are.”

  “But so are…” Oh. The other girls here on the farm might not be girls. “So, a girl to you, is a, uh…” He looked as confused as she felt. “Jac and Maraquin. They aren’t girls?”

  He shook his head. “Female wolves are bitches.”

  Oh…my. She’d never even thought that term, yet alone used it. Nor had Mother. Proper ladies would never…but she had gotten her answer. “The males are dogs, I suppose. Daeryn—”

  “Is a buck. Polecats are members of the weasel family.” Rivley grinned. “Though I like to tease the beast with any number of names, so pay no attention to me. Go talk to Mary Clare.” He ushered her up a step into the screened storage area and left.

  Polecat? She’d never heard of a polecat. But obviously they had a lifestyle completely different than hers. One she’d never know. Absolutely not.

  Chapter twenty-two

  In the kitchen, Annmar paused, unsure what to do. Mrs. Betsy was occupied, cracking eggs two at a time into a sizzling frypan, and Mary Clare wasn’t—

  “Good morning,” the redhead called from the dining room door. “You’re up in good time today.” She plopped a tray of dirty dishes on the counter and reached out in welcome. However, instead of a hug, she held Annmar at arm’s length, a concerned look creasing her brow.

  Now Annmar knew she was right. This girl was reading her feelings. “I’ll be fine.” She attempted a smile and got half of it.

  Mary Clare pulled her into a hug. “Yes, you will. Mrs. Betsy, Annmar needs to take her breakfast with us again in the kitchen.”

  The older woman glanced over from stirring the eggs. “Whatever you think best, duck. Collect a plate for her when you take these out.” She handed Mary Clare a platter of
bread.

  Mary Clare pointed to the familiar rocker beside the woodstove. “Sit. I’ll be back in a minute.” And she was, bearing a plate piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, applesauce and bread and butter—a meal the size of which Annmar would never eat, even for dinner. Mary Clare cheerily offered to bring her seconds.

  Annmar ate every last delicious crumb. None of it gave her visions, but afterward the day looked more promising. She wanted a second cup of tea, so she rose and slipped into the quiet dining room while Mary Clare was busy with the dishes.

  A single worker remained at the table. Wild reddish-brown hair blended with a beard mopping the collar of the black duster he’d kept on at the table. The young man tilted his brown face her direction, revealing mismatched eyes. A lively look came over his rough features. He scanned her figure, lingering on her bosom, then waist, then bosom again, until finally he met her gaze with pursed lips and a cocked brow.

  The friendly smile she’d been about to bestow on the fellow worker froze, and her gut twisted uncomfortably. She pivoted to the sideboard and lifted the teapot. Just like in Derby, she’d ignore his leer and move along.

  A chair scraped behind her.

  She wouldn’t look. She could handle this. Fill her cup and leave.

  “Care to have a seat and keep me company?” rasped the young man from close behind.

  “No, thank you.” All she had to do was cover the teapot again. But someone else’s hand snatched up the cozy.

  Mary Clare plopped the knit cover over the pot and grabbed her teacup. “Come on. You’ve got work to do,” she said, and the smaller girl walked her firmly by the elbow into the kitchen and closed the door.

  Dishes clinked around them, but Mary Clare held her attention with a look. “Didn’t I say let me know if you wanted seconds?”

  Annmar tried to shake the ill feeling, glad for Mary Clare’s hand keeping her steady. Everything was going wrong this morning. But at least Mary Clare had gotten her away from that man. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dawdle and be late for work.”