Page 57 of Harnessed in Gold

I wrench my gaze from those gold-flecked eyes and reach for my plate, hoping to conceal my crimson cheeks. How long was I staring up at him?

He clears his throat and does the same, gesturing to my root beer fizzing in its glass on the counter. “Don’t forget your drink.”

I follow him to the dining room and wait for him to clear a space on the table before I set down my dishes. “So then, weaving is a bond with the god-spirits?” I ask, taking a seat across from him.

“Yeah.”

“Like a marriage, almost?”

“A lot like that, actually.” His expression is both solemn and wistful. “It’s a sacred bond. Once we’re joined?—”

“‘Let no man put asunder?’”

Confused, he tilts his head.

“I thought you knew the Bible.” I chomp a pretzel and smugly smile. Then gulp. I’m pretty sure that’s from the Bible. Shit, is it? “It’s from wedding ceremonies,” I hastily add. “‘What God hath joined, let no man put asunder.’”

“Ah.” His nod is slow. “Then yes, that’s fitting. The weaving bond is eternal and unbreakable.”

“You can’t divorce your species?”

“No. Never.”

That’s lovely, but intense. I take a bite of my sandwich, working hard to chew and swallow the thick whole-grain bread. Leo’s weaving ring winks at me, catching the overhead light. I study it, noting how its rustic simplicity perfectly suits his large, graceful hand.

I ask, “Can I see your ring again?”

Blinking, he sets down his sandwich. “Sure.” He pulls the band from his finger and hands it to me across the table.

The ring is cold on the outside, warm on the inside. It looks so humble, sitting in the center of my palm, but I can feel the energy humming inside. Strength and wisdom, wholeness and harmony.

I fold my fingers over it. “What am I feeling when I hold this? You or the hawthorn?”

His eyes drop to my fist. “Both.”

“I didn’t feel anything coming off the necklace,” I point out. Although I wish I had. Imagine the stories in those bones and shells. But I don’t normally feel objects, do I? Except— “I can feel trees.”

“Because they’re alive and have spirits.”

“Okay, then what about crystals?”

“With crystals, you’re feeling elemental energy, not emotions.”

Still thinking, and unwilling to relinquish the ring just yet, I lift my glass with my non-dominant hand and take a sloppy sip. Licking the sticky sweetness off my lips, I state, “So I feel emotions in things that are alive and in things that are magic.”

He has to pause and think a moment. “Right,” he finally declares, punctuating the word with a bite of sandwich.

“And that’s why you think I’ll be able to feel the weapon? Because it’s magic, or because it has a spirit in it?”

“All the above. The problem is, we don’t know what’s in it.” He rubs a hand along his jaw as his gaze falls to the empty expanse of table between our plates. “It has to be something more than the belladonna she wove with, and that’s if it’s even a weaving ring. We’re just assuming it is based on what it was reported to do, and because it was referred to as aband.”

“Oh.”

His restless hand reaches to the back of his neck. “But whatever it is, you’ll feelher.”

Her? “Ember?”

He nods, his worry reaching for me like thin branches pulled by the wind.