Ballard swiped a hand across one cheek, feeling its smoothness. She’d done a fine job, not even the sting of a nick to mar her work. He cocked an eyebrow. “You’d need more than a sharp blade and a good grip for that, mistress. A generous helping of the magic you so despise might help.”
Louvaen frowned. “Methinks it was magic that got you a few of those interesting scars in the first place, yes?” She handed the knife to Magda. “Besides, it sounds like your lusty princess had no complaints.”
“She wasn’t looking at my face.”
Magda snorted. Louvaen wagged a finger at Ballard. “I was wrong. You would have made a terrible anchorite.”
He watched as she shrugged her frock over the damp shift and laced her bodice, wishing she’d do the reverse and allow him to help. She bowed to him. “Unless Magda needs me...” The other woman shook her head. “I’ll see you at supper.” She was gone before he could protest.
Magda stood next to the tub, gaze flitting from the door to him and back to the door. She finally snapped loose a drying towel and gestured for him to stand. “It’s a sad world when the only man doing the swiving in this castle is rickety Ambrose. You and your boy are lucky you can get your breeches on these days much less walk straight.
“Be quiet, old woman. I’ve had enough torment today, and the flux isn’t even upon us.”
CHAPTER NINE
He spent the hour before supper alone in the solar. The chamber was a bare place before the sisters’ arrival, furnished with two chairs, a table and a storage chest. The tapestries covering the walls had hung gray with dust and pockmarked with holes left by moths. Now, with the addition of two spinning wheels, a larger table and several stools, it felt almost crowded. The tapestries had been taken down, beaten free of dust and repaired. They hung in their customary places, as colorful as when his mother and her women first stitched them.
In one of their conversations Louvaen admitted she had little patience for needlework. “I sew because I must.” She’d gazed at the tapestries and winced. “Such intricate embroidery is for those with a love of needle and thread.” Ballard smiled and picked up one of the twisted hanks of linen yarn from her basket. The spun thread was softer than silk under his thumb. She might not be much of a seamstress, but she spun magic on her wheel. Even her sister had said as much at supper one evening when Magda harangued Ambrose for stealing Cinnia from her to help him bind a grimoire.
The girl shrugged. “Not my best talent. Louvaen is better and faster than most. Our papa used to say if we gave her straw, she’d spin it into gold.”
Louvaen had given a disbelieving snort. “If only that were true. I’d rule an empire with such a talent.”
“Empress Louvaen,” Ballard murmured and dropped the hank into the basket. “Fitting.”
Everyone was seated at the table in the kitchen when he arrived. Since Louvaen had shortened his claws, he ate when they did, wielding his fork with practiced ease. Cinnia no longer gawked at him before looking away. She’d grown used to his appearance, not that it mattered. She rarely had eyes for anyone except Gavin who studiously ignored Louvaen’s glare when his own admiration of Cinnia grew too heated.
Magda had kept her word to Gavin and served a roasted cut of the boar basted in honey and herbs. There was silence at the table as everyone dug into their food until Cinnia leaned past her sister to catch Ballard’s attention.
“Dominus, we’d like permission to decorate your hall for Mother’s Evening.”
“We?” Louvaen paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.
Cinnia tilted her nose up. “Yes, we. Gavin and I discussed it.” She smiled at Ballard.
Her sister missed it, but Ballard caught the flash of hurt that flitted through Louvaen’s eyes. He could offer no comfort in this matter. Cinnia was slowly cutting the knots in the lead strings that had tied her to Louvaen for so long. Louvaen would bleed a little and then she’d heal. He’d felt something similar the first time Gavin left Ketach Tor and ventured into the world beyond his protection. “We haven’t celebrated Modrnicht at Ketach Tor in a long time. I don’t see why not.”
Cinnia clapped her hands. “Can we go into the forest tomorrow for evergreen?”
Ballard glanced at Ambrose. “Care to wager on a refusal?”
Ambrose shook his head. “I only wager on successful outcomes. I’m sure to lose this one.” He smirked at Gavin’s spellbound expression. “Boy, pay attention. You’re about to drool on yourself.”
Gavin started, almost overturning his goblet. “Sorry.” He took a swallow of wine before answering Cinnia. “I’ll have to pull the sled out and check if it needs repairs.” He addressed Ballard. “If you don’t have something for me to help with, I’ll take the women to gather branches.”
Ballard shook his head. “You’re free. I’m forging tomorrow.”
“Ooh, are you making a sword?” Cinnia couldn’t have sounded more excited at the prospect than if he announced he was melting down gold for jewelry.
“Nothing so interesting. Gavin is the swordsmith, not I. It’s just a bucket of nails for Magda.”
“Oh.”
Magda pointed her fork at a disappointed Cinnia. “Don’t sound so glum, girl. A bucket of nails is far more useful than a blade. I can’t hammer a sword into a combing board.”
After supper, they met for their usual evening gathering in the solar. Louvaen sat before her wheel to spin the hoard of flax they’d accumulated the past three years. She planned with Cinnia and Gavin for their outing the next day and what they should do for celebrating Modrnicht. Magda made one of her rare appearances in the solar and offered suggestions for what to serve for the meal and give to the goddesses venerated. Ballard sat before the fire, nursing a goblet of wine, content to simply listen to conversation and watch Louvaen at her spinning.
A few times she caught his glance and held it, and he wondered if she thought of that ephemeral moment when she’d kissed the honey from his mouth. He certainly did—in vivid detail—and it was enough to make him shift restlessly in his chair. As the evening waned, his family and guests each said goodnight and departed for their rooms. Louvaen was the last to leave. She paused at the side of his chair, staring at a point behind him.
