“Dakath claims he’s not going to try it.”
Dakath cleared his throat. “I might try one or two stitches. If I feel the urge.”
The next hour passed in a blur of yarn and laughter. Lyriel and Marta started a competition to see who could make the longest chain stitch in a minute, and Grukk made a low rumbling soundthat Lyriel translated as a very filthy joke about wool tension, which made everyone but Frost dissolve into giggles.
I taught them the chain stitch first, and then the single crochet and double crochet. Lyriel and Marta picked it up immediately, their hands swift and accustomed to the rhythm of fabric arts. Erdryll and Rydaen worked side by side, their heads bent close together, occasionally whispering things that made each other blush. Even Dakath eventually selected a skein of pink yarn that made me wonder if I had been correct about the crush.
Grukk’s hook looked tiny in his huge hands. But he got the hang of it faster than I expected, his thick fingers moving with surprising delicacy.
As for Frost, well, he was a disaster. But quite determined.
“Like this?” he asked, for the eighth time, holding up what was supposed to be a chain of single crochets but looked more like a drunken snake.
“Um.” I leaned in, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. “You’ve... added extra stitches somehow. And also dropped half the ones you started with.”
He sighed, the sound holding no real frustration. “I’m hopeless.” Just the gentle resignation of someone who had accepted that art was not their gift. “Perhaps I should stick to paperwork.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lyriel said, nudging him with her elbow. “Everyone needs to make things with their hands. It’s good for the soul.”
“Is it?” Frost asked. “Because right now, it’s mostly good for making me want to snap this hook in two.”
I laughed and moved closer, shivering as I felt how cold his hands were. Perhaps frost was more than a name.
“Here, let me show you how to fix it. You just missed a step.”
As I guided Frost’s hands, the workshop filled with easy chatter.
“The new apprentice still can’t tell warp from weft,” Marta sighed. “I swear, I’m going to tie a sign around his neck.”
Grukk grunted in sympathy, holding up his yarn, then leaned towards Lyriel and murmured something in her ear.
Lyriel smiled. “Grukk thinks this season’s wool is substandard, but we’re making it work.”
“At least your wool isn’t changing color on its own,” Erdryll said, nudging Rydaen. “We went to check the dye vat this morning and it had turned a perfect royal purple overnight.”
“It was the bond,” Rydaen said, her voice soft. “We were working late, and we got to talking, and then—”
“Then we got distracted,” Erdryll finished, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “And when we went back to the vat, it had changed.”
“The bond?” I asked, looking up from Frost’s crochet. “What’s that?”
Frost and Lyriel exchanged a look.
“It’s...” Lyriel began.
“It’s a form of magical connection,” Frost said, his voice taking on the careful, measured tone of someone explaining something complicated to a child. “Between two fae who are... compatible. Resonantly compatible.”
“Not just fae,” Lyriel said. “Any magical species can experience a resonant bond.”
“So you’re like soulmates?” I asked, the word feeling silly the moment it left my mouth.
“Similar,” Lyriel said. “But a resonant bond is... deeper than that. It’s a connection that forms when two people’s magic recognizes each other. It’s rare, but when it happens, it’s...” She glanced at Grukk, and blushed. “It’s like finding the other half of yourself. Your Well—the magic deep inside you,” she said, placing a hand over her chest, “combines with theirs. Two individual life forces become one.”
Erdryll and Rydaen were holding hands across the table, their fingers intertwined, and I could see it now. They moved in perfect sync, the way they leaned toward each other even when they weren’t touching, like magnets that couldn’t help but attract.
“Our magic responds to each other,” Rydaen explained. “Mine is water-based, and I work with the dye baths. Erdryll’s is earth. She works with minerals to create the pigments. When we’re together, things happen that wouldn’t happen otherwise. Colors change. Pigments intensify. The water in the vats takes on more vibrant colors.”
“It’s how we knew,” Erdryll added. “We’d been working together for years, and then one day, we touched, and...” She shrugged, smiling. “Everything made sense.”
