The Second Gate (The Dwarves of Ice-Cloak Book 3) by A. Trae McMaken

Author:A. Trae McMaken [McMaken, A. Trae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lost Pathway Books
Published: 2023-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

By their second week, she had begun to cook what to her felt like lavish meals. Yale sat and ate with her, but she wasn’t sure whether she felt annoyed or insulted or simply lonely when he left for that smoky loud stew-hall after eating the meals she cooked, even though she’d brought in a keg of mead and kept a brew warm in the samovar.

“Why are you going?” she’d asked.

“I meet folk there, for business,” he said.

She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he didn’t want her company. He had his own hall for business, after all. Why go to the stew hall? Married dwarves did not usually frequent stew halls. She’d never known a purveyor. Yale did not keep the same hours and habits as a smelter—or even a miner like her uncle. So she wove and cooked and tended the miner’s eye. She visited her mother, and sometimes her father’s smeltery, but for some reason she did not want to seem as lonely to them as she was, so she didn’t go as often as she wished. Maybe it was pride. She’d made her choice, after all.

As much as she could, she kept to the same routine of sleeping and waking as Yale, although he sometimes changed without warning. She knew they must couple to have hope of pregnancy, and she did find herself thinking of the touch of his hand and the warmth of his body. And he did reach for her. At those times, she knew he wanted her, at least in that way.

Topaz’s self-restriction about visiting her own family redirected her feet toward the Upper Caverns to visit Thinweave. But she found her aunt somewhat at a loss for topics of conversation. Topaz tried to keep the conversations to weaving and spinning and the intricacies of the craft. There was still so much she didn’t know. But then, she had chosen not to apprentice, and skills were not easily learned through words alone.

She visited Spinel more as the summer grew long. Their now-shared status as young wifs made their conversation feel somehow easier, a division gone, though always Topaz visited Spinel. Spinel had deigned to attend her wedding, but it was too much to expect her to make social calls to the South Caverns. One day as they sipped their tea, Topaz noticed the taste and aroma of cinnamon and cloves within.

“This is a fine brew you’ve made me,” she commented.

“The prices have dipped,” she said, then quickly added: “—though I’d be happy to make it for you anyway.”

“Oh?” Topaz hadn’t even considered looking at the spices when she’d gone to the market. It had seemed an extravagance, besides the salt and peppermint she’d traded for. Maybe she should purchase some for Yale’s brews.

“Ay, yes.” Spinel’s eye gleamed, a look familiar from their gilna-hood when something exciting was afoot. “It’s smugglers.”

“Smugglers?”

“Oakspear told me. There are far more spices to be found in the markets than the tariff books at the gates account for, and the king is angry.

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