“You mentioned hobbies?”
“Yes, I’ve taken on many throughout the years. Painting, woodworking, writing. They all offer their own escape.”
“Do you have a favorite?” The spark in her eyes told me her interest was genuine.
“I’m not sure I could choose only one. Though perhaps it’s just that whatever I chose, my answer might change if you ask again another day.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a smile.
“Father Morton said you scribed for him?”
Her head snapped up. “Yes. I always enjoyed my time in the library.”
“Your room was right next to it. Did you not get to visit whenever you liked?” She shook her head, gaze back in her soup. I was left confused by the sudden shift in her mood.
“Most of the texts and practicing writing were off-limits unless Father could be there with me.”
I balked, heat filling my veins. “Why? Surely you sitting there reading did no harm. I saw the chairs, the lamps. Were you expected to just ignore the whole room as you passed through it? To sit in your little bed closet instead of using the larger space?”
Phin set her spoon down and blotted her mouth on a napkin. I suddenly wished I’d waited until she was finished eating to inquire further. “Not entirely, but in some ways, yes.” Anger, hot and vicious began to swirl in my chest. “He wasn’t cruel about it, but he knew that spending time in that room, reading, scribing, was my favorite reward.”
“Reward.” I bit the word off, feeling all the time less and less charitable toward Father Morton.
“Yes. I sometimes needed the prospect of something pleasant to motivate me to complete my tasks.”
I breathed slowly in through my nose, desperate to settle the storm of fiery discomfort that had kicked up behind my ribs. She’d already seen my temper, but I didn’t want her to fear me or worry I’d have an outburst every time she was honest about something. However, the bond certainly seemed to think she’d been mistreated during her time at the church, and I was inclined to agree the more I learned.
“How… how many workshops are there?” she asked, redirecting the uncomfortable conversation.
I breathed in and out slowly before speaking. “Many. And unfortunately, they’re all a bit neglected due to my lack of time to practice anything else with regularity. You’re welcome in them whenever you like, you don’t need to ask permission. We’ll make you your own space, and I can purchase anything you need that I don’t already have.” I’d never made an offer even vaguely similar to anyone else, but it felt completely natural to invite her into every part of my life, despite the newness of our acquaintance.
Phin blinked at me, eyes wide. “That’s very generous.”
“I want you to feel at home, Phin. I know the circumstances are odd, but there’s no reason you can’t enjoy your time here.” I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and to stay with me, even after organizing the library was completed.
Such an odd notion, but one I was at peace with. I’d been a solitary creature my whole life. I’d spent centuries alone, excepting infrequent visits from one of my brothers here or there, or very rare trips earthside. I wondered if I should be concerned over how easily I’d adapted to her presence.
I was pleased when she finally picked up her spoon again and continued eating, but tensed, remembering what she’d find behind the workshop doors. I’d made a very conscious effort to keep the main living areas free of clutter, but the workshops…they were a mess. Not that it would be a surprise to her, given what she’d already seen in the library, but the thought of revealing more half-completed projects and untidy rooms to her made me squeamish. I was deeply ashamed of my inability to finish things. Even Seir, who’d visited regularly and had for many years, never saw the other rooms.
Phin was more, though. She was my mate, whether she recognized it yet or not, and I couldn’t help but worry that my failings would keep her from accepting me once she figured it out.
Chapter 10
Phin
Down the hall a short way from the door to Tap’s bedroom was the one that led to the workshops.
“This is a bit complicated, but not difficult once you get the hang of it,” he said, pointing to the symbols carved into the wood on both sides of the door frame. “Each one is a different room.”
“There’s more than one room behind this door?”
He nodded. “Yes. The workshops are all here. Just depends on which you’d like to call up.” He pointed at a symbol that looked like the serrated teeth of a saw blade and pressed his palm to it. Briefly, it glowed gold before the latch on the doorknob clicked.
“Here’s the woodworking shop.” He opened the door and leaned in, gesturing for me to do the same. The room itself was about as large as the smaller library. There were shelves and tables, a small seating arrangement and tools; everything one could want to learn or practice anything and everything about woodworking along with somewhere to rest and ponder next steps. “And here”—he pulled me back into the hallway, closed the door and pressed his palm to a symbol that looked like a paintbrush—“is the painting studio.”
A gasp flew from my lips when Tap pushed the door open to reveal the second room, a whole new space full of canvases and easels where the woodworking shop had been a moment before. “Saints and devils.”
Tap flinched, a grimace on his face as he looked around. “I know.” He adjusted both his glasses and his earrings, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just as disastrous as the deals. They all are.”
