resumed his study of the crumbling stones in the wall behind him.
“As boys we wanted for nothing,” Tristan explained. “We made our own adventures; we didn’t need to seek solace in the tales of others.”
“Oh, but reading and writing are so much more than that,” Friday said, in the same tone a woman might use to describe her lover. Tristan suddenly felt jealous; as one who gave and received love so easily, Friday certainly must have a legion of suitors. Where did his affections fall among the others? Did destiny and Wednesday’s binding magic work in his favor here, or against him?
He was getting ahead of himself. After so many long days and nights of waiting, everything was happening so fast. It hurt Tristan’s head to think about it. It did not, however, hurt Tristan’s head to think about Friday. “I would learn, if you would teach me.”
Did he really just say that? Did he really mean it?
“The reading or the weaving?” Friday asked in a mocking tone.
He could have made a joke in kind, but he didn’t. “Both,” he said. “I’m willing to learn.”
“Would you mind sewing? Or spinning?”
“I have nothing but time.” Tristan lost himself a little in that gaze full of silver linings, and Friday let him. It felt like there had been a much greater conversation than the few words they’d just uttered.
Sebastien interrupted the blissful reverie. “Interestingly enough, I find myself in the same boat.”
“Me too!” said Christian. “What a coincidence!”
“It’s a fairly large boat,” said Bernard.
“A
crowded
boat,” added Rene.
“Fools, all of you.” Philippe crossed his arms and leaned back against the ruined wall of the room. Spoilsport. Well, Tristan and the rest of his brothers would not shy from work, even if it was work meant for women.
Friday smiled, that dazzling smile, the one that looked as if she’d just been handed the world on a silver platter. “It’s a lovely offer. A
surprising
offer, I must say. But I only brought enough materials for three people to weave.”
Tristan moved to help her, striding over to the stack of picture frames. “One is for Elisa.” Elisa took the frame from him gratefully, upended the sack of yarn, and made a selection. “The rest of us will take turns with the others while you instruct. How does that sound?”
For a moment, the glow of Friday’s happiness wiped away the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes. Tristan wanted to bask in that glow, to pay tribute to it in gold coins and flowers, to sweep her up and carry her off to a castle full of laughter and adventures they made up all their own . . . but he did none of these things.
Not yet.
“It sounds like a dream come true,” said Friday.
“Excellent. You get us started, and we’ll let you get to dreaming.”
7
Blood and Fire
T HEY LET HER REST a while, as promised. The youngest brother fashioned her a pallet out of the empty sack, the extra yarn, and what blankets they had. Tristan planted himself at her side, as much between her and his other brothers as he was between her and the perilous drop to the ground far below. His presence was a comfort, and she let herself enjoy it. If one of the tenets of the Earth Goddess was to celebrate life, how could her acolytes eschew love?
Friday heard Sister Carol’s voice echo in her head. “Love is born of the earth, and so we return our love to Her. Loving other people is a distraction.”
If that were truly so, then Friday was doomed from the start. She almost wished she had it in herself to stop trying to please Sister Carol.
The rain had come in full force as Friday began her weaving lessons, but it had not impeded their process. Elisa’s protective bubble—furnished by her own natural magic and reinforced by that of the Four Winds, the patron gods of their family—became visible as the heavenly barrage hit silently and slid down the sides, as if the room they were in still had four full walls and a roof, all
“As boys we wanted for nothing,” Tristan explained. “We made our own adventures; we didn’t need to seek solace in the tales of others.”
“Oh, but reading and writing are so much more than that,” Friday said, in the same tone a woman might use to describe her lover. Tristan suddenly felt jealous; as one who gave and received love so easily, Friday certainly must have a legion of suitors. Where did his affections fall among the others? Did destiny and Wednesday’s binding magic work in his favor here, or against him?
He was getting ahead of himself. After so many long days and nights of waiting, everything was happening so fast. It hurt Tristan’s head to think about it. It did not, however, hurt Tristan’s head to think about Friday. “I would learn, if you would teach me.”
Did he really just say that? Did he really mean it?
“The reading or the weaving?” Friday asked in a mocking tone.
He could have made a joke in kind, but he didn’t. “Both,” he said. “I’m willing to learn.”
“Would you mind sewing? Or spinning?”
“I have nothing but time.” Tristan lost himself a little in that gaze full of silver linings, and Friday let him. It felt like there had been a much greater conversation than the few words they’d just uttered.
Sebastien interrupted the blissful reverie. “Interestingly enough, I find myself in the same boat.”
“Me too!” said Christian. “What a coincidence!”
“It’s a fairly large boat,” said Bernard.
“A
crowded
boat,” added Rene.
“Fools, all of you.” Philippe crossed his arms and leaned back against the ruined wall of the room. Spoilsport. Well, Tristan and the rest of his brothers would not shy from work, even if it was work meant for women.
Friday smiled, that dazzling smile, the one that looked as if she’d just been handed the world on a silver platter. “It’s a lovely offer. A
surprising
offer, I must say. But I only brought enough materials for three people to weave.”
Tristan moved to help her, striding over to the stack of picture frames. “One is for Elisa.” Elisa took the frame from him gratefully, upended the sack of yarn, and made a selection. “The rest of us will take turns with the others while you instruct. How does that sound?”
For a moment, the glow of Friday’s happiness wiped away the shadows of exhaustion around her eyes. Tristan wanted to bask in that glow, to pay tribute to it in gold coins and flowers, to sweep her up and carry her off to a castle full of laughter and adventures they made up all their own . . . but he did none of these things.
Not yet.
“It sounds like a dream come true,” said Friday.
“Excellent. You get us started, and we’ll let you get to dreaming.”
7
Blood and Fire
T HEY LET HER REST a while, as promised. The youngest brother fashioned her a pallet out of the empty sack, the extra yarn, and what blankets they had. Tristan planted himself at her side, as much between her and his other brothers as he was between her and the perilous drop to the ground far below. His presence was a comfort, and she let herself enjoy it. If one of the tenets of the Earth Goddess was to celebrate life, how could her acolytes eschew love?
Friday heard Sister Carol’s voice echo in her head. “Love is born of the earth, and so we return our love to Her. Loving other people is a distraction.”
If that were truly so, then Friday was doomed from the start. She almost wished she had it in herself to stop trying to please Sister Carol.
The rain had come in full force as Friday began her weaving lessons, but it had not impeded their process. Elisa’s protective bubble—furnished by her own natural magic and reinforced by that of the Four Winds, the patron gods of their family—became visible as the heavenly barrage hit silently and slid down the sides, as if the room they were in still had four full walls and a roof, all
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