“I hope you found the room to your satisfaction?” Stil said when Gemma entered the parlor.
Gemma glared at Stil.
“I thought it would suit your tastes—stop giving me that look. I have tea and food,” Stil said, patting the spot next to him on the settee.
Gemma inspected the food piled on the platters before she took a plate and loaded it with sausages, salted pork, fresh bread, and apple slices, avoiding most of the delicious-smelling but foreign-looking meat pies and pastries.
Gemma sat on the empty settee across from Stil, making the craftmage shake his head in amusement.
“So my plan is for us to spend the day and night here—we won’t be found by any soldiers King Torgen sends after us as long as we are inside. No normal civilian could break through my security measures. Tomorrow we will start our journey, moving south towards the Loire border. Is that acceptable?” Stil asked.
“Yes,” Gemma said, eating her food with relish.
“As we will be walking, I assume it will take us some time to get to the border, but I do not think it is necessary to rush. The bigger trick will be remaining unseen as we travel,” Stil said, serving Gemma a cup of tea.
“Thank you. That light you were using last night, what was it?” Gemma asked.
“The starfire?” Stil said, slipping a glass prism out of his pocket.
Gemma nodded.
“The name is a little fancy considering how easy it is to make these. It’s one of the first skills you learn as a craftmage. It’s a bit of magic light trapped in a prism. It will shine brighter or dimmer based on your orders. Their only real purpose is to shed light.”
“It seems to be very useful,” Gemma said, eyeing the prism.
“It can be, but they aren’t very practical for everyday use. Even mages still need fire to truly light a room. Starfires are best used for temporary cases, or in cases of bad weather, as they can’t be put out. Most often, we make them for children who are frightened of the dark,” Stil said. He was silent for a moment. “Would you like one?”
“How expensive are they?” Gemma asked.
Stil chuckled. “I fear I have made you wary of any gifts from me forever. There is no charge. Making a starfire can be done in a matter of minutes. As I’m giving you a finished product and not performing magic for you, no trade is necessary.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. I have a wooden crate of them in my shop leftover from my apprentice days. I will take you back there, and you can have as many as you can carry,” Stil promised.
Gemma ate an apple slice and mulled over Stil’s offer. It seems to me that he didn’t need to perform specific magic for the thimble either, and he still requested a payment for that.
“Thank you,” Gemma said, deciding to take the risk and accept his offer. She was silent until she finished her meal, in which she excused herself to her room.
After casting a critical eye on her surroundings and then turning the same critical eye on the black, wool cape, Gemma set her unease aside and embroidered the cloak for the remainder of the day, until she fell asleep early that night.
It took every ounce of Lady Linnea’s will to remain seated at the table as her mother droned on over breakfast.
“—will sadly have to find a new seamstress to replace Gemma, although it will be difficult to find anyone as talented as she was.”
“Is,” Linnea said.
“Pardon, darling? What did you say?” Lady Lovland said.
“Gemma is talented. She is still alive,” Lady Linnea said, her usual mask of indifference pasted on her face.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Lady Lovland hesitantly agreed. “In any case, I have asked your father to send word to our Loire friends and associates. A Loire seamstress would do quite well with you, I am certain.”
“May I be excused?” Lady Linnea said.
“But, darling, you’ve hardly eaten any breakfast at all,” Lady Lovland said.
“I feel ill,” Lady Linnea lied. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She couldn’t eat because she could barely contain her joy!
“I see, poor dear. Yes, you may return to your rooms. I will send a maid with tea to you in a bit to see if you can eat something then,” Lady Lovland said.
Lady Linnea curtseyed to her mother and swept out of the room, the skirts of her elegant dress—designed and sewn by Gemma—sweeping the floor.
When the door closed behind her, Lady Linnea burst forth in an impatient march. A scullery maid—Sissel—bobbed a curtsey before she handed a shawl to her and whispered, “Out the eastern side door, My Lady.”
“Thank you,” Lady Linnea said. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders before hurrying to the eastern side door.
The back gardens were empty—except for snow-covered hedges—so Lady Linnea tucked the shawl over her head and trotted in the direction of the stables.
A young stable boy—wearing a coat made by Gemma—stood in the stable entrance, kicking up his heels.
