The Assassin’s Bride: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 1)

Gil answered no more questions after he told her to work. After a time, he departed, leaving her with instructions to continue without him. Thea couldn’t imagine he’d go far, so she put her head down and worked.

At first, she considered leaving the bottom edge of the cloak raw. It would soon unravel and earn a tattered look, which might help him look a little less obvious. She discarded the notion fast. She was a Threadmancer. If she couldn’t shape an illusion strong enough to make him completely unworthy of notice, she could take no pride in her work at all.

So she rolled the hem and fastened it with tight, tidy stitches that were so fine, they were all but invisible. She’d already finished the hood, and she was proud of what she’d achieved. Sewing a strong mental image into the cloth took more energy than the subtle enhancements she’d secretly worked into any wedding gown she’d ever made. When he put on this cloak, he’d become someone different, and even the strongest of artificers would struggle to see through such a disguise.

Gil returned at nightfall with another plate of food. This one was warm. “Have you made progress?” he asked as he left it on the table and motioned for her to sit and eat.

“I’m nearly done.” Thea was still glad to fold the cloak and set it aside so she could stretch and take a proper meal. The room was well-sealed against the changing weather outside, but there was no hearth, and it had grown cold. The bed and its blankets were a blessing, but she couldn’t sew when she was tucked away under the covers.

“Good. It will be a necessity for travel tomorrow. As will your own changes.” He regarded her hair with a speculative eye and the corners of his mouth drew down.

“If you’re seeing through it a bit now, that’s normal,” she said. “You already know it’s just an illusion. It makes the magic less effective on you.”

When she sat in the chair, he settled on the bed. “Should that concern me?”

“Not in the slightest. Kentoria’s monarchy helped with that. Illusory magic is forbidden, remember? No one has any reason to doubt their eyes.”

“Aside from us.”

“Aside from us,” she agreed with a grin. “But yours is the strongest I’ve ever worked. Once we layer the cloak with more pieces, I don’t think anyone will recognize you ever again. Even me.” The food he’d brought this time was mouth-watering. More vegetables and fowl—she thought it might be chicken—but it was accompanied by a thick slice of bread slathered with maple butter, and the aroma was enough to make her stomach gnaw at her from the inside.

Gil ran a hand across the bed. Contemplating why he’d allowed her to have it, perhaps. “Will I be able to see through it?”

She tilted her head. “What, through your own illusion?” While he nodded a confirmation, she finished a mouthful of food. “Mirrors aren’t common, and the belief they can reflect the truth and betray an illusion is a myth.”

The answer surprised him, for he raised both brows. “Is that so?”

Thea allowed herself a few more bites before she replied. She hadn’t been impressed with the cold noontime fare he’d brought her, but he was right. Jaret’s sister produced a fine meal. “They say a mirror works by bending your image and casting it back at you. Illusions work in the same way, somewhat. It might get a little more bent as it’s cast back, gaining a little distortion, but the illusion layer is what’s bent first. If that makes sense.”

“Not particularly, but I’m not well-versed in magic. No such talents ran in my family.” He leaned back until he lay flat on the bed, then sighed.

That was little surprise. Magic wasn’t all that common. Artisans who took the time to learn to manipulate their unique talents even less so.

They’d ventured down the same path of thought, because he turned onto his side to look at her. “What happens if a Threadmancer doesn’t want to learn sewing? Can they apply their skill to some other trade?”

“I’m afraid not. Well, not exactly. There’s always some overlap between different artisanal abilities, and different branches of magic lend themselves to different skills.” She gestured with her fork as she spoke. “A Metalmancer isn’t limited to making jewelry, though that’s often the most lucrative path. They could become a swordsmith and create power-imbued weapons. Or they could become a locksmith, creating locks that know who owns them. Or even a farrier.”

“Lucky horseshoes?” he asked.

She grinned. “Precisely.”

“Huh.” Gil turned onto his back again, one hand tucked behind his head on the pillow. “I fear Kentoria’s mage regulations may have harmed our predilection for accomplishment.”

“There are some who believe that, yes.” She swiped her bread through the remnants of whatever sauce had been on her meal and allowed herself a hint of disappointment she was unlikely to have more. Or, more of Jaret’s sister’s cooking. She hoped there would be more food. “Will we have provisions for the second leg of our journey?”

“I’ve already gathered what we’ll need, aside from your illusions.” He nudged the sewing basket with the toe of his black boot. “From here, we wait on you.”

“No pressure,” she muttered.

“None at all.”

There were no napkins. She licked her fingers clean and rubbed them dry instead. He’d brought no cup to drink, but she recognized his water skin on the table, so she unfastened the top and took a drink. By the time she closed it again, the shift in his breathing made her suspect he was dozing. She slid from her chair, meaning to take the cloak without disturbing him, but he still cracked open an eye to look at her when she reached for the basket.

She took it anyway. “I’ve discovered a problem.”

He raised a sleepy brow. “With the magic?”

“With you.”

His other eyebrow climbed to join the first.

Thea returned to the chair. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Nor I, you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be frightening? Shouldn’t I be scared? You’ve kidnapped me, and then—”

“Kidnapped you,” he interrupted, both eyes open now. “You accused me of that before. I’ve thought about it since then, and I’ve decided I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

She blinked. “But you agreed before.”

“Before, you said essentially. And I understood. We were still in Samara, and you had nowhere else to go. But now? At this point, you’re following me of your own accord. You spent half the day alone in this room, after you completed your own disguise. The door was never locked. You are here because you choose to be, Thea. You could have left, and I would have done nothing to stop you.”

Her mouth fell open before she could stop it. She struggled to find some argument she could wage against that and turned up nothing. Eventually, she gathered the unfinished cloak in her hands and twisted the fabric in frustration. “You’re taking me to Ranor. It’s the only place I feel I have a chance of living out the rest of my life in peace. What else am I supposed to do?”

Gil chuckled. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She had but a foot of hem left to finish when Gil announced it was time to sleep. After a long afternoon of pushing magic down her needle, Thea was disinclined to argue. They traded places, her on the bed and him again on the floor.

He woke her before dawn with orders to get ready.

There was little to do for preparation. Gil produced a bag of provisions seemingly from nowhere, which he carried alongside the bag she’d rather not think about. All Thea had to do was complete that last foot of hemming, pack her sewing supplies, and present him with his finished cloak.

“I think you’ll be pleased,” she said as she offered it on upturned palms. Folding it so neatly had been unnecessary, but she was used to presenting clients with products in a way that at least resembled professionalism.

He drew it from her hands without touching her. “You are prompt.”

“This is my livelihood. I wouldn’t stay in business if I were not.” She busied herself with ensuring all her supplies were present before she closed the basket and took her sewn bag from the floor. The soft rustle of fabric filled the silence that followed.

“I didn’t realize it was possible for something like a cloak to be a perfect fit,” Gil said as he settled the cloth around his shoulders. “It feels as if I’m wearing nothing at all.”

“Aside from what you’ve been wearing the past few days, I hope you mean.” She dared a glance.

Her stomach gave an unsettled flop.

She’d created the illusion, worked it up in her mind and chased it down into the thread she drew through the fabric, yet she wasn’t prepared for the difference it made or how that difference might affect her. She’d never made any illusions so strong.

The face that looked back at her was not Gil’s. She’d erased everything that made him handsome. His hair, eyes, even the reddish stubble that had decorated his jaw was now a dull mud-brown. The magic resculpted his face, blunting every appealing feature into something mundane. Scars and texture sprinkled his previously smooth complexion, and when he smiled at her, even that had been softened so it wasn’t quite so warm.

He ran his hands down his front. “What do you think?”

“You may be the most ordinary man I’ve seen in my entire life.” And somehow, she wasn’t sure she liked it. The look on his face when he’d seen her in her own illusory garb sprang to mind. Was this how he’d felt?

Gil’s smile faltered. “Is that not a good thing?”

“It is. It’s exactly what we wanted.” But she was no longer sure.

When they descended to the front room with their things, Jaret stood waiting. Surprise lit his face, but he tamed it fast and settled back into a disgruntled frown. “There’s news.”

“I’d be amazed if there weren’t,” Gil murmured as Thea passed him the heavy basket.

Jaret glanced up the stairs behind them, then scanned the room. They were alone, and that he found it necessary to check left Thea unsettled. “Security along the country’s borders is tightening. When you reach the edge of Kentoria, be prepared for trouble.”

“We already are.” Gil shifted the sewing basket to his non-dominant arm so he could offer a hand.

Jaret eyed it as if he’d offered a snake instead, but he still reached forward and clasped it. They shared the sort of grip Thea had seen soldiers like her brother use dozens of times, something that doubled as both greeting and farewell, and she tucked that bit of information away for future questions.

“Be careful,” Jaret said.

Gil stepped back. “You, as well. Wish us luck. Then forget you ever saw us.”

“If you come back—”

“I won’t. Your debt is filled.” Gil hefted the basket back to his other hand and turned Thea toward the door.

She remained silent as he led her into the predawn shadows and they found the road that ran north. Her socks and boots had dried, and her finished trousers lent comfort to her long strides. Once they passed beyond the sleeping city’s edge, the sun rose over mist-filled fields.

“When the mountains come into sight, we still have three days to go before we reach them,” Gil announced.

She saw no mountains for a long time.