Cloister Ch. 02 - Leathercraft

Never in my life had I seen the upper longhouse this crowded.

The granite gathering hall of the elven clan Talvyrion sat high on the mountain, built on the wide shoulder where two of their ridges converged, beneath a canopy of ancient firs and grey-barked beech trees. We kept the land to ourselves, guarding it fiercely using its own natural features. Outsiders to the clan rarely dared climb the winding roads that led to my people's ancestral halls, while traders stopped at the outposts lower toward Talvyr Valley.

Tonight was different, though. A millennium had turned, after all.

For three days and three nights, the inhabitants of the Range of the Sleeping Sisters would celebrate the mountains that sustained them and the masterful hands that shaped their gifts into something beautiful. For the first time in my memory, humans, dwarves, halflings, and even a handful of foreign merchants mingled beneath the carved rafters blackened by generations of hearth smoke.

The halfling blacksmith my mother intensely engaged herself with wore a mantle made from hundreds of tiny steel leaves, each hammered so thin they chimed softly when he moved. And the man, bless him, gestured quite aggressively for such polite conversation.

My own family represented the much milder craft of herbalism, and so the gown I wore that night had been composed of materials gathered from the mountains. Layers of medicinal leaves overlapped like scales in a tight bodice around my torso, with the veins of fever-mint embroidered directly to the edges to make up a lacy trim. The skirt was a swath of mountainworm silk, bundle-stained with local flowers. Pale moonwort had been braided into my half-up hairdo to form a wreath, and I found myself grateful for their smooth stems or else my scalp would have itched.

A trained alchemist could have dismantled my outfit and made a party's worth of quality potions. My mentor had said as much when I was about done making the thing. Mother had been quite proud of that little note. If only she could be proud of anything else besides what I was wearing.

"Stand straight, dear," she mumbled as we made our way to another guest.

I adjusted my posture and sucked in my stomach.

"And remember, don't stare for too long." She braced a hand on my neck and tilted my head down so I would seem more demure. "And don't sway while you stand," she added brusquely. "You look like a circus animal doing that."

"Yes, Mother."

"And let me do the talking."

She had only said that about ten times this evening. I bit back my annoyance long enough to reach another guest my mother could lose time to. "Of course, Mother."

Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her duties for the night: to be a busybody and mend perceptions of our clan.

That was another reason we had opened our doors. Every time tensions in the valley below boiled over and opposing factions warred with one another, we would respond by shutting our gates and doubling the number of sentries. Centuries of this had left us with a less than stellar reputation for hospitality, and over recent decades trade had dwindled and merchants stopped asking for an audience with our elders. Many still opposed the idea of opening up again. After all, it had been over eighty years since the last skirmish, and the humans might well decide to have another any day. My mother had been one such voice, but once the votes came back in favor of our reintegration, she began to do her best to adapt to the idea.

Unfortunately, she gained an obvious glazed look every time one of the valley inhabitants went on for too long for her liking.

Not that I did any better. I tried to keep my attention on the conversation in front of me, I truly did. But with my eyes trained to the floor, my mind wandered as much as my feet had a tendency to, and soon my ears followed suit. One voice led to another. And another. And another. And soon I was listening to half a dozen conversations at once.

A human and half-elf discussed tannins used in leather curing behind me, while a tabaxi jeweler on my right described with a purr her recent score of quality garnets. Someone laughed near the musicians as one of them played a sour note. The iron braziers crackled and chairs scraped in a needling pitch. Every conversation grew louder until the room pressed against the inside of my skull. My stomach tightened, the lights and noise suddenly like daggers to my brain.

Something cold brushed against my shoulder and I nearly jumped.

"Clove."

I raised my head. My mother's expression softened immediately, and the stern lines around her eyes eased. She touched my forehead with a slender hand.

"Oh, child." She tutted. "Another one?"

"I'm fine," I waved her away. I wasn't having another fainting episode yet, but the rigidity of my posture wasn't helping how bloody clammy I felt.

"Fine? You're green as an orc," she whispered with disdain.

Oh boy. "And what a disgusting thing that would be," I deadpanned.

"Shush!" She scolded with a light tap to my arm and her eyes darted about the room. "I think I spotted a band of them in the crowd." She only returned her attention to me once she was sure there was no one around that might be offended. "Why don't you go get some air," she said, then looked me up and down while dubiously adding, "maybe a drink."

Relief washed through me, and while I worried it showed too plainly on my face, I excused myself from her side with as much grace as I could muster.

"And make sure you don't lock your knees!" she called behind me as I made a beeline for the drinks.

I caught snippets of much more fascinating sights along the way than my view of the floor had been. A jeweler's braids glittered with opals and moonstones. Luthiers and musicians readied their instruments for the start of another song, the carved necks curling into dragons, stags, and mountain spirits. The woodworkers were perhaps the most impressive. Their coats and dresses bore polished inlays of cedar, walnut, and ironwood so skillfully worked that they bent and moved like cloth. "Living marquetry," I heard one of the wearers dub it.

The most charming, though, had to be the older human couple I squeezed past who were dressed head to foot in paper clothes printed with fine-lined engravings. They looked happy together in their crinkling garments, hands held in a loose but confident grip.

I lingered on them a moment too long. My foot caught the train of someone's gown by accident, and I almost tripped when the halfling wearing it recoiled from the pull. It sent me spilling back, and I apologized profusely to her before backing smack-dab into someone else behind me. Another "sorry" slipped from my lips before I recognized the tinkling sound of glass vials. An older elven man turned around, and his expression changed from one of fury down to mere curious scrutiny.

"My," he said, "I'm surprised your mother let you out of her clutches."

Out of anyone else's mouth and I'd have shrunk, but I knew the barbs in my mentor's remark weren't aimed at me. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back into a coif unusual for him, and he uncomfortably adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Seter-il, I am so sorry," I started, to which he held up a pardoning hand. One glance and it was evident that his entire sleeve was covered in a bright blue liquid. In fact, several rivulets of color dripped down his front from the bandolier of miniature bottles strapped to his chest. "What happened there? That's not from me bumping into you just now, is it?"

"That would have been the preferable experience," he grumbled, let out a steadying breath, and said through politely gritted teeth, "it so happens that not only have my cufflinks broken," he twisted his arm to show me a tab of metal sticking out of his shirt sleeve, inlaid with shards of broken glass where a vial had once been, "but the new leather stoppers that 'Mastercrafter' Lujuria provided me with have been leaking!"

I grimaced at the sight. "Forgive me, who's that again?"

He waved a dismissive hand, "that persistent woman from a few weeks ago. The one that got her foot caught in a bear trap trying to sneak her way through the northern pass for an audience."

I blinked. "Wha--How'd she go from a bear trap to providing you with leather stoppers?"

"That," Seter-il said, poking my shoulder, "is an astute question! Apparently, while she was in the infirmary she silver-tongued someone into talking to 'the most skilled alchemist here,' and before I knew it she was drawing up an invoice for bottle harnesses and some stock for bookbinding, and finally she began peddling these newfangled things at me!" He gestured to the half-empty bottles.

"Did she at least get you the bottle harnesses?"

Another grumble. "No, and I'm hardly inclined to work with her at this stage. I loathe to think what torture she would instill upon a book."

"Looks like you're going to have to make amends with Grige, then," I said.

My mentor bristled at the name. "Not after what he said."

I vividly remembered. Grige, our local master leathersmith, had made a disparaging comment about my closeness with Seter-il, that the alchemist was far too old to be courting someone who deliberately hadn't yet chosen an adulthood name. For the record, we weren't doing anything of the sort. He was significantly older, but he was genuinely focused when it came to demonstrating techniques rooted in muscle memory, of which there were many in his line of work. To his credit, Seter-il, who could have staunched the rumor by dropping me as his pupil, instead turned around and slapped the elf in his leathery face for the comment, and went right back to showing me tips for siphoning jellied toad

"Don't worry about old me tonight, though," he finally softened with a huff, "nothing on my person was caustic, and I've a change of clothes back in my chambers. Now go on, before your mother decides you've been gone too long and locks away my best assistant."

I bowed graciously. Taking my leave, I slipped the rest of the way through the crowd toward the punch bowls and helped myself to a glass of chilled sima and took a careful sip. Bright citrus lit up my senses. Honey and lemon, with a tongue-tickling amount of fermentation. It helped, but I recognized the cool evening air beckoning me in its thin wafts would help my condition more.

I followed a side corridor and emerged onto one of the hall's many balconies overlooking the valley, the noise of the banquet dulling behind me. The setting sun painted gold along the deckled edges of the pines as they swayed gently below. And for the first time since preparations for this week had begun, I could hear myself think.

I rested my hands on the half-circle of carved stone and breathed deeply, taking a long pull from my glass.

Out of the corner of my eye, a shifting figure caught my attention, and I mentally readied myself to slip back into appearances.

A man with loosely swept, dirty-blond hair braced his forearms over the railing on the far side, just out of sight to the casual stroller-by. A plate of half-finished hors d'oeuvres sat abandoned by his side. I clocked the lack of point in his ears and his long proportions. Decidedly human. It took no time for him to notice me, and his gaze traveled the length of me before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, didn't realize I'd poached someone else's hiding balcony," the man said with an easy smile.

Unlike most of the other leather workers wandering the hall tonight, this man wasn't dressed to the gills in studs and hardened armor, nor was he suited up in exotic ostrich skin or dragon hide stained outrageous colors. Instead, he wore a russet suede tailcoat, with the shoulders and details a mottled black and red. Expertly constructed, but willing to let the animal's naturally uneven markings become a feature of the garment's details.

I only realized I hadn't said anything when he frowned, and backpedaled. "Was that rude of me just now?"

"N-no," I stammered, "no, I mean... it's not my balcony."

"It's more yours than mine, if those graceful features are anything to go by." He gestured to the drink in my hand, "I saw that stuff earlier downstairs. Any good?"

The glass's weight was suddenly awkward in my hand as I remembered its existence. "Uh, yes. This time of year it's excellent." I took a demonstrative sip, enjoying the way the bubbles washed over my palate.

His features fell as he watched me.

"What?" I asked, suspicion and dread coming back to knit my brows together.

He hesitated before pointing to the side of the glass, and said with mortification, "I think there's a bug in your drink."

I glanced down, and saw a dark lump floating in the glass. "Oh! No," I corrected casually, "That would be a raisin. They're part of the brewing process. Perfectly edible. It must have made it into the punch bowl by accident." As though I needed to make my case, I downed another mouthful, making sure to get the tiny dried fruit in my swig.

He passed a disarmed chuckle through his nose. "Good to know. I take it the mead was your contribution to the banquet, then? Since you know so much about it."

I finished my swallow and shook my head. "No, but I am good friends with one of the daughters of our brewmaster. I'm from the herbalist family actually, the Calumvrea. Unless you get sick, you probably won't see much of our wares on display until the markets open tomorrow."

"Ah," he nodded, "so that's what that smell is."

I wrinkled my nose. "What?"

"Like medicine."

I suddenly remembered that I was in fact covered head to toe in medicinal herbs, and worried my lip. Sometimes my family's work could be... potent. "Is it bad?"

That easy smile again from him. "No," he said gently, "not at all." He finally moved the plate to his other side and gestured for me to join him. I did. "Reminds me of being taken care of."

I wished care was my association with the odor. It was likely the reason for my weary head earlier. Mother's dress had been a showcase of her skills with camphor bark appliquéd to her outfit, and it mixed with the menthol lace of my dress in a scent that never sat right with me.

He took note of my quiet. "You okay? You look a little... queasy."

I shook my head, "I'm fine, thank you. I actually came out here to get some air. You?"

"Hiding from my master, for just a moment."

"You're an apprentice." I said with surprise. I peered at his outfit, and admired how the rough suede absorbed the light. "With that kind of quality, I'd have thought you were at least here representing yourself."

"I will be once we go back home," he answered. "My master didn't want me to pass up the opportunity to come to this event though, and I wouldn't have been invited if I'd just started my own workshop. Once I move on from his practice, I'll have to put the extra effort in to gaining my own customers." He sounded daunted by the notion.

"Not much of one for high socialization, I presume."

A shake of the head. "I like my time in the workshop, not out hawking wares and begging someone to buy something."

I noticed a strip of leather around his wrist, wound simply in a few loops. But the pattern embossed into the surface was stained a multitude of colors and was as intricate as any woven brocade I had ever seen. Its polished finish caught the dying embers of the day.

"That's a beautiful piece," I said, nodding to it.

His arm twisted as if he'd never thought about it before. "What, this? Hardly. It's an experimental design I was toying with earlier this year."

"Experiment? I didn't know there was much about leather left to experiment with."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," he laughed, and it was a bit higher pitched than I would have expected for a man of his size, but the honesty in it was refreshing.

I couldn't tear myself away from the leather strap. "What's the design supposed to do?"

He stuttered with glottal hesitation, but eventually came clean with his answer, "It's an impromptu cuff of sorts."

My nose twisted at the strange-sounding word. "Im-prom-to?"

Misunderstanding my confusion, he stood upright and loosened it with an expert flick.

"Let me show you."

He blotted out the setting sun as he suddenly towered over me. In an instant, my hand was in his, and my mind went blank with panic. His fingers were strong and assured, and pressed over my pulse point while the leather strap went from his wrist to capturing both of mine together and binding them tight. Another deft flex of his hand and he had the cuff locked securely, and drew my arms forward and to the side of his hip with a sharp tug, jerking me forward. My jaw dropped open at his dexterity. I found myself immobile, though not only from the leather.

A wicked smile twinged the corners of his mouth as he peered down to meet my gaze. "The idea was to sell them to city watchmen. For arrests. They're surprisingly sturdy." He let go of me, and gestured for me to try escaping.

But no matter how I pushed and twisted, the combination of knotwork and texture and a locking mechanism I had never seen before refused to budge.

I laughed, pink surging to my face. "Impressive. I've never been to a city, but this feels very..." I foraged a long moment for an appropriate word, "secure. I'm sure they'll have ne'er-do-wells locked up in no time with a bunch of these." I joked, but the thrill in my chest refused to go down as I continued to idly twist. The restriction stirred something unfamiliar and deep. I found myself wanting him to demonstrate it again, and this time to not let go when he held me fast to him.

He smiled back and bowed his head subtly. "Thank you," he said, but his face flickered with something I had trouble reading. Both our eyes lingered on the leather strap. "I should get you out of that," he said after an awkward moment, and his hands started toward the buckle.

My hands jerked away of their own accord.

Do you have to? I wanted to ask. Instead, I said something much stupider. "They're very comfortable."

He blinked and left another long, agonizing pause. I saw something shift in his posture, like he was making a decision.

"I'd like to ask you something very inappropriate." There was a significant drop in his timbre.

I blinked, unsure where this was going.

"I actually saw you much earlier this evening," he admitted, "and thought, 'oh, surely she must be taken. Or worse, betrothed.'" There was hinting, wistfulness behind the statement.

"That wasn't a question," I said.

His mouth parted in the early stages of argument, then closed and let out a chuckling breath in defeat. "You're right. It wasn't."

"In any case, we don't rush to engagement like that, and betrothals are rarely necessary."

He nodded slowly, processing my answer.

A dandelion of a hair-brained idea sprouted from my mouth. "Would you like to know something actually inappropriate? Aside from the fact that I'm not." I then added, "taken, that is."

With glee, the man leaned in close like we were conspirators.

"My name is Clove," I told him quietly.

A conflicting expression crossed him. Not displeased, but undoubtedly confused.

I explained. "My people don't generally give out their personal names. Not to outsiders." I lifted my cup in both hands, took a sip of the honey mead, and smirked. "And even less often to handsome, perfect strangers that like to manhandle defenseless maidens."

His warm eyes flashed brilliantly as he caught the compliment. "You're right," he agreed, "that would be inappropriate." A pause, and the veneer of understanding fell away. He dipped his head and poorly whispered, "why is simply knowing your name inappropriate?"

I half-suppressed a giggle and couldn't help the way my bottom lip wedged itself between my teeth for a second. "It's a remnant of a time when we were in closer contact with the Feywild. Giving a name meant something a little more serious a few thousand years ago, but the precautionary tradition is still there."

"So how does the meeting and greeting work here if you can't give your names?"

"A couple of ways," I answered, "older elves will give a false one, maybe a nickname, but the newer custom in the last few hundred years is to use a surname. Because it's shared among a family, it holds together a lot stronger when given in conversation."

"You elves are very strange," he remarked after a moment, though the words had no tinge of judgment.

"I could say the same of you," I countered.

He chuckled low. "Sure, if you've never seen a human before in your life." Realization crossed his features a moment later, "have you ever even seen a human before tonight?"

"Not up close." I cringed. "Is it that obvious?"

The man bobbed his head noncommittally. "We're one of the most ordinary creatures out there, and yet you look at me like I'm the most bizarre thing you've ever encountered." He pointed to the side of his head. "Is it the ears?"

I grinned. "They are quite small," I teased.

His hand flew to them in mock offense. "Small?!" I wasn't aware their size was something I needed to worry about." He barked a laugh. "How cruel! You called me perfect earlier."

"You called your entire species boring!"

"No no no, I called us ordinary," he corrected, "big difference."

I shook my head. "You're the only person I've met who can tie someone up in under three seconds using only a strip of leather. I would hardly call that ordinary."

He beamed at me, the creases showing up in the corners of his eyes.

Gods, those eyes. Like honey made from oak tree blossom. "Can I ask you something inappropriate now?" I finally put forth with a crafted cadence.

"Edren," he answered seamlessly, easily catching my meaning. "Edren Wiloughs. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Clove Calumvrae." He gently grabbed the fingers of one of my hands and shook them like they weren't comically bound together. "And now that we've established an appropriately inappropriate relationship here," he rested his palm atop my tethered wrists, fingers trailing tenderly over my skin, "would you like to keep this?"

Longing scorched its way up along my arms, through my heart, and nestled deep in recesses I hardly ever entertained except for on empty, fitful nights. "I don't have anything to trade you for it," I murmured.

"Hmm. Well, if it's a trade you want," he moved forward into my space, and I became acutely aware of the leather scent emanating from him. "There is one thing I'd be happy to exchange it for."

His gaze dropped momentarily to my lips.

I don't know why I did it, but with my hands still drawn tight together, my fingers found their way to the bottom of his suede vest and grasped it like osprey talons to pull him against me as I stepped back. I dragged him after me until I was wedged between him and the ivy-covered wall.

He stared back at me keenly, just as surprised as I was by my actions, but obviously pleased by them. But unlike me, who had little substantial left in my head, I could see the water wheel of activity turning in his. Behind us, off to the side, the commotion of the evening festivities bustled about without us. He held in a breath, and his gaze shifted inside to the banquet hall, scanning for anyone to catch his eye and question what he was doing. What we were doing together.

His attention returned to me, and whatever argument he was having with himself must have ended, because he captured my mouth with his.

Now, I had had my fair share of kisses, and testing physical compatibility with a suitor was hardly a forbidden concept for my age. But no elf I'd courted had ever kissed me with such naked want. None had ever cupped a hand around the back of my neck as though parched and intent on drinking me to the last. And absolutely none of them had ever wedged a knee up into the space between my thigh and made them tremble.

Bold, he was, and gods help me, I already liked what it was doing to me.

The hot breath of his conviction billowed over my skin, and we were panting by the time our lips parted.

He swiped the corner of his mouth with a thumb. "You're right," he remarked, "the mead is good." A devious twinkle shone in his eye. He made another quick sidelong glance toward the entryway where the glass paneled door had cracked open during our kiss. With one long arm, he poked at the hinged side closest to us and nudged it closed. It snapped shut with quiet certainty, and we were temporarily alone in the disappearing light.

My shoulders eased at the quiet.

"I take it that makes you a little more comfortable," he said. When I nodded an affirmation, he continued, "only thing is, I'd really like to make you very uncomfortable, in a different way... If you'll let me."

Heat that once graced my face trickled down to my chest. Oh, how I wanted to know what that meant. "Please," I breathed.

My plea did something to please him, judging from a solid stirring against my navel. Which made it all the more disappointing when he shifted his hips slightly away.

But then he leaned in again to run his tongue up the edge of my ear.

"Shhhhit," I jolted with the swear.

He chuckled wryly. "Sensitive spot? Gonna have to keep that grain of knowledge in my pocket."

Speaking of pockets... My fingers grazed the bulge in his pants, dying to know what he was like compared to elves. But before I could grasp the scope of him, he yanked my hands up by the cuff and gave a scolding sound.

"Ah-ah! You said you wanted to give me something for these," he tilted his head to the bindings for emphasis, "and that's not what I want right now."

I wrung my hands, and relished how the leather creaked with each of my ministrations. "I'm getting all the attention though," I said in a heady whisper. "It makes me feel greedy. I don't want to be unfair."

He placed one hand atop the cuffs again and pushed them down and out of the way, while his fingers pressed to my lips with the other, shushing me. "Nothing wrong with being a bit greedy."

Edren threaded his hand through the gap between my bound arms and smoothed it down, far down past my navel, until he could hook my hands over the back of his elbow, effectively lashing me to his limb like a post.

My heartbeat flickered. "What are you--"

He swallowed my question with another kiss before he found his way to the hidden split in my skirt, and replaced his knee with a hand to cup the flesh there with firm but gentle pressure.

Edren brushed the hair by my ear aside, trailed a finger over the back of my neck. "Just getting a feel for what I'm working with," he murmured. An experimental brush to fully split the seam of my sex apparently provided him some answers, because he groaned in time with my soft gasp. "Very interesting," he purred.

I swallowed, trying my best to keep forming coherent thoughts. "What is?"

He nudged my head to the side with his cheek and notched the bridge of his nose under my jaw. I yielded to him easily, would have gone whatever way he wanted with my body pliant as clay in a potter's hands.

"I think I'm going to like elven pussy."

The words sent my pulse jackrabbiting. With his middle finger, Edren found the bundle of nerves at my apex, and simultaneously, my earlobe was sucked in between his lips. A few nibbles and my breath began to hitch in pants as I was rapidly overcome with want. He rubbed me in circles, each pass making my legs twitch.

"You like that?"

I couldn't speak.

"Clove?"

"Yes," I rasped.

"Yes, you like it, or..."

The edge of his finger flicked along my clit again, and I let out a pathetic, wanton sound. No other outlet, I kissed him again until my lips felt swollen.

"I think you deserve a little bit more, eh?" He grunted against my mouth. "What do you say? Make it a truly fair trade?"

I felt my chin bob in a vacant nod. What more could he be offering, I struggled to think.

The answer came quickly with the breach of two fingers into my entrance, thick and rough with calluses. I gasped aloud, the sensation of the digits scissoring me open was more than I was used to, but my walls surrendered to the invasion with a squelching sound.

"So wet, too," he teased. "Must really need this, if no one from your clan has taken you yet."

That wasn't at all how relationships worked here, but I wasn't about to correct him, even if my tongue would have let me.

Eager in his movements, he wedged me open, suspending me on his fingers. The rough pads wore me away like time-ravaged sandstone. So much. So good. A thumb joined the fray, making a secondary attack at the one crucial point of my pleasure. My hips bucked, and I yelped another swear.

"There we go, such a sweet response," Edren teased with a pant. "Let go for me. I can tell you want to."

I did, gods did I want to. But this felt dangerous. Only a few panes of glass and woodwork separated us from the banquet and everyone I'd ever known. My mind raced with possibility. What if my mother walked through searching for me? Or one of the brewmaster sisters?

His fingers brushed against the ridges inside me, and paired with his rapt attention to my clit, the concern of discovery died. I writhed in his grasp, desperate for release.

"Yes," I gasped absently, the telltale feeling that the precipice was within reach, "right there."

"Come apart for me," he ordered.

The command was practically too late. A starburst of intensity came forth, and I cried out as I came in his hand. He stifled me with his shoulder, pressing my face into the solid wall of his stature as he pumped me with just his hand. Each wet stroke inside me sent another wave of ecstasy through my body, out my throat, and into his chest.

"Let it out, let it all out for me," he cooed. I could tell from the mirth in his tone that he was smiling to himself.

The rocking spasm of my hips continued for a long minute, gradually growing weaker and weaker as my orgasm tapered off. He held my boneless body up with his when I finally stilled, gasping for air. When he pulled his fingers out, I felt raw, as though I'd been shelled like a snap pea. But the hurt felt good. Right. Desperately necessary.

My legs wobbled, and then they nearly bent when I watched him put his soaked fingers in his mouth and sucked them, knuckle to tip. Savored them.

"That's better than mead," he groaned in pleasure.

Holy shit.

"Think you can stand?"

I thought about it for a long minute while my pulse came down. "I don't know," I admitted.

Edren smirked again.

The last of the sunlight had vanished from the mountain crests, leaving nothing but the gloaming dark in the valley below. Shadows now overtook the pines, and distant lanterns began to bloom their soft glow among the terraces surrounding the hall. Somewhere inside, musicians struck up a new tune, the muffled notes drifting through the stone and timber.

When he could feel me get my legs under me again, he finally backed away. For a moment neither of us spoke, and I became acutely aware again of the leather cuff still wrapped around my wrists.

His gaze followed mine. "You really can keep it, you know."

I pursed my lips as I stared at it, contemplated its delicious bite into my skin. "That's probably a terrible idea."

"Why?" He asked, taking no hesitation when I lifted my bound hands in offer to pick apart the buckle.

"Because every time I look at it, I'm going to be distracted thinking about how I came by it."

He chuckled, and then a strange softness settled over his expression. "Good," he said quietly.

The answer caught me off guard, and something snug unfurled beneath my ribs. There was no teasing or clever comeback. No further deal making or argument. Just that simple, bold word.

Good.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Clove," he said, wrapping my fingers around his leather creation and kissing the back of my hand, "I'm long overdue to go find my master."