Stil glanced over his shoulder before he flipped a small, wooden container off his belt. He opened it up and smeared his thumb in the greasy balm contained inside. He smeared the balm over the perimeter bars of the grille before screwing the container shut and sliding it back into place.
He whispered over the bars, making the spots smeared with the balm glow. Careful to not make too much noise, Stil pulled up on the window grille. The charmed bars separated like soft butter. He set the grill aside and dropped through the opening, landing inside the cell with a quiet tap. He crept to Gemma’s side and maneuvered her so she was lying down with blankets piled on her. He drew a worn quilt up to her chin and couldn’t help the affectionate smile that twitched on his lips. When sleeping, Gemma seemed less guarded and more relaxed. Without the sharpness of her eyes to counteract her plump, heart-shaped face, she looked younger and sweeter. Remembering the incident at the Sno Hauk tavern, Stil wondered if Gemma’s eyes would lack some of the sharpness if she had a better father.
“It’s fine. I like your eyes. They are like gems—exquisite,” Stil said, smoothing the blankets before he stood.
“Wait,” Gemma said, mostly asleep even though she struggled to lift her hand out of the blankets.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” Stil soothed.
“No, your heat charm,” Gemma murmured.
“Keep it,” Stil said.
Gemma briefly opened her eyes, flashing Stil with eyes that said she was unimpressed. “Too expensive.”
“Shhh,” Stil repeated, stepping back up to her to place a finger on her forehead.
Gemma had already fallen asleep again, several locks of her wavy hair plastered over her face.
Stil carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. He watched Gemma for a few moments as she slept before he shook himself. “If she wakes up, she’s going to accuse me of being a lecher,” he said, standing and striding across the room. He jumped off her stool and grabbed at the ceiling, pulling himself through the gaping hole of her ceiling-window. He set the grille back in place and whispered the magic words of release, canceling his spell and returning the bars to their normal consistency.
Stil turned to go, but something made him pause and to look down at her one more time. “Goodnight, Gemma Kielland,” he said.
Gemma grunted.
Stil smiled before gliding away.
Chapter 9
“Lunch time, Miss Kielland,” a guard cheerfully called through the door two days later as he unlocked it.
Gemma carefully put away her sewing supplies. “Hello, B?rres,” she said, greeting the guard she had previously hit with the stool with a twinge of guilt.
“Hello, Miss Kielland. Today I’ve got soup, fresh bread, and goat cheese for you,” the guard said, giving Gemma a bright smile in spite of their previous violence spattered exchange.
“Thank you, I will enjoy it,” Gemma said, making an effort to speak.
B?rres bobbed a bow. “Shout when you’re done—it can be hard to hear through the walls,” he said, seeing himself out the door.
“I will,” Gemma said, watching him go. When he shut the door behind himself, Gemma rubbed her forehead. “Poor man.”
“You were doing what you had to.”
Gemma jumped and whirled around to find Stil inside her cell. “Sir Mage,” Gemma said after blinking twice.
“Good afternoon, Gemma,” the mage said with an unreadable smile.
Gemma looked from her food to the mage. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Stil said. “I’ve come here to let you know I will be gone for a day or two.”
“I see,” Gemma said. She didn’t understand why the mage felt the need to alert her to her schedule, until she realized that if King Torgen happened to get the prepared flax early, she would be sunk if Stil wasn’t around. “Oh,” Gemma said with new understanding.
“I’ve skulked about the castle a bit, and it is for certain that the flax won’t arrive in at least four more days; however, I would rather not take the chance. So, I have brought you this,” Stil said, holding his finger out.
“…It’s a thimble,” Gemma said.
“Yes, but it’s magic.”
Gemma raised both her eyebrows at him. “A magic thimble?”
Stil grinned. “It may be unorthodox, but the metal takes to summoning spells quite readily.”
“Hm,” Gemma said, taking the thimble before she sat on the ground next to her little table of food. She sliced open a roll and spread soft goat cheese across it. “How is it magic?”
“Ah, that’s the important bit. If something happens and you need me, you can use the thimble to call me.”
“Oh?” Gemma said, eyeing the thimble on her finger before she stood up and marched across the room.
“Yes. It doesn’t work like a true summoning spell because it won’t transport me to your side—that’s high level that only a few genius Enchanters every century can manage—but I will hear your voice and know that you need me, and my matching thimble will guide me to yours.”
“I see,” Gemma said, offering the mage the roll. “You really had to use thimbles for this magic?”
