Worried that something was wrong with it, she tasted her own tea. It tasted as it normally did. “Is something wrong with the tea, my Lord?”
“Please, just Onric.” His warm brown eyes pleaded with her over the rim of his cup. “And no, I’ve just never had tea like this. It tastes different.” He inhaled through his nose. “Smokier somehow.”
“Ohhhhh.” She laughed. “Us poor peasants cannot afford the premium leaves that have been transported in airtight barrels. It’s too expensive. The cheaper tea leaves are merely packaged in sacks. When the merchants travel from Falqri, the smoke from their fires slowly flavors the tea in their wagons. You, my Lord,” she said, rolling her eyes a little, “have just never had poor tea.”
Onric’s cheeks had turned a shade deeper.
Ashlin could not keep the smile from her face. She enjoyed the fact that for once, he was the embarrassed one.
He sniffed at his cup again, as though trying to appreciate the flavor in a new way. “Or perhaps,” he said, looking back at her, “I just have exceptionally fine taste.”
His jesting was gone, replaced by a look of intense admiration. As heat flooded her cheeks, Ashlin had the feeling he was no longer talking about tea.
“I really should be going. I’m needed at home,” she whispered.
He bowed lightly to her. “I would love to see the progress on the tapestry.”
She nodded, stepping towards the door. “Of course, you know where to find me.”
He winked. “The eastern tower.”
His simple gesture broke the intensity of the moment between them, and she smirked back at him.
Chapter 15
Onric dashed up the tower steps, taking them two at a time, and burst through the wooden door. He was merely checking in to see how the restoration was coming, and to see if Ashlin had uncovered anything else about the Majis. The reason for his visit had nothing to do with the young woman who smiled in welcome as soon as he walked into the tower room. At least, that was what he told himself.
“Prince Onric,” she said.
“My lady,” he replied. If she was going to be formal, he was going to tease her about it.
She ignored his jab. “I was hoping to see you again today.”
As if he was not already grinning large enough. His mouth was sure to be stuck in this position for all time.
Her face had grown serious, though. “I had an idea,” she continued.
“Do tell?” He sat on a crate across from her. A row of crates stacked two high had been put in place to act as a makeshift table. The tapestry had been lifted onto it and was rolled open to reveal one of the panels. Ashlin stood over it now, tacking the first damaged panel out of sight by folding it behind one of the good panels so they did not have to remove it completely.
“I was wondering...” She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. “Have you learned anything about the spelled needle?”
“The could-be-spelled needle?” He was still teasing. He couldn’t help it. She took everything so seriously.
“Yes, the might-possibly-be-spelled-by-a-Majis needle.”
He grinned in victory. “Yes, I have tried it a few more times.”
“And?” She was watching him carefully, as though looking for something deeper in his answers than what she was asking for.
“No luck. All I’ve accomplished is a bundled mess of fabric and stitches. If it is spelled, it certainly is not making my sewing any better. Why do you ask?”
She was suddenly very interested in scratching one of the stitches on the tapestry with her fingernail. “N-nothing. Never mind.”
He stood and approached the other side of the table. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“My father was Lord... on Lord Cabril’s ship when it sank.”
“I’m so sorry.” That would explain some of the sadness behind her eyes, then. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she continued speaking as though she did not want to dwell on that fact.
