Page 59 of Jeweler to the Blessed
I let out a shaky breath and looked at the stone. He was right. Alaric would never have panicked after making such a small mistake. I nodded. “I’ll go again.”
“Good girl,” he said, and I was glad my back was to him. Heat flooded me again, this time curling low in my stomach.
I slid the blade back into the groove and returned to work. His imposing presence at my back had me on edge, but he was right. He’d kept his word.Iwas the one who’d touched him. I could convince myself I’d imagined a flash of …purplein the gem.
I’d only ever seen a gem flash the color being collected.
I tried to shake off the feeling that I was missing something as the final cut slid through, and the piece of gem broke off.
Hart set down the pipe and stepped back. “All set?”
I nodded. “Thank you.” The two pieces of stone now felt different. One held the warmth of adamas. The second piece now felt like quartz to me. It was a small thing, but I couldn’t deny the satisfaction that this had worked. I guess I didn’t know that it had; there was still room for error as I shaped the stone, but my gut was sure I was on the right path.
Maybe I should be concerned that I was capable of everything the royal family needed, and that this was one more step to granting them more power, but part of me was vindicated. Alaric had never let me do this step, but I’d been so sure that I could.
Hart stared at the gem before raising his gaze to meet mine. “Anytime.”
His face held just as many questions as when he’d approached me on the side street after the attack this morning.
I opened my mouth to ask him something. What? I still wasn’t sure. “Can you power the shaping?”
He tilted his head, unsure what I was asking. I pointed to another circular blade on the workbench. A rod ran straight through it and the workbench, connecting via an arm to a foot pedal beneath the table. “You have to step on the pedal continuously. It spins the blade that I use to shape.”
I pulled out the stool for him instead of looking at his face when I asked. This wasn’t a task I strictly needed him for. I could power the blade and shape by myself, but with my nerves all over the place, I didn’t think it wise to do both. He’d be standing somewhere in the building whether I used him or not. If I wasn’t worried he would touch me—what was I afraid of?
He raised a brow. “You can’t do both simultaneously?”
I sighed and turned away from him to do the work. “I can.”
He chuckled. “I’m happy to do it, Chaos. I’m just curious.”
The devious slant of his lip when I turned to face him was intoxicating and infuriating in equal measure.
Maybe this was a bad idea. “I can?—”
“No, no,” he said. “I accept. I’m now head stepper in charge of the foot pedal.”
“Are you now?” I was unable to restrain the smile curling on my own lips.
“You’ll see. I have fantastic stamina.”
I cleared my throat, turning away from him so he didn’t see what was surely a flush touching my cheeks. “Just start stepping.”
His low chuckle danced across my skin even as I picked upthe piece of adamas still attached to the small metal pipe to start working. The blade spun with each press of Hart’s foot. I waited for it to gain a steady speed before angling the rod and pressing it against the blade.
This was my favorite part of working with quartz. I loved finding the shape of the stone as the rest fell away. I’d heard artists say that when they looked at a block of material waiting to be made into a statue, they could already see the figure beneath. Their job was cutting away the pieces that weren’t required. This was smaller in scale, but the description felt right.
I wondered what shape it would take. This process was different, as every few minutes, I’d pull the stone back to feel for the heat. It was harder to tell now where the warmth congregated in the stone. The process of shaping caused its own heat. But the difference was still there.
Hart’s steady steps were like a beating drum. I used his rhythm to guide my hand, shaping away the pieces that weren’t quite as warm as the rest. Each step was a new stroke. Each stroke revealed a new facet. I leaned in close as the layers carved away unearthed an imperfection in the stone.
It wasn’t a crack. I pulled the rod away and turned toward the windows to get more light.
Hart’s stepping slowed, but he didn’t stand. “What is it?”
“There’s something … almost like …” I couldn’t believe I was going to say this. “It’s almost like it’s melted … inside the stone. That can’t be, though.”
“Why not?” His voice reminded me of Alaric’s when he asked me to check my assumptions at the door. I was unsure if he understood the significance of the question.
