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“Maybe. I wish I’d looked for a trademark stamp. Lost opportunities. It would be ideal to have an El-Adrel wizard work with you to produce the artifacts to hold the waters you enchant, but I doubt they’ll want to play—yet.”
“Yet?”
She narrowed her gaze at some distant image. “I have ideas for some leverage to use on them.”
“You’re terrifying in this mode.”
“Remember that.” She tapped the list. “Given how much work needs to be done to bring the house up to snuff, I’d also like to invite wizards from Byssan, Ophiel, Hagith, and Ratisbon.”
“Glass from Byssan, I understand. Ophiel to replace your wardrobe, but the others?”
“Ophiel for carpets and upholstery,” she corrected. “They do fabrics of all kinds. Hagith for metalwork, which seems to be scarce in Meresin, and Ratisbon for furniture and carpentry. From what I’ve observed, we can supply our own lumber?” She waved a hand at the house at large.
“Yes,” he agreed, relieved to be at least not lacking that much.
“Good. That ought to be sufficient for now. With the lower-tier houses, we can get by with offering them less for a wizard, in return for the favor of House Phel. Ratsiel should be the only major expense.”
“What about this one?” He stabbed at the line with House Elal, wishing he could do far worse. “I don’t want your father’s spirit minions on my land, much less an Elal wizard.”
“Are you sure? I thought we could invite my cousin Jan,” she replied blandly.
He nearly burst out with a furious rebuttal when he caught the dangerous glint in her eye. Stupid him—of course Nic wouldn’t want Jan anywhere near her. “I apologize,” Gabriel offered on a wince. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, but your protectiveness is charming.” She patted his cheek, her smile warm. “We don’t need an Elal wizard here, as we can use pre-trained spirits, imps, and elementals. They can handle menial tasks—like dusting—sparing our people for work that requires human intelligence.”
“More expense,” he grumbled, more because he hated the idea than because of the cost.
“No. Part of my dowry. As an Elal, no matter how lowly my status is as a familiar, I am entitled to a percentage of the family wealth. Or, rather,youare entitled to it, as my lord and master.” She fluttered her lashes at him, baiting him so outrageously that he held up his hands in surrender, laughing.
“Fine. I don’t like it, but far be it from me to deny you what’s lawfully yours. I’ll finish composing the letters responding to Elal and the others.”
Just then, a trio of workers returned carrying a heavy table between them. A fourth followed with a pair of wooden chairs hoisted on her shoulders. Nic directed them to position the table near the newly uncovered windows, though far enough away, he noted, to be clear of any rain that might come in. The day remained clear and bright for the moment, and he had to admit the library looked—and smelled—considerably better with the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows open to the light and air.
Nic was conferring with the workers on their next assignment, so Gabriel obtained a few sheets of paper and a spare quill, setting himself to the unwelcome task. It would help if he hated the Convocation a bit less, but he attempted to channel that long-held rage into the appropriate arrogant disdain. Having dispatched the workers again, Nic sat at her own desk and applied herself diligently to her tasks and lists. She looked happy, gainfully occupied, and even her disparaging mutters about living in a backwater swamp with no resources to speak of lacked any real animosity.
And it was pleasant in a way he’d never anticipated, working with her on the business of the house. She was right: He’d been climbing this mountain for so long on his own that, even though he’d deliberately set out to gain a partner to help him rebuild the house, he hadn’t fully imagined how rewarding that would be.
Even when Nic read his letters with pursed lips and a disdainful eye, rather than being annoyed by her criticism, he nearly wanted to laugh. Or throw her over the desk, push up her skirts, and make love to her until she was breathless.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never get these missives out,” she said, quill poised over his draft. “May I?”
“Can I stop you?” he asked in a dry tone.
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Well, you could follow that prurient impulse and have me on this desk until my eyes are crossed and I’m too limp from pleasure to say boo, but that won’t get glass in the windows.”
He stroked the exposed back of her neck, enjoying her shiver of response. He’d loved her long hair, but this cut had its advantages. Pressing his lips to the tender hollow at the base of her skull, he murmured, “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“Your magic,” she replied throatily, bending her head in a delicious yielding. “You’re all silvery cool until you start thinking sex, then you get… I don’t know how to describe it. Spiky.”
Reaching beneath her, he cupped her full breast, her nipple taut through the silk, and she moaned as he trailed his lips down the elegant arch of her neck. “Spiky,” he echoed.
“For lack of a better word,” she replied breathlessly.
“Ah. But as you so practically point out, this won’t put glass in the windows.” Reluctantly, he stepped out of temptation’s reach. “Edit away.”
She glanced up with eyes a sensual deep green. “I begin to regret being such a practical soul.”
He grinned. “I’m surprised to find how much better this place is with the windows uncovered. Let’s get that glass.”
