The man wore a loose white tunic with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing all manner of scars and cuts on his well-muscled forearms. While any blacksmith could produce a blade with iron and heat, as a master cutler, Syndrian finished tools and weapons into highly valued works of art…or war. He’d worked since his youngest years in his father’s guild shop and was not simply talented—he was one of the most skilled at his trade in the realm.
Workplace injuries were not uncommon for a highly skilled craftsman, but seeing the thin scars and healing marks on his hands never failed to evoke a strange desire in me. My fingers itched to feel the texture of his work-hardened skin, to listen to the stories of every mark’s formation. I stared at a new wrap on one of his fingers and let my eyes travel along his arms, to his defined chest, until I finally met his gaze.
His thoughtful eyes were on the smaller side and they crinkled closed when he laughed. Those eyes—a brilliant blue so bright, it was as though the gods had swept aside a tiny portion of the summer sky just for him—flashed as he watched me appraise him. And while I studied him, Syndrian took his time examining me.
His gaze locked on my lips.
I bit back a nervous smile and looked away.
He shuffled on his leather soles and I bit my lower lip to keep from babbling.
And the predictable game we played every time we saw each other was on.
Heavy stares that lingered too long. A shared fondness for certain words or phrases or jokes which led to private laughs. Through the years, an unspoken match had played out between us, interest and attraction sizzling like embers flaring from a fresh fire.
Maybe this wasn’t attraction—at least not on his part. I’d never been quite certain. Was I more to him than Biko’s little sister? A convenient fourth who balanced out the game at the table? A well-matched opponent when he tired of Biko’s lack of focus and preference for song over strategy?
I pressed my teeth into my lips, struggling to utter even one comprehensible word in greeting. Like a player holding a winning hand, his face brightened but quickly shuttered, preventing me from reading his reaction. Was he laughing with me? At me?
His dark brows lifted, the dusting of scruff on his chin starkly contrasting with the pale blond hair on his head. If he’d grown all of it, his hair would have been voluminous. But he shaved the sides above his ears to the scalp, while keeping the top as long as my brother’s. Tonight, his hair was fashioned with lengths of leather at intervals, like a horse’s tail decorated for a pageant.
As we studied each other, time passed slowly, and I felt painfully aware of him waiting for me to make my move. By the gods, I was so flustered, the flutter in my chest so dizzying, I hadn’t even said hello.
“Ah, uh…Syndrian.” Of course, the only thing I could manage to stammer was his name.
“Allow me to help, miss.” He broke our awkward stare first, flicking his eyes to the game pieces on the floor.
“Oh, no. Please, don’t bother. I can…” I bent to retrieve them, but Syndrian held up a hand.
“You’re dressed too fine to crawl on the floor.” He tossed a playful look at Idony. “Not that this floor isn’t clean enough to eat from, ma’am.”
He knelt, his enormous body moving gracefully to the floor. While my brother’s best friend crawled about gathering my scattered checkers, I forced myself to turn away to find the game board. I knew exactly where it had landed, but if I didn’t occupy myself, the sight of Syndrian on all fours, his extremely well-defined rear in the air, would distract me to a state of embarrassment. I picked up my polished wooden board as Idony made a thoughtful tsking sound.
“Would you mind if we use mine tonight, Pali? That board feels fussy to me.” My brother’s mum excused herself to retrieve her game from her bedroom.
Syndrian moved along the smooth plank floor, rescuing and then dusting each of my checkers with his large palm. He deposited them one by one into their leather sack, while I tried to look away. Restlessly dancing through the cottage, Biko burst into song, making up a strange, nonsensical rhyme. I warmed at his melody, unable to believe a man so wild and free had even half the same blood as me.
“Biko, if you had as much sense as you do talent,” I teased, desperate to focus on anything other than the intense pull of Syndrian’s body. “You’d be the wealthiest bard in the realm.”
“Far too hard, the life of a bard,” Biko crooned. “I like my land.” He puckered his lips and kissed the tips of two fingertips, then bent to tap the kiss against the floor. “And ale in my hand!”
I giggled at him and stole another peek at Syndrian. Only when I allowed myself to look did I notice he was standing beside me, patiently holding the leather bag with my checkers. His summertime eyes darkened as if they longed to share their secrets.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Thank you.” I snatched the pouch a little too roughly, careful to avoid contact with his fingers. I’d done that before and knew better now. A single touch of Syndrian’s skin against mine, and my concentration would scatter like those checkers on the floor. Maintaining my composure all night would be impossible if I brushed his hand; I’d come to the crofter’s cottage not to upset my already frazzled heart, but to soothe it.
“Here we are.” Idony returned to the kitchen with an ironspruce board smooth from years of use. “Shall we use my pieces as well?” she asked.
I nodded. With beloved company and the promise of a game at hand, I felt relaxed, at home, and ready to play.
“Hungry, Pali?” Biko walked to the far side of the cozy kitchen.
Bundles of fresh elderflower, parsley, and tarragon hung from the ceiling. Wooden dishes filled with ripe black berries still attached to fragile stems lined a shelf that my brother himself had designed and built. He picked a sweet pink apple and bit down, spraying juices from the corners of his mouth.
“Oh… Ohhh… These are good. From the southern orchard.” He motioned to his mother. “Mmm, that late-season sunlight!” He nodded appreciatively. “Syn, you gotta have one.” He grabbed another from the shelf and tossed it roughly at his friend.
I winced and half closed my eyes, expecting a mess of shattered fruit to be the next thing that hit the floor, but Syndrian lifted a hand and caught it easily. He slipped an eating knife from a sheath on his waist, then stepped over to the wash bucket, rinsed the knife, and set into slicing and coring the apple.
“Bread, man,” he grunted.