Page 21 of Straw and Gold
The gold in the flecks of my eyes and the gold undertone of my husband's skin. The copper in his hair shone in that lowering light, reflecting in bright sparks of golden waves that framed his face in light flyaways.
My husband had never said it, but I believed gold just might be his favorite.
As the footman drove the wheel, I imagined that the straw was a line of thread, winding around the bobbin as a gift to the man I wanted to know and the man I needed to save my brother’s wife.
I felt the straw shift in my hands as it ran through my forefinger and thumb, twisting and glimmering into strands of the purest golden thread I’d ever seen. Fascinated, I kept the treadle running as smoothly as possible, enjoying the rhythmic turning of the wheel I’d spent most of my life perfecting.
My body warmed and my chest swelled as the bobbin continued to spin, woven strands of gold threading tightly around its base. As the straw grew sparse in my hand, I slowed the treadle, rising to release the bobbin. I pressed the thread with my fingers, inspecting for tightness of the weave and quality.
Without a word, I held out the bobbin, allowing my husband to see exactly what talents I could bring to this kingdom as its queen.
He pulled on the thread, taking a moment to inspect it himself. His frown deepened. “Who was your father?”
Consistently surprised by his questions, I answered with a bemused, “Huh?”
“Your father, Morella,” he repeated. “Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Your brother—does he share your golden wings?”
I cocked my head. “No.”
“You have different fathers, then?”
“Yes—what are these questions about? I thought you’d be happy to find that your queen can spin straw into golden thread.”
“Begging for another compliment?” he asked, peering down at me with those sapphire eyes again.
“Yes!” I admitted, snatching the bobbin from his hand and unwinding some of the thread. “Name another who could spin as well as I can!”
He shook his head. “There is no other. I’d bet this kingdom that you are the only fae alive who could do such a thing. Do you know why Citrine Wool is so widely sought after in Revelry”
“Of course I do. I work with it often. The fibers are soft and rarely show signs of breakage. The wool does not shrink and hardly needs combing.” I shrugged, knowing he already knew all of this. “It keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. His lips upturned in the first real smile I’d seen. “Our sheep produce the finest wool in Revelry, but have you ever stopped to question why?”
“Of course, I have. It must be the grass or something.”
“Or something.” He took the bundled thread from my hands, holding up the long strand to the window to watch the thread glisten.
“It’s not the grass?”
“No,” he answered in a wry smile. “It’s moss.”
“Moss?”
“From the Brackish Wood.”
I shook my head, stumbling in my thoughts. It couldn’t be…could it? Surely not…surely I wasn’t bargained for…
“You catch on quickly,” he laughed.
“You—you’re saying you bargained for my hand in marriage with moss?”
“An entire crop with direct instructions on how we could grow it here ourselves. We couldn’t rely on the Brackish Wood forever. I had your mother throw in a few different types of mushrooms as well, but the sheep weren’t interested.”
“Reshina,” I corrected, “the RavenfaeGoddesswould not have contracted my marriage over a clump of dirty spores.”
