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~7~
Nic spent amiserable night alone. It didn’t help that she didn’t know how to light the fire and it was uncomfortably cold without it. She missed having an elemental-heated house with a surprising twist of homesickness. Though she searched through her things, she couldn’t find the little fire elemental Missus Ryma had given her in Wartson. She hadn’t seen it since they arrived, when it must have been unloaded with the other supplies in their wagon.
She was warm enough under the covers—and still too upset to be hungry—but she woke what felt like every hour to wonder where Gabriel might be sleeping. Then told herself she didn’t care. Then reminded herself that this was as it should be: with no more illusions between them that they were anything other than what they fundamentally were. Except that she shouldn’t be sleeping in this luxurious master suite—luxurious by House Phel’s diminished standards, anyway—while the lord of the manor was… where? Sleeping with Vale in the stables probably, the stubborn oaf.
She didn’t care. This was as it should be. The sooner she could reconcile herself to meek obedience, regardless of how wrongheaded and shortsighted Gabriel was being, the easier it would be. Somewhere in all his prattle of partnership and mutual bonding and working together, she’d lost sight of the one thing she’d promised herself to be always brutally honest with herself about. She was a familiar, and as such, she was consigned to a life of powerlessness. It was just a bit of priceless irony that she’d schemed her way out of belonging to the likes of Sammael and his uncaring cruelty, only to bind herself to a wizard who scrupled to use her that way at all.
You clearly don’t know your own mind.
Was that true? She didn’t know anymore. Which, she had to admit in the dark and restless privacy of her lonely bed, went to prove Gabriel’s point. How much of her longing for the sexual magic of the arcanium came from the Fascination driving her to want those darkly tantalizing fantasies? Did she crave Gabriel’s chains because it was in her nature as a familiar to want to be controlled, or because it was him? Certainly her body had never ached with this sexual frustration before him. But then, he’d been the first to draw any kind of sexual response from her. Before he’d walked into her tower room, the encounters with other wizards had left her cold at best and feeling filthy at worst.I refuse to demean you that way.
What was wrong with her that she thought she wanted that—no, that she knew she wanted and needed it from him—and that it didn’t feel demeaning? Sammael had demeaned her with nary a chain or whip in sight. He’d flayed her pride on a profound level and left her bleeding and broken without a mark on her.
Gabriel had hurt her heart, and more the fool she for letting him do it. She’d known better, from the very beginning, than to let herself feel anything more for him than the Fascination demanded. She’d gotten caught up was all, caught up in the dream of raising House Phel—literally and figuratively—from the muck and making it into a… what?Be honest with yourself,she ordered herself sternly.This is no time to indulge in denial.
“Into a home,” she whispered into the darkness. The image she’d evoked for Gabriel, of the sweet farm girl with her sunny ways and simple wants, haunted her now. Nic would never be like that. Even at her meekest and most obedient, she couldn’t be what Gabriel really wanted. What she honestly didn’t blame him for wanting.
She just wished she didn’t care.
When the sky finally began to lighten, she got up, deciding that her energy would be best spent on some useful task than fretting and worrying over what she couldn’t change. The rain continued to drizzle down, a decided chill in the air, so she donned the burgundy velvet riding habit again. It needed to be cleaned, which meant washing it herself—not a great option, as she wasn’t sure of the method—asking someone to wash it for her, or using a cleaning imp she didn’t have.
None were going to happen that morning, obviously. She just hoped she didn’t stink. Because it made her feel better, she applied the Aratron cosmetics Gabriel had acquired for her in Ophiel, setting the grooming imp to styling her hair. The short sides and back didn’t need much, but the looser curls on top had gotten themselves into an astonishing amount of disarray during her restless night. It would’ve been better to have it all equally short, but she’d succumbed to vanity and a foolish desire to look pretty for Gabriel.You look more beautiful than ever.The way he’d looked at her as he’d said that… She sighed for that, and not in a dreamy way.
Setting him firmly out of her thoughts, she went down through the quiet house, feeling quite alone in the chilly dimness. The library windows, save the one glassed-in set, had been boarded over against the rain, plunging the place into gloom, tempting her already glum mood to follow. None of the workers from the day before had shown, probably because Gabriel hadn’t told them to. How aggravating that she couldn’t round them up and set them to work herself. Of course, it was still early. Maybe they’d turn up later.
Fortunately, several couriers waited for her in the rafters of the library, quietly roosting until her arrival triggered them to deliver their various messages. The Calliope paper shipment had arrived overnight also, along with several decent self-replenishing quills. It was probably just as well that the Calliope courier had simply deposited the order and left, sparing Gabriel the admittedly uncanny sight of a giant angel.
Not exactly happily occupied, but at least busy enough to ignore her misery, Nic set to replying to the accounts-related messages, then to penning the final versions of Gabriel’s replies to Iblis, the Convocation, and her papa. She labored the longest over the last, nearly reneging on suggesting that grape vines be sent in lieu of coin. It was part of that dream of making a home, really, to consider cultivating a vineyard to produce wine, not something a new familiar ought to be taking on.
She also knew, however, that Gabriel would think poorly of her if she backed out of it. There wouldn’t be another opportunity like this. Papa refused to sell his precious vines, even grafted ones, to any other house. He wouldn’t be happy about giving her a share, but he’d do it. He’d loved her well, and despite his fury with and disappointment in her, Papa would also play fair. He’d said Gabriel deserved a chance to make House Phel succeed, and this would be a good long-term investment.
The sense of fresh water and bright silver alerted her to Gabriel’s approach, and she braced herself, neatly stacking the missives awaiting his signature, then folded her hands and waited, back straight. He appeared in the library doorway a moment later, wizard-black eyes landing on her with peculiar intensity. The silver moon magic shimmered molten in him, and the water aspect steamed in the cool air.
Still angry, then. Ah, well.
“I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” he said, coming into the library and assessing the room. “Why are you sitting here in the cold and dark?”
“That fire elemental I had must be packed away somewhere with the other things we brought from Ophiel, and I wasn’t sure how to light a fire manually. Or where to find the supplies.” She gestured to the pale light coming through the windows beside her. “I had light enough. These are ready for you to sign, if you approve of the final versions.”
He eyed her, the scent of steam more vivid, like a teakettle on boil. “It’s like that, then,” he said, and came just close enough to pick up the first of the missives. Setting it down with a grunt, he picked up the next, reading them one after the other in rapid succession without comment. Tossing the final one down, he studied her, wizard-black eyes inscrutable. She tried not to squirm under that relentless gaze, tried not to reveal how it aroused her, too.
If only she didn’t want him so badly, all of this would be so much easier. Or, if only he wanted her the way she wanted him to have her.
“Any revisions?” she asked, pretending to be calm, even as her heart thudded in her breast.
“No.” He fell silent again, and she thought maybe he’d say nothing more. Then he added, “You have an elegant hand.”
“Nothing like a Convocation Academy education to drill one in such disciplines,” she replied, instantly regretting the words, as the thought of discipline roused her further and made his shuttered gaze go even colder.
“They’re excellent, of course,” he finally said. “Any reason not to send them off?”
“Not so long as you approve.”
His jaw flexed, but he nodded. “I want to say that you don’t have to wait for my approval, but you wouldn’t listen to that, would you?”
“I do need you to sign them,” she said instead of answering, handing him the quill with a lift of her brows.
Looking slightly chagrined, he took it, and—after examining it with interest—signed the stack of letters. She busied herself with sending off the ones she could via the various mercantile couriers, making a stack of the ones he needed to send a signal to send, aware of his eyes on her all the while. Much as she was pleased to have all those tasks off her list, she was almost sorry to finish. Folding her hands in her skirts, she turned back to Gabriel and his burning gaze.
