Page 58 of Jeweler to the Blessed
“Do you need help?” Hart’s low rumble preceded him as he parted the heavy gold curtain, joining me in the workshop area.
I searched his face a bit more boldly than I usually would. “Have you ever done this?”
A smile curled his lip. “Have you?”
He had me there.
Still, his help would put him … in very close proximity. I sighed. His apology wasn’t an explanation, but it was enough for now. I needed his help, and I had a feeling he knew it.
I waved him over. “Fine. Come hold this.”
His steps were slow as he approached. Almost as if giving me time to change my mind.
I wouldn’t.
“Where do you need me?”
I pointed to the edge of the workbench. “Stand there. Hold this.” I handed him the small metal rod.
I’d melted wax, setting the edge of the stone in it. This gave him at least a few inches of handle instead of holding the stone directly. “Don’t let it slip.”
He nodded.
I pointed to the space beside him, picking up the saw again. “I’m going to stand here.”
“And you’ll be armed,” he said dryly.
I waved the blade before setting to work. “I am. So don’t get any ideas.”
He smirked. “You can’t outlaw ideas. A man can dream.”
I shook my head, attempting to focus on the work and not exactlywhatthe Blessed beside me was dreaming about. My gloves felt bulky as I let the blade touch the stone. I usually worked with them off. Part of me knew I’d need to remove them. If the warmth told me when a stone was adamas, I’d have to follow the heat to shape the stone. It was the difference between the two gems. Inherently, I knew the more heat, the more magic the stone could contain. But my hands would need to be uncovered beside Hart to find said heat. I held Hart’s gaze as I set down the saw and pulled off the gloves, setting them on the workbench beside us.
He paused. “I won’t touch you unless expressly asked.”
No chance of that.
“Ready?” I asked when I’d caught my breath.
“Ready.”
I turned slightly, giving him my back as I angled myself to cut the stone. It felt like every instinct I had should be screaming against this. I shouldn’t leave him unchallenged, inches from my side, but my usual panic wasn’t present.
I may not like Hart’s non-answers, but my body believed I wasn’t in danger. My gut trusted him, the same gut that wouldn’t let me request another guard. Steadying breaths slipped from my lips. Hot air on my neck told me he did the same. Was he uncomfortable? I wanted so badly to look at him, to assess what was hiding behind the forest green of his gaze. I leaned forward instead, pressing my fingers to the stone, feeling the temperature change across its surface. There was a warmer section towards the center. That was what I’d need to preserve.
The first cut demanded my complete attention. Any slips would mark more of the stone than I wanted, leaving me less to work with when shaping. I drew the blade across the stone multiple times, creating a groove.
Once I had the line, I started in earnest. Hart’s exhales matched each stroke of the blade. It was a pattern, a connection I didn’t understand until interrupted.
The fracture of breaking glass assaulted my ears. I’d cracked the gem.
Reacting automatically, I reached for the side of the stone connected to the pipe Hart held. My hand touched the gem, steadying it from my error, and before I realized my other mistake, my palm brushed his finger.
Fear flooded me as I became aware of the connection.Heat rushed through me. Purple flashed in my periphery as I lifted my hand and stepped back.
Hart hadn’t moved. His words were calm. He stared at the stone, still holding it in place. “That was all you, Chaos. You better come back and finish this.”
Finally, he turned to look at me. His gaze held a hundred questions, but his words expressed none of them. “It’s a small crack. You can cut it out after shaping.”
