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“I’m Garth,” he said. “And you’re… new?”
Nevelyn imagined he’d been about to say another word. Something else entirely. After a moment, she nodded. “My name is Nan. I work in the seamstress room.”
The older gentleman snorted. “Gods. Who stuck you with that name? Even I’ve never dated a Nan. Thought they all died out last century.…”
“That’s rich coming from someone named Daft,” Garth cut back. His eyes never left her. “How do you like it… down there?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer, or why he cared? None of her plans involved a stagehand up in the crow’s nest. But even if it felt like a waste of time, his honest question lured an honest answer from her. “I find the seamstress room to be a little stuffy.”
That drew out a laugh from both men. Garth looked especially pleased with her answer.
“They’re not the kindest folks. If you ever need a break…” He gestured around the room. “You’re welcome to visit the two of us. It might not be much to look at, but hey, at least it smells like sweat and failure up here.”
She could feel her lips tugging into a smile, but the moment stretched and began to feel awkward. Nevelyn quickly pointed to the stack behind him.
“The clothes?”
“Clothes?” Garth echoed distractedly. “Right. The clothes. Here.”
He bent to scoop them up. It was a surprisingly gentle motion from such a big man. She watched as he carefully folded them over one arm. Nevelyn took a single step forward to accept the offering, and their hands brushed beneath the fabric. A slash of unexpected warmth. Nevelyn tried to tug the clothes away, but he held tight to them.
“Wait. I was heading downstairs. Why don’t I just carry them for you?”
Nevelyn couldn’t help blushing slightly. She didn’t bother to point out that when she’d arrived, he had not been heading anywhere. He’d been fast asleep.
“Well, if you’re certain. There are more clothes downstairs that need to be brought up.”
“Of course. Sorry for not thinking of it sooner. I’m still half dreaming.”
I’m still half dreaming.
Nevelyn was not normally sentimental, but that’s what Ava had always called it. That curious existence between waking and sleeping. Whenever her sister made a morning mistake, she’d claim that she was still half dreaming. It was an echo of memory that Nevelyn was not prepared to face this morning. She awkwardly allowed Garth to take the clothes back, ignoring the raised eyebrows the old man was shooting in their direction, and started down the stairs.
“So, Nan, are you… do you live nearby?”
Garth’s voice echoed in the narrow stairwell.
“That’s a rather personal question.”
“Oh. You’re right. I just like your accent.”
Nevelyn frowned. “Accent?”
“I thought I heard something. You sound like you’re from up north.”
“I grew up outside of Peska. We lived on one of the farms there.”
The fabricated story rolled easily off her tongue. It was built around just enough truth to make it easy to talk about—and just enough falsehood to keep a wiser soul from actually tracing the tale back to her and her siblings. “My uncle was born there. I guess I picked it up from him.”
They’d reached the first landing.
“And what brought you to Kathor?”
“Work,” she answered. “The pay here is better than up north.”
That was true too, even if it was only a fractional improvement.
“That’s interesting. You hear about folks leaving Kathor to travel north. Always talking like it’s some big opportunity for them. Like they’re striking it rich or something. I wondered if it was true. I guess people always think things can be better somewhere else.”
