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She passed the thread through the needle and wrapped the end around her forefinger and thumb.Bind,she told it as she rolled the thread between her fingers and tightened the knot. Her fingertips tingled with the first blush of power. She gathered the first piece in her hands and began the tidy row of stitches that would fuse the pocket to its opening.
Pockets deeper than they seem,she thought. She willed the concept to swell in her chest, to travel down her arm and sink into the needle. It twisted itself into the fabric alongside the thread as the tingle in her skin became a pins-and-needles prickle. Fitting for a Threadmancer, she'd always thought; whether it felt the same for other artisans, she could not know.
Stitch by stitch, she secured the pockets and began the seam down the outer leg, pausing now and then to shake her hands. After a time, she grew aware of Gil's eyes on her as she worked.
“Do you feel it?” she asked. She'd wondered, considering how easily he'd pegged her as a Threadmancer. Artisan mages didn't often sense one another, but an artificer might, and she supposed that could be a useful skill for an assassin to bear.
“No,” he said. “And I wouldn't know what you were doing, save for such concentration on your face. I cannot say I've seen such focus before.”
She allowed herself a smirk. This was nothing yet. Embroidered magic always took the most out of her. Whenever she embroidered, it was up to Elia to watch the shop, for nothing could steal her attention then.
“Long seams,” she said as she ran a finger down the unfinished side. “For endurance. Stamina. A long and stable stride.” She didn't often voice the intentions she stitched in, focused instead on pressing them into the fabric with thought and will. But he'd paused whatever work occupied him and watched with fascination. She couldn't help but explain.
So she repeated the same intention for the other pant leg as she pushed the magic down the needle and drew it tight with thread. Whenever she fell silent, traveling down the length of those seams, he returned his attention to preservation of the severed head. But every time she spoke, he looked her way again.
“A curve, to capture change,” she said as she stitched shut the rounded seam up the back. “To bend my appearance, ever so slightly.” A forbidden talent, but no harder to embed in the seams than any other enchantment. She hesitated before moving on to the front, where buttons would fasten the trousers and extra magic could be woven into the buttonholes. “A closure. For security, and secrecy.”
Gil fought back a snicker.
Everyone always snickered at that. Thea rolled her eyes. “Oh, would you prefer your pants not hold secrets?”
That earned a full laugh. “Forgive me. Continue.”
She settled back to work, but her fingers had already begun to ache. “I won't be able to do much more tonight. The needle is harder to push when there's magic sitting in it.”
“Have you not imbued them enough already? I can hardly imagine something as mundane as pants containing magic at all.”
“Every inch of thread necessary is an inch of power that can be put in. I should put increased durability around the knees and rear pockets to make them less likely to tear. And the waistband is one long curve. Another opportunity to work in some illusions.” Not that she'd decided what the illusion should be. To make her appear a little taller or shorter, she supposed. Illusion magic worked best when it was applied to a garment worn on the part of the body one wished to change. Aside from altering her height, what could be done with her legs?
Gil wiped his hands clean. The sharp scent of blood had returned, though they'd been sitting in its presence so long that she only just detected it beneath the fragrance of herbed oils. “You need to finish them tonight. Tomorrow, you're going to begin work on mine.”
“I can't possibly work that fast,” she protested.
“Then you'll have to sacrifice some of the magic you want and settle for ordinary trousers. Can't you imbue them with more power later?”
If she could get her hands on things for embroidery, it was possible. Thea pursed her lips and let her hand hover, needle poised between her fingers. “Will we pass markets on the way to Ranor?”
He paused with his hands full of peculiar blades and picks whose purposes she didn't dare imagine. “What makes you think we're going to Ranor?”
She shrugged. “We've been going north, haven't we?”
Gil started to answer, then paused with his head canted to one side. Listening. Was something out there in the night? The guards pursuing them, perhaps? If they were, she couldn't hear them.
Abruptly, he jammed his tools into his bag and stuffed the king's head in after them. “We must go.”
“What? Now?” Despite the questions that leaped from her tongue, she was quick to tuck her needle into her project and fold her sewing into the basket.
“There's a small tributary river not far from here. We'll finish there and the water will help hide our presence. Come.” He offered a hand to help her rise. Though he'd wiped them well, his hands were still stained.
Thea's lip curled and she stood on her own.
“Suit yourself.” He scanned the shack once, then extinguished the lantern. For a moment, she considered asking if they could bring it. Then she heard what must have caught his ear. The distant howl of hounds on their trail, all but lost in the cold winds of night.
“To the ends of the earth,” she sighed.
Gil chuckled as he pulled open the door. “Let's hope we don't have to run that far.”
“Just to Ranor, then.”
