Terms We Have for Dreaming by Eric Arvin

Author:Eric Arvin [Arvin, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal: Other
ISBN: 978-1-63533-815-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

ESTHER IS finding Lawl’s presence most distracting. She has followed him like a shadow ever since he told her he could offer news concerning the whereabouts of Gemma. She has tried to go about her daily routine, but that is near impossible. She would even go as far as to lower herself and take dinner with him if he might recall even the tiniest fragment that someone has passed along about her daughter. All that keeps her nerves from straying too near the edge is the glass of bitter wine she constantly carries with her, a liquid comfort.

Lawl approaches her as she watches him from the kitchen door and tells her he has an idea to make Bana more mobile. She is not overly enthusiastic.

“Why would he need to be mobile?” she says with her arms crossed and the wineglass close to her lips. “Where does he need to go?”

And yet it would be much easier for her to watch the new cook if he was in the same space as her husband. She would be able to keep an eye on them both more easily.

“All right,” she says before Lawl can turn around and head back to the unlit stove, over which he has strewn strange sketches and blue prints. “Yes. Let’s do make my husband more… mobile, as you say. One never knows when that mobility may come in handy.”

So, Esther watches from Bana’s chamber doorway as Lawl and the child measure things: the bed, the sheets, Bana. She hears words like “retractable” and “wheels” and “wrench,” but they mean nothing to her. The two are working most diligently, though. She sips from her wine and slowly nears the work. Lawl takes quick glances her way with his brooding eyes, but seems unperturbed for the most part. Bana watches her, too. She can feel his faded eyes and their ice-cold stare without even looking at him. Yet she is only truly concerned with Lawl.

The child with the drum ever strapped around his torso is a quick worker. He listens well to Lawl’s instructions. He is a pretty child. Some gypsy woman was lucky to have had him. Or not. The lower classes do not appreciate beauty the way those in the first ring do. Gypsy art is far from the perfect straight-lined form and balance of first-ring artists like Degat or O’Noyle. Gypsy art is wild and untamed.

Lawl has caught her watching the boy. “Got some news for ya,” he says, as he sketches some measurements down on a pad.

Esther nearly chokes on her wine. “Yes?”

“The Kingdom Guards killed outside the archives the other night, word is Gemma had some doin’ in that.”

“Ridiculous,” she spits. “Those guards were torn apart. My daughter is not a fire dog or a wolf demon.”

“I don’t know the hows and whyfors, missus. That’s just what I hear. Gemma had somethin’ to do with the archive murders.”

“Who is telling you these horrendous lies? They must stop at once.”

He stops writing and looks up at her.

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