Let him pretend. She had work to do.
Mending fine fabric was a delicate business—one wrong stitch could pull the entire weave out of alignment. But she had been doing this since she was old enough to hold a needle. Her mother had taught her well, drilling technique into her fingers until the motions became instinct.
Start from the strongest point,her mother used to say.Build outward from there. The foundation matters more than the decoration.
She worked on the frayed edges first, securing the loosening threads before they could unravel further. The tear required more careful attention. She unpicked the clumsy mending and replaced it with stitches so fine they were nearly invisible.
The embroidery was harder. Some of the metallic thread had deteriorated beyond repair, but she managed to salvage enough to patch the worst sections. Where the original thread was too damaged, she substituted carefully dyed sunvine thread, matching the color as closely as she could.
It wasn’t perfect. Nothing could be, with damage this extensive. But when she finally held the finished piece up to the firelight the next evening, she felt a surge of satisfaction.
The Tarek in the tapestry stared back at her with those cold green eyes. A commanding male who had clearly been someone important and powerful.
What had happened to him? What had driven him from that life to this one?
Names have power,she remembered him saying, as if his very identity was something to be guarded.
Who are you really, Tarek?
She carefully rolled the tapestry and tucked it away, saving it for later. A gift to be given at the right moment.
And perhaps, with the giving, she would find some answers.
Night fell slowly, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose before finally surrendering to darkness.
Dani had gone to bed early, exhausted from even the small exertions of the day. She had tucked her in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and promised that everything would be fine and that Tarek would keep them safe.
Don’t make me a liar,she thought at the absent Vultor.Don’t make me regret trusting you.
She was sitting by the fire, staring into the flames and trying not to think about that kiss, when she heard footsteps behind her.
Tarek.
She didn’t turn around or acknowledge his presence. She just sat there, waiting, letting him decide how to approach.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. She could feel his gaze on her—that intense, focused attention that made her skin prickle with awareness. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a storm.
“Jessa.”
His voice was rough and uncertain. So different from the way the male in the tapestry must have spoken.
“Tarek.”
She still didn’t turn. Let him come to her, if he wanted to talk. Let him make the first move for once.
More footsteps. He circled into her field of vision, and she looked up to find him holding a rectangular wooden frame.
“What’s that?”
He thrust it towards her awkwardly, like a child offering a gift and half-expecting rejection.
“For you. For your work.”
She took it, and her breath caught.
A hand loom. Small enough to use while sitting, but beautifully crafted—smooth wood, perfectly balanced, with a comb so fine she could barely see the individual teeth. The warp beam had been carved with a delicate pattern of vines and leaves, and the whole thing gleamed with oil and care.
“You made this.”
