by KC Kingmaker
She reached behind her with both hands, tucking her hands away in the waistband of her pants. She produced two closed fists to me, each with the end of a stick poking out between her fingers.
I blinked rapidly as I observed the smooth twigs. They both looked exactly the same.
“Shit,” I said. “Right now?” This was a big decision to be making before dinner.
She nodded triumphantly. “It’s the only way.”
Well, that was debatable, but if it meant placating her.
I hastily plucked the stick out from her right fist and held it in my palm. It was small, but that didn’t mean anything, unless—
She opened her other hand to reveal the stick she held. Its length went to her wrist, right to the cuff of her sleeve.
Hers was longer.
I noticed her thumb and forefinger were white against the middle of the stick. The way it was held, she could have easily snapped and slid the stem stealthily into her long sleeve, if she had wanted.
She could have made that stick the shorter one in the blink of an eye, likely without me noticing.
I gazed up at her with awe. The warm smile on her face gave me life.
She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s decided, then. I’m going to miss you, sister.” She leaned in and pecked me on the cheek, then abruptly stood from the edge of the bed with a sniffle. “Now, come on. Alondra has some special slop prepared for dinner. Let’s see what the old crone has cookin’.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll be right there.”
As Blythe left the room in a hurry, probably before she could break into tears, I was left studying the little stick in my palm.
She’d let me win. Why?
Had it been to make me feel better? Or did she think I needed this adventure more than she did?
8
Levia
Next morning, I packed a bag full of supplies for my travels ahead: clothes, foodstuffs, a miniature tent. I didn’t know what to expect out in the Wildlands.
Belfue was one of many towns that had popped up generations ago along the giant Miran River that flowed north-south through the continent.
The massive expanse called the Wildlands was bordered on all sides by the dragon territories: the Emberlands to the east, the Havenlands to the north, the Winterlands to the west, and the island kingdom of Tempest Isle to the south. I’d never been to any of them, of course, but I knew each land was ruled by one of the four Dragon Houses: Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring. Each House correlated with one of the prime elements: fire, earth, water, air, respectively.
On its face, all this thinking about dragon Houses and land ownership wasn’t important because I shouldn’t have to deal with any of it.
But something gnawed at my stomach and told me I’d see that marvelous, statuesque man from Jervus’ tavern again before my adventure was done, and something about him piqued my interest.
Call it intuition. One thing was for sure: He wasn’t from around here. And what would an outsider be doing in Belfue other than to answer Chief Garnu’s call for treasure-seekers?
If that stunning man was part of Garnu’s roundup, then I could only think of him as an adversary . . . which was a shame because just laying my eyes on him had sparked a deep warmth inside me that I hadn’t felt before.
I mean, I wasn’t a virgin by any means. I’d had a few dalliances with men during my twenty years on this land we called Caan, despite my better judgment. But never anything serious. I wasn’t a prude, but I also wasn’t like most other women I knew. I’d been independent since a young age. I wasn’t a mother and had no plans to become one, which in itself seemed like a sin among my people.
I hadn’t needed to get into a serious relationship in order to get my heart broken.
That had already happened to me at a young age.
I’d just never been interested in romance, I suppose—my focus had always been on survival and the survival of the ladies I helped.
Yet that man from the tavern, we never even exchanged a word, but the heat radiating between us had been palpable. I’d been inexplicably drawn to him the moment I saw that bristly, chiseled jawline beneath his hood.
The magnetic attraction had been too powerful to blame on the booze, as I was inclined to do.
“Everything all right, sis?” a voice behind me said. “You’ve been poring over that map for eons. Any longer and I’m worried your eyeballs will fall out.”
I blinked back to reality, clearing my throat as I turned to face Blythe in the doorway. She was smirking at me and I felt a shimmer flush my cheeks while thoughts of the mysterious out-of-towner faded.
Blythe lifted a bulging leather satchel as she walked over. “I made you some food for your journey. Sandwiches, mostly, and those muffins I make that you’ve always liked.”
I reverently took the bag like it was a priceless relic. “Merlog’s taint, Bly, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard of.”
“Oh, shut it,” she said, turning away. She wasn’t a bashful individual by any means, so seeing her like this brought a smile to my face. “You and I both know it’s the only thing I know how to make. It gave me something to do while you overslept.”
I reached out and gently tilted her chin toward me, forcing her to look at me. “Seriously, Blythe. Thank you.”
Her eyes were dewy. She blinked away the tears and, after a brief pause, she lunged and threw her arms around me. Her fierce hug pushed the air out of my lungs, her face pressed against my chest.
“Dammit, you’d better come back to me, ya big idiot,” she said in a strangled voice.
I nestled her head, caressing her dark hair. “I know you’d haunt me in the afterlife if I didn’t, Bly, just to kill me all over again.”
“Hey, that’s not funny!” she wailed, lurching back to glower at me.
“I’ll return,” I said with a firm nod.
“You promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” She wiped her face with her forearm, dashing away the tears as quickly as they’d come. “Gods, look how pathetic I am, sniveling like a little girl.”
“It’s not pathetic, Blythe, we’ve—” I cut myself off, choking back a lump in my throat. “We’ve never been apart for as long as I’ll probably be gone.”
“Ugh, fuck, don’t remind me. I’ll start crying again.”
“Can’t have the other ladies seeing that, can we?”
“Absolutely not! They’ll never listen to me if they find out their hardass enforcer is actually a soft, cuddly bear.”
I winked at her. “There isn’t a cuddly bear out there with sharper claws, Bly.”
“Or a more promiscuous one, eh?” She laughed and joined me at the table to stare down at the map. “Now then. Cerophus City.” She poked the map hard with her finger.
I nodded. “A long ways away. On the eastern fringes of the Wildlands, near the Emberland border.”
She traced the roughly-sketched trail I would have to follow to get there. “Looks like you’ll be traversing through plains, forest, and hills. That’s quite a trek, especially by foot.”
“Yeah, not exactly a quick march to the town square, is it? I guess the sooner I get going the . . . better?” I hesitated when I noticed a sparkle in her eyes.
I knew that mischievous look anywhere.
“Blythe, what is it?” I asked suspiciously.
Her lips slowly curled at the corners. “Speaking of the town square—that gives me an idea.”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Shit,” I said, “I’m going to really miss not having you around. Whose idea was it to do this alone, again?”
I HONESTLY WAS DEBATING my idea of setting out alone. But, no, I needed to stand firm.
Not having Blythe around would make me homesick, but it was better than constantly worrying about the safety of our charges back home or worrying about putting her in danger.
And for what, a stupid sword? I was starting to think I was gett
ing in over my head. Was this whole journey really worth it?
The idea of ten Oblyx Sheets flashed through my mind, and of what I could accomplish with all that—
Yes, yes, it’s definitely worth it.
I think part of me also just needed a vacation from Belfue—from the drinking, the depressing jobs finding battered women, the wretched men, the daily grinding.
It all wore on a girl.
I needed out, if only to recharge and come back stronger than ever.
Blythe didn’t need to know all that, though.
After giving all the women at the refuge fond farewells and leaving a few notes to the older tenants like Alondra and Seren on how to deal with the younglings, I made my way into town with Blythe in tow.
Near the town square, she led me by the arm to a muddy trail, dragging me away from the hubbub of the merchants.
I was under a mountainous backpack and my spine already ached.
“By the gods, I’m never going to make it,” I croaked, trying to keep up with her as I stooped under the weight of my pack.
“I know,” she said matter-of-factly, “and that’s where my idea comes into play.”
I could smell the manure and hay before we reached the stable. Wrinkling my nose, I wondered why she’d brought me here—we didn’t have any stablemen or couriers in our employ.
A few horses were fenced in a nearby shed, likely owned by the traders who headed into town for the busiest trading hours. A couple covered wagons were also being loaded up with goods, these traders apparently heading out.
“Wait here,” Blythe directed, standing me in front of the fenced-in horses.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already gone, storming across the street.
A horse poked its muzzle out from between its stall and nickered at me.
I dropped my pack on the ground, sighing with relief and massaging my aching shoulders. My hand glided through the horse’s mane. “Hey there, friend. Sorry, I’ve got no carrots in here.”
She was a beautiful brown mare. Her eyes implored me to reconsider as she snuffled again, and I suddenly felt guilty.
“I—I might have a muffin or something,” I explained. I waded through my pack but then second-guessed myself once I found the bag of sandwiches and muffins.
I was probably really going to need this sustenance if I was out in the Wildlands alone. Who knew how long I’d be out there? A few days? The trek on the map looked longer than that. Once I ran out of food, I’d have to forage or hunt for myself.
Despite all that, I tore off a chunk of muffin and stuffed it between the horse’s fence. “Shhh, now don’t tell anyone, okay?” I said, feeling the horse’s warm tongue on my palm as it ate. “Especially Blythe,” I whispered, smiling and petting the horse one more time.
I turned to the loudness of Blythe’s raised voice, and my hand instinctively went behind me where I kept my dagger.
Across the street, I saw her arguing with a man about twice her age: gray-haired, disheveled, fat. He looked like a typical farmer type. He also looked supremely uncomfortable getting shouted at by a raging Blythe, standing on the balls of her feet while she bombarded him like a miniature catapult.
Finally, the farmer’s body language told me he was defeated. He looked over his shoulders with embarrassment while trying to get Blythe to be quiet with upraised palms.
I grimaced. Ouch. Anyone who knew Blythe knew you never tried to get her to calm down—or, shit, any woman, really. It would only backfire.
Sure enough, Blythe redoubled her efforts, berating him some more, until the farmer walked up to one of the covered wagons to speak to a man loading up.
The farmer’s eyes shot over to me with a jut of his chin.
My eyes widened. “What the fuck are they talking about?” I asked the horse behind me.
She neighed, reaching her nose through the wooden bars, no doubt begging for more muffin.
I flapped my hand at her. “Shush, you’re gonna give us away, dammit.”
A moment later, the farmer returned to Blythe and then she seemed calmer. She nodded, twirled on her heels, and exaggeratedly sashayed toward me.
The farmer watched her ass go the entire way.
Blythe was still smirking when she reached me. “You’ll be traveling on that wagon,” she explained, thumbing over her shoulder to where the farmer and the wagon’s owner now stood with their hands on their hips.
“I—huh? What do you mean?”
She shrugged easily. “I made a deal. Or, rather, old Jasent owed me one.”
My eyes bulged. “That’s Jasent? You described him as a ‘robust outdoorsman,’ Bly.”
Her shrugging continued, unabashed. “Slightly embellished, perhaps. Rotund might have been a better word.”
My eyes returned to the gray-headed, rotund man.
Then her little face scrunched as she poked a finger at my chest. “Hey, listen here, Levy! You don’t get to judge me, okay? Just get your ass on the wagon and enjoy your fucking trip!”
Taken aback, I couldn’t help but smile. I was pretty good at ignoring her explosive temper—I had one myself. It was part of our banter.
“I take it back, Bly. This is the sweetest thing of all things you’ve ever done. The muffins and sandwiches come in second.”
Her faux anger died immediately. “Just get on, please, before they change their minds. And before I do.”
I nodded, lugging my backpack onto my shoulders.
As we walked across the street, she said, “The wagon-owner said he’s not going all the way to Cerophus, but can get you pretty close. I figure it’s better than nothing.”
“What’d you do to get him to help me?” I had to ask. We stopped in the middle of the street. “I didn’t see you exchange any Scraps or anything. And you seemed rather heated.”
“Old Jalent just needed a little reminder about how I blew his mind the other night, and that his wife could easily find out about it because, you know, word travels fast in this town.” She winked at me.
My mouth popped open. “Merlog’s balls, girl. You really have no shame.”
She sighed, staring off into the distance with a forlorn look on her face. “Yes, I suppose the saga of Blythe and old Jalent is reaching its natural end.”
Then she turned back to me with her usual energetic, mischievous expression, and slapped my ass. I yelped.
“Now then, get your luscious ass on that wagon, Vera Sunfall!”
THE WAGON ROLLED TOWARD the edge of town, moving slowly but assuredly along the dirt road. The sun was shining high, the day was warm, and I finally felt like I could breathe again.
Even if the wagon was slow and the wheels creaky, its travel would be constant. I would make good time on this thing and, glancing over at my enormous backpack, I wouldn’t have to lug that fucking monstrosity around.
To my delight, one of the two horses leading the wagon was the one I’d fed the muffin. Maybe she’d become a nice replacement for Blythe as my temporary new best friend. Her name was Franny.
The owner of the wagon was named Clive. He was middle-aged and seemed pleasant enough. A simple man of few words, I didn’t think I had to worry about him. He was traveling to a small town to reunite with his wife and kids, bringing furs and trade goods.
As we made our way to the end of town, the wagon ready to make its way onto the endless prairie beyond, something caught the corner of my eye.
I spun my head to look out the back of the wagon—
And there he was. Standing like a fiery lighthouse, except this time he had his hood down.
Even from this distance, the man was breathtakingly handsome, and the sudden sight of him made my heartbeat stutter. His shoulder-length, dark auburn hair fluttered in the gentle breeze like waves of fire. He was bigger than most men I’d ever seen, taller and stronger looking, with brawny muscles that rippled against the fabric of his clothes. And his clothes looked nice—nothing like the passing peasants around him.
; Perhaps that was why he stood out like a light in the darkness: Everyone around him appeared so small and inconsequential. He looked like a vision from the future.
Even his posture came across as . . . primal. Though he stood tall and straight-backed, his dark cloak swishing around him, there was something barbaric about him. Savage, even.
Or maybe it was just the heat that ignited inside me, starting at my belly and venturing down to my core, that made him stick out in my eyes, because no one else paid him any mind.
He was just gazing at me as our distance grew.
Lewd thoughts swirled in my head, but then I came to my senses. A nagging at the back of my mind told me I had to take a chance.
I pounded on the front wall of the wagon. “Hey, Clive, hold up!” I yelled.
“What is it, Vera?”
“Can we stop for one minute, please? I promise it’ll be quick.”
The horses slowed, the creaky wheels stopping. He looked over his shoulder. “Is something the matt—oh.”
I was already scrambling out the back of the wagon.
“Hurry up then, girl! Go kiss your boyfriend goodbye and let’s get a move on!”
I stalked down the road, closing the gap between me and the slab of perfection. I tried not to look menacing, but my face must have been off because I could’ve sworn he flinched as I approached.
But he didn’t flee. This was definitely not the type of man to run away with his tail between his legs.
Standing in front of him, I had to crane my neck to stare up at his gorgeous face. He had a severe jawline, his face tight but incredibly easy to look at. His eyes were shaded under a prominent brow and a small scar ran along the side of his chin, up to his left cheek.
Those eyes—they made me shudder with anticipation. Brilliant amber, like a simmering flame. He smelled of a summer bonfire and granite, with a hint of pine.
I seriously hoped he didn’t notice me sniffing him like a weirdo.
His amber eyes flared to life for a moment as his gaze settled on me, his lips still folded in a line. They were such full lips. Imminently kissable.