She shrugged. “Intuition.” She cut her eyes to him and smirked. “You slept in my tent, Owen. I didn’t see a brand on your arms.”
“Wait, you slept in her tent?” Colt’s smile was crooked, his eyes curious.
“Yes.” Owen’s eyes widened as he caught Colt’s insinuation. “I was almost killed. Those men made me fight and she stopped them.”
“That why you’re walking like you’ve got a stick up your ass?”
“No I’m not.” Owen straightened so that he was not walking with a gait.
Between them, Gilda stood shorter than either one of them. “Well,” she said, pulling the strap of her bag on her back. “I’m honestly surprised the both of you didn’t die back there. Luck was on your side, it seems. Or perhaps fate.”
Before they could say more, thunder clapped in the distance. They picked up their pace through the soggy grass, their boots tracking through mud and dead weeds. Owen knew they were not far from Avathon’s border.
The pain in his side worsened, and he paused every few minutes to catch his breath. “I need to rest.” When he sniffed, his head hurt.
“There’s some trees up ahead. We can see if the ground’s drier there,” Colt said.
They huddled together at the base of a tree. No sooner had they sat down than the rain began. The clouds were thick, and darkness pulled over them like a thick blanket.
Owen leaned against Colt’s arm and coughed, while Gilda sat close to him on the other side. The air was too cold, and they were too damp already to endure the night.
“Hey, don’t get sick on me again.” Colt nudged him.
Owen pulled his wet coat tighter around him, but it did no good. He would not be sleeping. As the rain grew heavier, water pooled around his boots.
This sent Owen into a frantic panic. “It’s flooding!” he cried, getting to his feet. “What do we do?”
“Calm down,” Gilda told him. “It may not get that high.”
The icy dread that struck through Owen’s heart told him otherwise. “I don’t like this.”
“We’ll keep walking, then.”
The mud was thick beneath the water, but the ground seemed stable enough to walk on. The rain pounded as they continued. Owen’s whole body tingled with fear. He winced and held his side often, the pain in his ribs magnifying.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Colt grabbed Owen’s arm and pulled him forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” His eyes stung from exhaustion and his head throbbed.
Half an hour later, the rain eased to a sprinkle. The rumbles of thunder were behind them, but the remnants of the storm pooled just above their ankles. They trudged through the water for a long time. When they finally hit sturdy land, Owen collapsed on the ground and held his side.
The mixture of cold, wet air and lack of sleep made his mind waver. His body ached against the frigid air. Now was not a good time for him to catch a cold, but he felt it upon him as his body fatigued. When he lay down, Colt grabbed his arm.
“Hold a moment, mate. You can’t sleep here.”
“I’m not sleeping. I’m going to die here.”
“Owen—” Colt sighed. “Come on, get up.”
“Everything hurts.”
“We’ll help you walk.” Gilda eased him up and placed her arm around his waist. Colt grabbed his other arm and helped him forward.
The pain ripped through Owen’s ribs, a sharpness that went up to his stitched shoulder. He placed his hand over his left side as he walked slowly, leaning against his companion.
Dawn broke with the end of the rain. Coming out of the marshy land, they found themselves making their way deeper into the southern region of Lower Milarc. A few houses lined the hills, and crops of rye and cotton followed along the land.
“There,” Gilda said. “Maybe we can find some shelter at one of these farms.”
“What if someone sees us on the main road?” Owen asked gently.
“It’s worth the risk right now. We need sleep, and you’re getting sick, hon. This amount of rain and cold is enough to kill you if you don’t get out of it.”
Owen opened his mouth to reply but gave a painful cough instead.
They pressed onward until they stopped at a stable nearby, where Colt tried to negotiate a stay with the owner. The man turned them away immediately. Gilda split with them to try a few other houses, while Colt and Owen tried their luck with a homely-looking farmer named Talin, who was much more kind, but was also leery of them.
“I’m not sure if the missus would approve,” the farmer said as he shoveled hay in his barn.
“We wouldn’t be any trouble,” Colt said. “We could even stay in the barn if you’d like. We just need a place to pass the day and night after the hard rain.”
“I can’t trust you to stay in my barn, what with the horses in here.”
“Is there someplace you can point us, then? My brother is sick and needs sleep.”
“What now?” The farmer narrowed his eyes at Owen.
“Of course they can stay!” came a woman’s voice from nearby.
An older woman stomped out of one of the horse stalls, a pitchfork in her hand. She looked at Owen as he trembled, and pity washed over her face.
“I’m not sure, Mabel.” The man stroked his gray beard.
“Let them stay, for gods’ sake. That one looks sick as a dog. They can have a night or two in the boarding house, as no one’s usin’ it at the moment, and a meal as well. I won’t be turnin’ anyone away who’s sick.”
Talin turned around and shrugged. “Well, you heard the woman. Sound fine?”
“It’ll do. Many thanks,” Colt said. “I can pay for the trouble.”
“We can speak of it later,” Mabel said, and led them outside to a small building. “We let the stable hands stay here, but at the moment, we have no one here. Two beds, a fire pit, table, and drawers. There’s firewood and kindling stocked just on the floor there. I’ll have a meal brought to you both soon.” She smiled, then looked at Owen. “Get some rest, dear.”
“Thank you,” Owen said, his voice cracking.
When she left, he sat on one of the beds as Colt started a fire in the pit. Owen winced as he pulled off his coat. His feet and hands tingled, his head throbbed, and his body hurt. His throat felt like fire when he swallowed, and when he tried to change his clothes, his head grew light and he stumbled to the floor. His mind was exhausted.
Warm hands pulled him up. He was half aware of Colt pulling off his wet clothes and laying him down on the bed.
Owen felt hot, but he shivered. Colt’s hand was icy against his head.
“Sleep, Owen.”
When he closed his eyes, he slept immediately. He had feverish dreams full of Wielders and monsters who chased him to a blackened sea. He tossed and turned, waking briefly out of strange dreams. At one point, something wet and bitter pressed against his lips. He opened his eyes briefly and saw Gilda giving him something from a spoon.
Then he fell back asleep and dreamed no more.
“You’re stronger than this. Just follow my voice. Talk to me. All you gotta do is open up, but you won’t do it.”
Owen woke slowly, wondering who had spoken to him. He lay for a good moment and looked at the empty, disheveled bed across from him. Then he sat up and looked down at his shirt, which was not his own. When he looked up, he saw Colt sitting in a chair by the fire.
“Hey,” Owen started, his voice a whisper through the crack still in his throat, making him cough.
Colt looked over at him and started. “You’re up. How’re you feeling?”
“All right. Thought I might die.”
“Just the fever. Gilda came in last night and gave you some medicine.”
Owen looked out the window at an evening sky. “I’ve been asleep all day?”
“Yeah, but you needed the rest. Here, you should drink something.”
Colt stood and poured him a cup of water, then he
sat on the other bed.
Owen drank it down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Where did the shirt come from?”
“Mabel brought us some dry clothes. We can stay here another night before we leave. She brought some food not long ago.” Colt took a plate from the end table between the beds and handed it to him.
“I’m grateful for a place to sleep,” Owen said, taking the plate.
“Not many generous folks out there. These are fine people. Eat up.”
Owen looked down at his plate. He slowly savored the taste of turnips, potatoes, mushrooms, and roast drizzled with a creamy sauce. His ravenous appetite cleaned his plate empty, and his spirit felt revived.
He looked around the room. “Where’s Gilda?”
“Helping Mabel with some things. Labor for rent.”
“That’s nice of her. I’d like to help, too.”
“Just rest up for now. I’ll be helping in the stable later.”
After Owen finished eating, he took up his bag and searched for his folklore book, but could not find it. He got up from the bed and looked under the bed for it, hoping it had not fallen out during their escape.
“What are you looking for?” Colt asked.
“My book. I lost it.”
“Nah, I got it drying right near the fire with our clothes, and your journal. I took out all our things to dry. It was a bit damp, but no damage.”
Owen smirked and took his books from Colt. “Much appreciated.” He opened Creatures of the North first. Luckily, it had not been too wet, as he kept it wrapped in his clothes. His journal was another matter. The pages were stiff now, the writing slightly smudged but still readable. There was a rip from the page he had torn out, then another blank page. He was ready to write something.
“Why don’t you tell me one of your stories in there?” Colt asked, sitting in the chair at the fire.
Owen stopped and furrowed his brow. “You want to hear a story? After you mocked the one I told at the festival?”
“I never mocked you. I jest only. Don’t you know that by now?”
Plopping down in an empty chair beside him, Owen flipped through his pages. “What do you want to hear?”
“Tell me anything.”
“Maybe a poem?”
“Right, they’re nice. Read me one.”
It took a moment before Owen found one he liked. It was a poem about Emberton he had written not long ago. “All right, but brace yourself. It’s not very good.”
“Hm,” Colt hummed.
Owen bit his lip, then began.
“‘I am in love with the orange lights that glow in the night.
From my home I see them, flickering within sight.
Like embers do they burn, igniting a heat that touches my heart.
I want to hold them in my hands and hug them to my chest, so that I may feel the warmth of the homes they light.
The orange lights that glow in the night.’”
“Emberton,” Colt said. He looked over and smiled crookedly. “You really do love it there, don’t you?”
Longing filled Owen’s chest. “I have half a mind to turn around right now and go back. But too much has happened. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“It’s a . . .” Colt paused and cleared his throat. “You’re good at writing that. You know, the poem. It was good.”
Owen bit his lip and smiled. “Really? You liked it?”
“Right, yeah,” Colt laughed. “I could never write something like that.”
“You could always try.”
Colt laughed a little. “Nah. I’d fuck it up in some way.” Colt rose from his chair and checked their clothes. “These are still a bit damp. Might need to let them dry in the sun for a while tomorrow. Rain cleared out not long ago.”
“When should we leave?” Owen asked.
“As soon as you’re feeling better.”
The urge to relieve himself suddenly came over him. He made his way outside, staying close to the house, and returned as quickly as he had gone. When he came back inside, he found Colt rummaging through crates in the closet.
“What are you doing?” Owen asked. “Was that door open?”
“I had to pick the lock. I was curious.” Colt popped open the top on one of the crates and laughed. “What a steal,” he said, holding up a small box of tobacco. “A good bit, there are.”
“Don’t you think someone will notice?” Owen asked.
“There’s about ten boxes in here. They won’t miss a few. Or five.”
“What about leaving a trail?” Owen asked.
Colt froze and thought a moment, then narrowed his eyes and put a few boxes back. “Maybe just two. Oh, right, three it is, then.”
Owen shook his head and sat near the fire to warm his hands.
Coming up to the hearth, Colt lit up his pipe and leaned against the mantle.
“If anyone comes in here and smells that, they’ll know someone stole some goods,” Owen said.
Colt’s eyes shifted his way. “Don’t deny a man his pleasures, mate. I’ll only smoke this and no more.”
A smile crawled across Owen’s lips. He coughed loudly, clearing the remaining cold from his throat. “So we can leave tomorrow? I think I’ll be well enough by then. I already feel better.”
“S’fine. Till then, we should pass the time.” Colt grabbed his playing cards from the mantle and sat on the rug before the fire. He patted the spot in front of him and said, “Time to break the monotony of running from Wielders. I need to feel normal. Ever play coin-rummy?”
“Why do you call it that?” Owen raised an eyebrow.
Colt smiled crookedly. “I’ll show you. Bit different setup from regular games people play here.”
After a good shuffle of two decks of cards, Colt dealt eleven cards to each of them. He set the rest of the deck between them and flipped a card over beside it, then he gave each of them six copper pieces from his purse.
“It’s like rummy, but you play on your own hand, not in the middle.” Colt scratched his nose and sniffed. “There’re six rounds. First round, you lay down two three’s. Jokers are wild cards. Draw a card first, then you put it down with one of the same if you have it and discard one.”
“Oh.” Owen shuffled his cards around, finding a pair of four’s and three kings. He drew a joker from the pile. “Hm, so I can do this?” He put down the three kings and then the two fours with a joker.
“Yep.”
Owen laughed softly. “First go and I already got it!”
“Now you gotta get the rest out of your hands. Can’t lay any pairs or runs down unless you get what the round calls for first. Second round will be one four, then two fours, one five, two fives, and finally one six.” Colt scratched his neck and flicked something away, sniffing. “Right, so you can also use your coins to buy from the deck if you need a card.”
“Well, hopefully I can remember all that.”
Though the light was dim, they were able to see well enough to pass the time until the game ended with Colt winning. Finding the game a much needed excitement, they played again.
Owen ran his thumb over a faded, wrinkly two of hearts. The card next to it was in much better shape, with only a slight fold at the top. He placed the ten down with another of the same and a joker, then glanced curiously at Colt.
“Why do you still have this deck?” he asked.
“You can see them well enough to play, yeah?” Colt raised an eyebrow.
“Well, yes, but that’s not what I asked.”
Colt shifted and puffed on his pipe. “They were someone’s I used to know.”
“Oh.” Owen straightened his back. “So that’s why you’re so careful with them.”
“He was a good friend.” Colt’s expression was blank, but Owen saw a familiar grief in his eyes.
He bit his lip, hesitating, before he put his cards aside and pulled up his book, Creatures of the North. “This was my mother’s. It’s one of the only things of hers that she and I sh
ared together.” He smoothed his palm over the faded, brown leather cover.
Colt’s lips twitched. He kept his head low, his eyes looking browner in the light. “That’s why you indulge in so many faerie tales, then.”
“I don’t want to forget her.”
“You never will.” Colt put down four aces before discarding, then nodded at the book. “Don’t you draw, too? I’ve seen you doing it.”
“Yes. I have a drawing of you shooting your bow. I did it when we met with Brom.”
“Oh, yeah?” Colt chuckled. “Let’s see it, then.”
Owen picked up his journal, flipped to the page where he had sketched Colt, and showed it to him. He watched nervously as Colt took the book and glanced over the page. It showed his profile and the intense look in his eyes as he drew back the bow.
“This is more than just a sketch,” Colt said. “Looks like you put some detail back into it later. Like my beard and brows. Shadows and all.”
“Well, I thought it was good.” Owen blushed and reached for the journal. “It’s silly. I probably got it all wrong.”
“No, I like it.” Colt pulled it back. “Makes me want to see your others you’ve done so far. Can I?”
Owen snatched the journal away. “No.”
“Defensive. Must have something written in there about me.” He winked.
“Yeah, about how annoying you are.” Owen nudged him.
Their eyes met long enough for the heat to rise in Owen’s cheeks. A flutter rippled across his chest, making his heart skip a beat. He tore his gaze away, thankful the room was dim.
Colt cleared his throat, melded a card onto his nines, and discarded his last. “Guess that’s a win.”
With a groan, Owen accepted defeat.
As Colt dealt a new game, he cleared his throat. “By the way, since we’re in the clear for now, I want to know why you ran off to start with. Leaving a note and not telling me where you went? That’s cruel, mate.”
Feeling shame wash over him, Owen rubbed at his arm and shivered. “It was rash. I just thought I could save Amias. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was on my own, going up that way.”
Colt clenched his jaw and looked down, his eyes serious. “When I found your note, I thought about letting you go on. But I knew you didn’t have food or coin. Then I came across a place and found that woman who tracked us down before. It was night, and I overheard her talking to someone about losing you in the wood. I went after you then.”
Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1) Page 28