Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) by Laura Anne Gilman Page B
Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
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to come. She couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t doubt. All pretense to civility and law went by the wayside the moment she chose her way, even if she didn’t know it yet.
I would be in your debt if you did this, the devil had said.
Debt was a two-edged blade. Gabriel wanted no debt-owed from the devil, only payment. And only if he succeeded. Only if he turned this girl-child into a rider. If he taught her to harden against the dustand sun, the bad food and hard beds, to be harder than the folk she’d find. If he showed her how to become whatever it was the devil intended her to be.
Gabriel’d seen potential in her, certain. Had seen the promise, the wildness of the Road, clear in her face. But this . . . This was too much to ask. This was far too much to demand of a child, even if Isobel thought it was what she wanted. But he’d agreed, had of free will taken what was offered, had been caught by the thing he’d determined not to ask for only to have it offered, for the cost of a thing he’d have done for free.
He should have known a devil’s Bargain would be a damned uncomfortable thing.
There were no windows where they’d slept, and Izzy opened her eyes to pitch dark, unable to remember at first where she was or how she’d ended there. Slowly, the dark was lightened by the soft glow of lamps set in niches along the walls, mimicking the rising of the sun, and she remembered it all: making her Bargain, leaving Flood, coming to Junction with Gabriel. . . .
She lay in her narrow, unfamiliar bed, listening to the sounds of the others getting up and moving around, so different from the morning sounds she was accustomed to, the cluck of chickens and the subtle sounds of bodies moving belowstairs. These voices were deeper, masculine, boots hard on the floor next to her, laughter boisterous, not hushed. The air brought not the tang of hot metal and baking bread but gingery hair tonics and Castile soap.
She knew that she should get up as well, wash her face and brush her hair, dress for the day. Her body had other ideas.
“Isobel?” Gabriel’s voice, just beyond the screen.
“I’m awake.” She tried to shift her body again and couldn’t hold back a groan this time. Even her skin hurt, all the way down to the bone.
“I’ve brought some willow bark tea. It’ll help with the aches.” There was a pause. “Isobel?”
“Please,” she said, and he came around the screen even as she was sitting upright, pulling at the collar of her night rail where it had shifted while she slept. He averted his eyes, trying not to look at her, and she laughed. “I hadn’t thought you for the delicate type.”
It seemed as though her laughter reassured him, his shoulders relaxing even as he handed her the cup. The heavy stoneware was warm, and she cupped both hands around it for a moment, as though the hot water alone was enough to ease her body.
“I suppose I revert back to my upbringing when in civilized surroundings,” he said, and this time he met her gaze briefly, the edges of his eyes pulled into his smile.
The deep red tea was bitter, but the warmth felt even better in her throat than it had in her hands, and if she was drinking, she didn’t have to think about how uncivilized she must seem. She’d been raised in a saloon; she’d seen drunk, half-naked men reeling through the halls before one of the girls could corral them or Iktan toss them out on their ear; she’d been raised among women who were as comfortable in their skins as a bird was in its feathers. If he thought she needed to be treated like a delicate town flower . . .
She scowled down into the tea. If he thought that was what she was, he was gravely mistaken.
“That should help,” Gabriel said, and she startled, then realized he was talking about the tea. She’d finished it, even the bitter dregs, without noticing. He took the mug from her, stepping back a bit. But was looking directly at her now, which was a relief. “Wash up and get
I would be in your debt if you did this, the devil had said.
Debt was a two-edged blade. Gabriel wanted no debt-owed from the devil, only payment. And only if he succeeded. Only if he turned this girl-child into a rider. If he taught her to harden against the dustand sun, the bad food and hard beds, to be harder than the folk she’d find. If he showed her how to become whatever it was the devil intended her to be.
Gabriel’d seen potential in her, certain. Had seen the promise, the wildness of the Road, clear in her face. But this . . . This was too much to ask. This was far too much to demand of a child, even if Isobel thought it was what she wanted. But he’d agreed, had of free will taken what was offered, had been caught by the thing he’d determined not to ask for only to have it offered, for the cost of a thing he’d have done for free.
He should have known a devil’s Bargain would be a damned uncomfortable thing.
There were no windows where they’d slept, and Izzy opened her eyes to pitch dark, unable to remember at first where she was or how she’d ended there. Slowly, the dark was lightened by the soft glow of lamps set in niches along the walls, mimicking the rising of the sun, and she remembered it all: making her Bargain, leaving Flood, coming to Junction with Gabriel. . . .
She lay in her narrow, unfamiliar bed, listening to the sounds of the others getting up and moving around, so different from the morning sounds she was accustomed to, the cluck of chickens and the subtle sounds of bodies moving belowstairs. These voices were deeper, masculine, boots hard on the floor next to her, laughter boisterous, not hushed. The air brought not the tang of hot metal and baking bread but gingery hair tonics and Castile soap.
She knew that she should get up as well, wash her face and brush her hair, dress for the day. Her body had other ideas.
“Isobel?” Gabriel’s voice, just beyond the screen.
“I’m awake.” She tried to shift her body again and couldn’t hold back a groan this time. Even her skin hurt, all the way down to the bone.
“I’ve brought some willow bark tea. It’ll help with the aches.” There was a pause. “Isobel?”
“Please,” she said, and he came around the screen even as she was sitting upright, pulling at the collar of her night rail where it had shifted while she slept. He averted his eyes, trying not to look at her, and she laughed. “I hadn’t thought you for the delicate type.”
It seemed as though her laughter reassured him, his shoulders relaxing even as he handed her the cup. The heavy stoneware was warm, and she cupped both hands around it for a moment, as though the hot water alone was enough to ease her body.
“I suppose I revert back to my upbringing when in civilized surroundings,” he said, and this time he met her gaze briefly, the edges of his eyes pulled into his smile.
The deep red tea was bitter, but the warmth felt even better in her throat than it had in her hands, and if she was drinking, she didn’t have to think about how uncivilized she must seem. She’d been raised in a saloon; she’d seen drunk, half-naked men reeling through the halls before one of the girls could corral them or Iktan toss them out on their ear; she’d been raised among women who were as comfortable in their skins as a bird was in its feathers. If he thought she needed to be treated like a delicate town flower . . .
She scowled down into the tea. If he thought that was what she was, he was gravely mistaken.
“That should help,” Gabriel said, and she startled, then realized he was talking about the tea. She’d finished it, even the bitter dregs, without noticing. He took the mug from her, stepping back a bit. But was looking directly at her now, which was a relief. “Wash up and get
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