“Supply and demand,” Stil winked.
Gemma shrugged. “Deal.”
Stil dropped his hands and blinked in surprise. “You agree so easily?”
“I don’t plan to have children.”
“I see.”
“Does that cancel out the negotiation?”
“No. It will be my own fault if I never collect my payment,” Stil said, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. “Just see that you remember it as well,” he warned, his cloak swirling around him as he returned to the spinning wheel.
“Of course.”
“You’ll need to remove the…items you carry under your clothes,” Still called over his shoulder. “We will be moving swiftly, and I’m not certain how well you can sprint with a hand axe secured somewhere in your skirt.”
“I suppose so,” Gemma said.
“If you need something to stow your goods in, I have a bag I can lend you. That cloak won’t do either, but we’ll have to wait until we reach my camp to give you a different one. I haven’t any on me at the moment.”
“I’m fine,” Gemma said.
Stil snorted. “You are as fine as a winter pony heading to the desert. You need to be better equipped.”
“Your prices are too high for me to accept anything,” Gemma said. “I will not give you a second-and third-born child for a cape and a bag.”
“Don’t be silly,” Stil said. “The first one is the only one I should need to make you promise for.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Anyway, giving you things—like bags and capes—doesn’t involve my magic, so there is no need to trade,” Stil said, tossing Gemma a silk, drawstring bag roughly the size of her hand.
“I’m going to need a bigger bag,” she said.
“That one should fit all of your things. It’s charmed—like my tent.”
“You are speaking in riddles tonight.”
“Try putting things inside it, and you’ll see what I mean,” Stil said, grabbing a length of flax and adding it to the spinning wheel’s distaff.
Gemma rolled up the sleeve of her brown Lovland uniform—which had seen better days after weeks of living in a dungeon—and slid out the dull butter-knife that was hooked on her cuff.
She dropped the knife into the silk bag, and was surprised when the knife—which was taller than the bag was long—disappeared inside.
“See? Charmed. So where are you hiding the axe?” Stil asked with a sly smirk. He tilted his head and swept his eyes up and down Gemma’s body with interest.
Gemma ignored the question and circled behind a flax pile to finish disarming herself without being gawked at.
In addition to the useful items Lady Linnea had passed off to Gemma, Gemma was able to fit her thread, needles, and the wool cape inside the silk bag, which remained the size of a handbag.
“Our plan is this,” Stil said when Gemma finished exploring the depths of her borrowed bag. “Tonight, we will try to make for my camp. I’ve been hanging around Ostfold, but my camp is a four-or five-hour journey south. Ideally, we should reach it shortly after dawn.”
“What do we do when the soldiers come for us?” Gemma asked.
“Oh, they won’t be able to break inside,” Stil grinned. “Every scrap of my camp is charmed. They won’t see our quarters. They’ll just see a cloth tent and move on. It works a little like the silk bag.”
“So that’s what you meant when you said you could hide me in comfort.”
“Exactly. The trip there will be difficult in the darkness and falling snow, but once we reach camp, we consider can ourselves fortified and slowly make our way south. Any questions?”
“No.”
“Objections?”
“Are you sure you want to do this with me?” Gemma asked.
“I’m certain,” Stil said, giving Gemma a soft smile. “We have a few hours before we should leave. I suggest you get some rest. I’ll see to the spinning.”
Gemma shifted, uncomfortable with leaving the mage to do just about everything.
“If you aren’t feeling sleepy, we could always play the question game,” Stil teasingly added.
“I will sleep,” Gemma said, walking off. She paused midstride to turn around and add, “Thank you, Stil.”
Stil inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Gemma took the silk bag and her cape and chose a flax pile far away from the spinning wheel to nestle into. She didn’t think she could sleep even if she wanted to, but as she watched Stil wet more flax, her eyes slowly shut, and she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 12
“Gemma,” Stil said, gently nudging her.
“Hm,” Gemma said, rubbing her crusty eyes.
“It’s time.”
Gemma woke up quickly, her eyes wide as she tried to place where she was. “We can leave?”
Stil nodded. “Yes. Do you still have the heat charm?”
“Yes,” Gemma said, struggling out of the flax pile in which she was nestled.
Stil had done a heroic job of spinning the flax. Gemma’s flax pile was one of only two full stacks left—although there had been packets of fibers spread throughout the room.
