The scream sounded more alarmed than pained.

Jason looked up from the silver he was carefully twisting into shape. His little forge at home was better for the delicate work. It was just easier without the apprentices banging about.

He didn’t resent them for it of course, being a blacksmith was, by necessity, somewhat loud, but it was difficult to braid a dozen strands of hair-fine silver together with that much noise around him.

Of course, it would seem that practicing magic wasn’t always as quiet as he thought.

Daramethe was having some difficulties.

When Jason poked his head around the half-wall that separated his forge from their little garden, he had to stifle a laugh.

His wife, supposedly a terrible and feared sorceress who would destroy the world, had a little thunderstorm, directly over her head.

“Go away,” she hissed, and batted at it fruitlessly. As if offended by her attempts to get rid of it, the dark little cloud began to drip mournfully. “No! No nonono… don’t you dare-“

There was a miniature crack of lightning that vaporized a handful of Dara’s wildly out-of-control mint patch, and the downpour started in earnest. Dara shrieked and tried to run for cover, but the determined little cloud followed her everywhere she went.

Jason burst out laughing at the sight of his dripping wife, head surmounted by a tiny thunderhead, with little lightning strikes bouncing down around her.

She heard him, and turned, the picture of cold, wet unhappiness.

“My spell is not working,” she said miserably, and wrapped her arms around herself despite the warmth of the summer sun that warmed the garden and filled the air with the scent of herbs. “At all.”

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“You mean you didn’t mean to summon rain?” Jason set his work aside, still choking on his laughter as he went to his wife. “But just think how much trouble this will save on the watering. Just walk around the garden a bit and it will save so much time.”

A particularly impressive bolt of lightning blasted out of her thunderstorm and burned a trailing pattern into the wood of Jason’s woodworking table. He was glad there was nothing on the table, and took the warning for what it was.

Dara always did have a temper, especially when she was cold.

He stepped into her rainshower and stroked her wet hair out of her eyes, and kissed her forehead.

“Not even a smile for me?” he teased his frustrated wife gently, and kissed both her eyelids. “I thought it was funny.”

“I can’t get it to go away,” Dara hissed spitefully up at the cloud that, obligingly, had moved off her head and high enough for Jason to fit under it with her. “I’m supposed to be the lightning witch, not the ‘personal-rainshower’ witch!”

“This is more useful. Look how happy your mint is.”

“Lightning, Jason.”

“You seem to be doing that pretty well,” he observed, and wrapped her in his arms, ignoring her muttered threats, and the cold rain that was soaking through his shirt. No wonder she was grumpy. It was practically sleet. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it.”

“What-“

Before she could ask what he was up to, Jason swept her into his arms and whirled around the garden until his wife shrieked with laughter and held on. Not for the first time, he was glad that she was so tiny. He loved carrying her around. It was a surefire way to make her laugh.

The raincloud followed them gamely, rumbling furiously as Jason carried his wife around the garden until everything was watered and they were both breathless.

Jason set Daramethe down, and smiled as she giggled into his shirt, hiding little snorts as she tried to catch her breath. When she looked up, he kissed her, slow and sweet.

When he looked again, her raincloud was gone.

“Just had to think of something else,” he whispered when she realized that they weren’t getting any wetter and burst into a delighted smile. “We needed to wash up anyway. A little more water won’t hurt anything.”

“I’ll give you something to think about,” she threatened playfully, and lightning crawled down her long hair, over his hands as she backed him inside and towards their bedroom. “Get inside, Mastersmith. If I’m to do the washing, I will need all your clothes!”