Chapter Text
It started out innocently enough.
Rhyme opened the door to the en-suite bathroom and stopped short. "Um, Gale, love? Did something happen to the toilet?"
Gale, who was sitting on the bed wearing only his sleeping pants, froze in the middle of turning a page. "Why are you asking?"
"Well," Rhyme cleared her throat, "either something well-hidden died in there without us noticing and has been rapidly decomposing ever since, or the odor ward glyph on the toilet is failing."
Before she could even finish the sentence, Gale changed color from his usual light skin tone to bright red to maroon, sprang to his feet and sprinted towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a loud crack. Rhyme snickered over his sensibility. It wasn't like she'd never heard him snore and fart in his sleep before. She didn't have any immediate plans to confront him with this intimate knowledge, though.
After a few minutes Gale emerged, looking flustered and panting a little. "The bathroom can be safely used again, darling."
Rhyme smiled graciously at him, refraining (not without effort) from any further comments.
The next morning found them tangled together amidst the rumpled sheets and a jumble of assorted pillows, sharing the afterglow in each other's arms. Rhyme ran her fingers through Gale's chest hair, marvelling yet again at its softness.
"Good morning, husband," she murmured, kissing the stretch of skin above his nipple, her head resting on Gale's shoulder. Her dreamy smile grew wider at the sound of her own voice, just a little hoarser than usual.
"Good morning, indeed…" The slightly slurred words told her that he, too, was smiling — and also about to fall back asleep again.
"You'll be late for your class, love," she said, drawing more circles over his stomach.
His arms flexed around her, pulling her a little closer. "I'll send a message that I have some private business of utmost urgency to attend to."
"Wasn't that what you told Vajra Safahr just a few days ago?" She rubbed her cheek on his chest, remembering precisely what kind of urgent business they had ended up taking care of for the better part of that day.
A low chuckle vibrated through Gale. "Hmmm, could be. I'm sure everyone has forgotten it already."
Rhyme lifted her head to have a better look at her recalcitrant spouse. "You might be underestimating both the Blackstaff's memory and perceptiveness, don't you think?"
With one arm Gale pulled her back onto his shoulder, while the other hand ran up and down her thigh in slow strokes. "I'm sure I can talk her into giving a newlywed a bit of a leeway," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She had one last ace up her metaphorical sleeve. "If you fall asleep now, who will stand between your students and utter ignorance?"
"Must you always appeal to my hypertrophied sense of responsibility?" Gale sighed in a dramatic display of mock exasperation. "That's just not fair play."
Rhyme gave him a light shove as he extricated himself from their bed. "If you wanted someone who played fair, you should have married Wyll." She had just a second's warning before one of the pillows came flying at her.
Fifteen minutes later Gale stepped out of the bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam. She admired him openly from where she still lay sprawled out on their bed.
"Rhyme, darling, have you seen my hair tie?"
"Didn't I buy you half a dozen of those just a tenday ago?" She rolled over to Gale's side of the bed, only to find none of the ties on his bedside table or on the floor next to it.
"I seem to be losing them with an alarming regularity," he mused, putting on a pair of boxer briefs and a shirt. "Hmmm, maybe…"
He trailed off, then went over to one of the corners of their bedroom, where a Tiny Servant sat motionless. It was a flat bowl with a lid, enchanted to sprout four stubby legs and three arms. Two hands in front held a dustpan and a brush. The third hand in the back sported a mop.
"Let's see what Sweepy has to say regarding the matter of missing hair ties," Gale said, setting the bowl on a low table next to a plush sofa.
Rhyme hesitated for a moment. The bed was warm and comfortable, but the curiosity won out. She got up and threw on a sheer dressing gown (a garment made purely for Gale's enjoyment, she maintained, as it failed miserably at all other applicable purposes), then sat down next to Gale just as he lifted the lid up gingerly.
Sweepy released a small puff of dust and a harassed-looking spider that scuttled out immediately, a long white hair and a few dust bunnies trailing behind it. Rhyme reacted with lightning speed, trapping it under an overturned water glass. Pushing a sheet of paper underneath the glass to keep the spider inside, she walked over to the window and tossed it out, muttering under her breath, "Get out of my house, Bitch. You're no longer welcome here."
"Well, what do you know." Gale pulled out a hair tie, covered in more dust bunnies. He peered into the bowl, frowning. "Hmmmm, our little helper here might have a hitherto unknown kleptomaniac tendency."
A few minutes later Sweepy's dusty stash was spread out on the table in front of them: eight hair ties, a key to their wardrobe, a single sock, several of Tara's feathers, and two pairs of lacy panties. Rhyme picked them up with a pincer grasp of her fingertips, trying to avoid the release of another dust cloud.
"Huh, I've been looking for these."
"I wonder how Sweepy got to them." Gale was still frowning, turning the bowl this way and that.
Rhyme snorted at him. "Maybe next time you pull my panties off, don't toss them away? Since Sweepy obviously considers everything on the floor to be fair game."
"Noted, darling." Gale grinned at her, looking rather pleased with himself. "It seems, though, that I'll have to tweak its object recognition spell tonight." He snapped with his fingers and the Servant jumped to its legs immediately, shook itself once like a wet dog, then leapt down from the table and marched off back to its corner.
Another ten minutes later Gale, clad in his magisterial robes, slightly damp hair gathered in a loose bun, pulled Rhyme into his arms.
"I'll miss you, wife," he murmured into her ear, hands sliding shamelessly down her back to grasp her ass through the thin fabric of the dressing gown.
She swatted at his arm. "Behave! Or do you want to stand in front of your students with a raging erection under those robes?"
"Fine, fine! If you insist." He took a step back, then intoned the formula for a Teleport spell and was gone.
"Showoff!" Rhyme chuckled affectionately at the empty spot where Gale stood just a moment ago. She quickly changed into more practical clothing and went downstairs to her favorite chaise by the window. Magical Linguistics: Introduction and Concepts, a tome she had been reading for the past few days, was waiting there for her with a corner of a plush purple comforter stuck between the pages in lieu of a bookmark. Armed with freshly brewed tea, Rhyme made herself comfortable for a long day of studying.
~~~
It was late in the afternoon when Gale's Sending startled her out of her concentration.
"Love, I need to stay longer tonight. An unexpected task has come up. I'll buy dinner on my way home. What would you like?"
Her first instinct was to tell him to bring whatever he wanted, but she held it back with a conscious effort. For the last few months she had been working under Gale's guidance on developing a better relationship with food. A good meal can do so much more than fill your stomach, he told her. It can comfort and soothe, invigorate, or inspire, even. Do not underestimate its power. She had giggled at how serious he had looked during that proclamation, but his next words still stuck with her.
Listen to your body. What does it need right now?
Rhyme listened, biting her lip in an expression of concentration that Gale found so adorable. She wanted the shrimp filled dumplings from that new place in North Ward, the name of which she couldn't remember. And maybe their sweet-and-sour soup to go with the dumplings. And the spicy mango salad, because Gale would disapprove if she didn't get any kind of vegetables. And a lemon tart from "their" place, because she deserved a treat after eating the salad, didn't she?
Rhyme closed the book with a frustrated sigh. The author was either being deliberately vague on some of the finer points of the matter of Magical Linguistics, or he lacked that particular knowledge altogether. She wasn't sure which option would be worse, but whichever the case, it left her feeling like the full picture the author was trying to paint was missing some of the crucial details for her to grasp the concepts fully. Sure, she understood the basics of it, but she craved a deeper comprehension that the textbook simply failed to provide.
She opened the book again, looking for footnotes, references, brief mentions — any additional source that could potentially provide more in-depth insight. Noting down two titles that came into question, Rhyme set the book aside once again and went up to the library. She located the tressym on the balcony, lounging in a patch of early afternoon sun.
"Ryme'dra, my dear, you look distracted." Tara rose from her spot and stretched in a very catlike manner. "What is troubling you?"
"Could you help me locate these books? Gale's library is simply too big for me to do it myself. I still don't know half the books he owns."
"Of course, dear kit. What are we looking for?"
"Magical Linguistics of Common Spells and Cantrips," Rhyme read the titles from the note, "and Linguistic Considerations for Advanced Magic Practitioners."
Tara trotted into the library on light paws, repeating the titles out loud. "I'm sure that I have seen Magical Linguistics somewhere around here — " She steered towards a shelf in one of the corners " — ah, yes, there it is!" She pawed the dusty spine of the book. "But the other one? I am afraid Mister Dekarios does not own a copy of that particular edition."
Rhyme crouched down to retrieve the book. "Thank you, Tara, this will help a lot already."
Tara looked quite pleased with herself. "You may scratch me between my wings, kit."
Half an hour later Rhyme was sure that Magical Linguistics, while undoubtedly helpful, did not delve into the more advanced spells to the extent she would have liked. She needed to find a copy of Linguistic Considerations, after all.
Rhyme looked out of the window, considering her options. She had pestered Gale with all sorts of requests as of late. Could she in good conscience do it yet again? Rhyme grinned lopsidedly as she imagined how Gale would shake his head and gently berate her if he found out about her doubts. Casting her hesitation aside, she composed a note to her husband and quickly sealed it with a few drops of wax.
It didn't take her long to find a gaggle of urchins playing in the streets. She beckoned one of the boys towards her, holding the note out to him. The little scamp named the price of 5 copper pieces (adding at least one extra just based on the quality of her clothes, she was sure of it).
"You and I both know that anyone else would deliver the note for three copper pieces, but I do applaud your quick entrepreneurial thinking." Rhyme counted out the money. "Here are seven copper pieces. Make sure you run straight to the Blackstaff tower without stopping to chat and play with your friends."
The boy beamed at her and took off at breakneck speed. With any luck, she thought, Gale would bring the book in the evening and her curiosity could finally be satisfied.
~~~
"What's going on here?" Gale stood in front of the wine cupboard and examined a bottle of Amnian Red he'd just retrieved.
Rhyme, who was setting the table for their dinner, paused for a moment. "Are you talking to me or the cupboard?"
The bottle in Gale's hands was fogging over quickly as he turned to her, his brows furrowed. "This is much colder than the right drinking temperature. The glyph on the wine cupboard must be acting up, though I have no idea why."
"Well, pour the glasses now, then the wine will have time to breathe and temper until the dinner is ready. I know, I know, it's not ideal," she added quickly, as Gale made a face at her suggestion.
He complied, then walked back towards the cupboard and inspected the glyph, muttering under his breath as he worked on it. "I think I have corrected whatever was wrong with it, but I'll have to check tomorrow for any errors I may have missed. The day has been a long one," he smiled apologetically at her.
Indeed, Gale had come home a good hour later than usual, looking quite harried. To speed things along in the kitchen, a mage hand had been summoned to stir the vegetable ragout, while another pair of hands was tasked with chopping the salad.
Rhyme came over and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Don't worry about it, love. I'm sure you did a great job with the glyph, as usual." She paused, somewhat unsure how to proceed; Gale had yet to mention her book request — or whether he had received the note at all, for that matter. "So, um, did you have a chance to look for Linguistic Considerations today?"
He gave her a look she couldn't quite place. "I did. The Academy's library doesn't have a copy, sadly."
"Oh." She was genuinely disappointed at this. She'd had a whole half a day to look forward to diving into that text.
"Vajra Safahr has a copy in her private collection, though."
Rhyme perked up at that. "Do you think it would be terribly inappropriate to ask her to borrow it?"
There was that look again, a mix of apprehension and… something else she couldn't identify. "I already did."
"Oh! What did she say?"
"That you can have it. But," Gale drew her a little closer, looking her in the eyes intently, "she wants to give it to you personally. While you are having lunch with her."
Rhyme felt her mouth go dry instantly. In the ringing silence that followed, the loud click of her throat as she swallowed seemed deafening.
"The Blackstaff wants to meet with me?" Rhyme wasn't sure whether she was excited or terrified. "Over lunch? Why?"
"Apparently, this book hasn't been requested in well over ten years. The last student that had borrowed it was Vajra herself. It seems that just by asking for this book you have made an impression. She wants, and I quote, 'to meet the inquisitive mind that will go to such lengths in pursuit of knowledge'."
Rhyme stared at him. Terrified. Yes, definitely terrified. "I don't know what to say."
"Say that you don't have plans for lunch tomorrow, and I'll arrange everything else." He saw her anxiety and hurried to add, "There's no need to stress about it this much, darling. It's a very informal meeting. She just wants to have lunch and talk, nothing more. It's a unique opportunity, really."
"Unique opportunity?" Rhyme squeaked, then took a deep breath. "That's not exactly helping with the stress, you know."
Gale smiled at her, clearly in an effort to make her feel at ease. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you without question."
She considered her options. "I do want that book…"
Gale beamed at her. "Excellent! I'll let Vajra know and tell you the details tomorrow. Now," he flicked his wrist in the general direction of the kitchen, "shall we eat?"
The pair of mage hands appeared in the doorway, carrying the salad bowl and placing it on the table. Both of them stared at the contents. Gale cleared his throat.
"Well, this is, uh, unexpected."
The bowl was filled with generous dollops of runny pastes in red, yellow and green. Rhyme stuck a finger into the red paste and licked at it. "Tomatoes," she proclaimed. "The rest must be bell peppers, cucumbers and salad leaves."
Gale stroked his beard absentmindedly. "I can only guess that the mage hands have gone a bit overboard with chopping. I'm sorry, love," he turned to her, shamefaced. "It seems we'll have to do without a salad tonight."
She looked at him, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, I don't know about that. Do we have straws?"
They both broke out in laughter and her anxiety at the prospect of meeting the Blackstaff dissipated somewhat.