Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4)

Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales #4) Page 37

“A cape.”

“For?” This time it was Rudd who asked.

Gemma inhaled the frigid air, her shoulders bunching up before she exhaled and relaxed. “Someone to whom I owe a great debt.”

“I hear the guards are allowing you out for walks,” Stil said the following day. He sat on top of the ceiling-window grille, blocking some of the cold air.

“They call it ‘airing me out,’” Gemma said, holding the mage’s ruby heat charm in her hands.

“It is kind of them.”

“Yes,” Gemma agreed. “Do you recall the first night you helped me, and we saw some of the Snow Queen’s magic?”

“Yes.”

“I asked them about it. They found hellhound tracks right on the border.”

“Were there horse hoof-prints too?”

“…Yes,” Gemma was slow to respond. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Stil sighed, thumping his fist on his knee. “Did the guards bring you more blankets?” Stil asked, gesturing to the pile of wool and silk.

“No,” Gemma said. She refrained from offering a more detailed explanation.

Stil half smiled at the blatant cold-shoulder and pursued a different conversation topic. “How soon do you think the King will parade you out for more gold?”

“Two weeks or so,” Gemma said.

“More intelligence from the guards?”

“Yes.”

“I see. I am glad they have become closer allies since your return.”

“Yes,” Gemma said, glancing at the empty tray on which Rudd had served her dinner. She thought for a moment, “I apologize, did you want something to eat?”

“No, not at all. I already ate, and the hour is late,” Stil said.

Gemma rustled in her nest of blankets. “Thank you for coming,” she said, resting her clamped hands on her feet as the ruby charm pumped heat through her body.

“Of course. I enjoy our conversations. You are quite amusing, and no one else will play the guessing game with me,” Stil said.

Gemma arched an eyebrow at him.

Stil grinned unrepentantly.

Gemma shook her head.

“So, Miss Kielland, tell me: if you could have anything in the world, what would you want?” Stil asked.

Gemma leaned back against the dingy wall as she thought.

“Having trouble prioritizing?” Stil teased.

“No. There’s not much I want.”

“Jewels to wear, a home of your own, gold—none of that appeals to you?” Stil asked.

Gemma shrugged. “What good are jewels when the person I visit most often is Grandmother Guri? Her goat—Jo-Jo—would try to eat them. Gold is pretty but useless to a person of my station. You can’t eat it, nor can you sew with it.”

“A home, then?”

“They reek of work. I would rather spend my time sewing,” Gemma said.

“A sum of money?”

“Money brings out the worst in people,” Gemma said, thinking of the irresponsibility of her father.

“You might be the least greedy person on earth due to sheer practicality,” Stil said.

Gemma shrugged. “I know what I like. The rest is unnecessary.”

“So what would you like?” Stil asked.

Gemma scooted lower in her blanket pile. “To make clothes and travel. I want to see the fashions of Loire, Sole, Erlauf, and Ringsted. I would like to see the differences in clothing between the counties.”

“Ahh, you have been bitten with the bug of wanderlust.”

“A little,” Gemma said, muffling a yawn. “But I would want to return to Verglas. I would miss its cold, white winters, and the way the frost dyes everything white and ice cuts intricate patterns like lace. Many believe Verglas is frozen tundra for most of the year, but I think it’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

“I see,” Stil said.

Gemma looked up at the mage. “You think I’m crazed.”

“No,” Stil said, his voice warm with understanding. “Verglas calls to all of us magic folk. There’s powerful magic here that can’t be found anywhere else. You are right. Verglas is the most beautiful place in the world.”

Gemma nodded. “I’m glad you think so, too,” she admitted, the ice in her eyes melting.

Gemma and Stil talked less as Gemma yawned more. Eventually, the young seamstress nodded off in a short stretch of silence.

Stil smiled down at her through the window grate. She was sleeping upright, slumped against the wall with the blankets mounded only waist high. “You are going to get a crick in your neck, if you don’t catch a cold first,” he said.

Gemma exhaled, her breath deep with sleep.