by Kate Kelley
“No. Would you have recognized me? You said yourself we keep the kingdom shrouded in mystery. Makes things easier for everyone.”
“I still believe you should at least release your name to the public,” Lyra grumbled as they clopped down the hill.
“If I released my name, it would make me seem an equal. People would start asking questions. Our powers would be revealed. There would be riots. Witch hunts. If we were killed, that could have drastic implications for the protection of the earth. The safety of all magical people and the very well-being of our earth and all of its inhabitants relies on the secrecy of the royal court.”
“Geesh, forget it, then,” Lyra mumbled. Though she supposed he had a point. A large white haired man with a long matching beard unmounted from his horse with a thud and made his way over to them.
“Halt. Who requests passage into Haust Village?” He extended one arm toward them in a stopping gesture, while the other hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Terrin glanced at the latter hand before resuming a jovial expression on his face. The expression shocked Lyra and she couldn’t help but feel disturbed. Such an expression didn’t belong on the man.
“My wife and I seek passage into the town for lodgings for the night,” Terrin stated amiably. The guard eyed Lyra disdainfully, eyes trailing along her clothing.
“Where ye two from? Odd dress,” he drawled, stroking his beard. His other hand continued its resting position on his sword. His finger twitched. Terrin sniffed and slung an arm around Lyra’s waist, pulling her tight against his side.
“She’s with child,” he whispered, using his other hand as if to block his words from onlookers, “gets a little odd when she’s got my seed in her. Claims the bairns don’t like corsets n’ dresses. She’s lucky she’s already giv’n me five sons or I’d ‘ave gotten rid ov’ her a long time ago.” Lyra’s face reddened to an impossible shade of red but she gave her best wifely smile. It came out looking like she would toss up her breakfast on the guard’s shoes. Either way, the explanation seemed to assuage the guard’s skepticism. He waved a hand toward the busy market street, allowing them entrance.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a woman who give ya sons, I’d wager, even if she’s a bit touched in the head. Inn’s down the street to the right.”
Terrin nodded his head in thanks and ushered Lyra into the town’s gates before the guard changed his mind.
“I thought we were just supping here,” she hissed at the back of his head. Terrin side stepped a wayward cart, tugging Lyra onto the walking path.
“We are, but it sounded better to say that we wanted an inn. Less suspicious if we’re comfortable enough to stay the night,” he explained.
Getting tired of him always making sense.
They reached a tavern shortly after, a dilapidated thing, with aging wooden siding and a faded sign that read “Haust’s Finest Ale” hanging off of only one hook above the entrance.
“Looks promising,” Lyra said dryly as they entered. Despite only being about noon, the place was full, all manner of ruffians shouting and slinging drinks across the bar. Painted women in dresses two sizes too small sat atop eager laps, whispering into men’s ears. One man slipped his hand into a woman’s bosom. Lyra averted her eyes and sat down at an empty table. Terrin sat across from her. A few seconds later a bustling plump woman set down two heaping bowls full of soup in front of them, steam wafting from the tops. They wasted no time eating, slurping up every last drop of the soup and getting seconds with bread and butter on the side. They needed their strength for the rest of the day’s journey.
A bright blonde woman with a huge chest that was spilling out of her tight gown sauntered over to them, her bedroom eyes locked onto Terrin. He didn’t seem to notice her as he continued to eat his meal, which didn’t seem to slow the woman down. Lyra glared at her, willing her to walk the other way. A slow burn of anger licked through her gut the closer the woman got to Terrin.
“Greetings, stranger,” her sticky-sweet voice oozed out of her voice box like honey from the comb. Terrin looked up from his bowl, his expression guarded. The forward woman placed a delicate hand on his muscled arm. Terrin eyed her breasts. Lyra’s nostrils flared. She wanted to smack the woman for her audacity.
“Heard your old woman is filled with your seed. Must get awfully lonely these days, if you know what I mean.” The woman said as she shimmied closer to Terrin. Terrin’s brow quirked upward. Lyra couldn’t stand it anymore. Standing suddenly, Lyra did her best to block the woman from her vision, which was difficult, seeing as the woman was now attempting to sit on Terrin’s lap.
“Daylight’s fading, husband,” Lyra clipped out hotly. Terrin sucked in his cheeks as if trying to keep from smiling. He smoothed the blonde woman’s hair like a pet as he leveled his gaze at Lyra.
“This wouldn’t take long, wife,” he replied, winking. The blonde woman giggled, sounding like an ill chipmunk.
“Long as you have coin, o’course,” the blonde piped, as if suddenly remembering her purpose. Though Lyra guessed the woman would take Terrin with or without coin by the way she was nuzzling against his neck like a cat in heat.
“We can’t spare the expense, husband,” Lyra spoke through gritted teeth. Her aura sprang to life, slicing through her in reds and golds. She tamped it down, shielding it, but it continued to simmer.
I could blast that bitch out of his lap faster than she could whip her breasts from under that awful dress.
Terrin watched Lyra with a whisper of a smile, his eyes never leaving hers as he turned to kiss the blonde woman on the side of her head. Lyra clenched her teeth.
Waste of time.
Terrin’s smile fell an instant later and he flipped a gold coin on the table, gently removing the woman from his lap. She eyed the gold coin greedily, turning to Terrin with a question.
“You don’t have to pay until after, sir,” she said coyly.
“Wife’s right about the time. But we do have some coin. Take it, no services required,” he drawled, standing and pulling his satchel over his head. The woman pouted prettily but snatched the coin, stuffing it into the top of her dress. How she had any room for anything in there was lost on Lyra, but she was satisfied.
“Let’s go, wife,” Terrin said amiably, taking her hand and leading her to the bar. The bartender glanced at them from the side as he wiped down the bar in front of him. He took his time getting over to them, but Terrin waited patiently.
“What can I do for ye?” The man asked gruffly, glaring over his furrowed brows at them.
These people must not see a lot of newcomers through here.
“I need two strong horses. Where can I buy them around here?” Terrin asked, keeping his voice low so only the bartender could hear. The man took a deep breath before replying.
“Next door’s the stable, you’ll find some good breeds there. Mighty expensive, though,” he added, sizing up their clothing as if he didn’t believe they could afford it.
Little does he know…
“Thank you,” Terrin replied before turning to leave. The bartender stopped them with another question, causing them to turn back to face him.
“Where you two headed? Wife with child, not ideal to be traveling in her condition,” he kept his voice light, but Lyra could hear the distrust in his voice. She swallowed. A whisper of unease passed through the air.
“Woman wants to see her family,” Terrin replied curtly, turning again to leave.
“The mountain ain’t gonna let you pass,” they heard behind them, the man’s voice taking on a chilling cadence. Lyra shivered, slowing down, but Terrin didn’t slow down. He grabbed her arm, jaw set, and tugged her through the rickety door.
Chapter 23
They rode for hours, partly through forest and partly on a cleared path, and though the wind was chilly, the sky was cloudless and the sun’s rays warmed them. And Lyra was glad to rest her legs. Her horse was a deep brown mare, strong and gentle. Terrin’s was much larger and
darker, a bit ill-tempered too, which irritated Terrin frequently but made Lyra laugh. The beast and the man had matching personalities.
As daylight waned and the early moon slid into the sky, they were approaching a small village even more scant than the previous one, but their people didn’t ask as many questions as the people in the town before. The Haust bartender’s words still rang in Lyra’s mind, haunting her. Terrin had to explain to Lyra that dormant mages existed everywhere, and that the bartender at the last tavern probably had read Lyra’s mind unknowingly. Persimmon was a dormant mage too, apparently, having her mind shield down at all times without realizing it. The difference was Persimmon knew she was a dormant and the bartender likely did not even know such a thing as magic existed. Neither dormant could reawaken their powers or gain control of them.
Lyra was shocked at the idea of dormant mages; she thought there were only a few mages left. Apparently she was dead wrong on that. Terrin insisted she keep a tight shield down on her aura and mind for the rest of the journey.
Once they found an inn, they tied their horses outside, leaving them with water and hay, and paid for a room. They claimed again they were husband and wife. With both their rings on their fingers, no one questioned the validity of their story. Though it felt odd using their engagement rings to other people as faux wedding rings to each other, she had to admit, it was a convenient alibi.
A dowdy old woman with graying brown hair and a heavy limp led them slowly up creaking stairs to a tiny, scant bedroom with a single bed, a chair and small circular table, and a wash basin in the corner. A threadbare rug lay in front of a small unlit fireplace.
“Haven’t anyone to start the fire, sorry. Would do it meself but the ol’ knees are bad. I’ll have supper brought up straight away,” the old woman said, and then left, clicking the door closed.
Terrin shrugged off his satchel and crouched by the hearth, extending his arm until a burst of flame ignited on the few logs. Lyra was grateful as the fire’s warmth extended into the corners of the small room.
“You’ll have to teach me to do that,” she said conversationally, weighing her options on where would be the most appropriate place to sit. Terrin sat in front of the fire, warming his hands. The bed beckoned to her, but Terrin’s words from the previous night, “warming my bed,” came to mind and she quickly dispatched of that idea. She opted to sit in the chair.
“You might be able to work fire. Usually that’s strictly a royal mage trait, but you’ve surprised everyone so far with your skills. And we don’t really know what you are, so I suppose it’s possible,” he spoke into the fire.
“You don’t know what I am?” she asked, baffled.
“What kind of mage you are,” he corrected, turning to look at her.
“I thought I was a mind mage.”
“You are. I’ll explain more later,” Terrin waved his hand as if shooing off further questions.
“Wait a minute, I think I have a right to know what kind of--”
A knock at the door stopped her. Terrin gave her a “hush” gesture, putting his finger in front of his lips. Lyra scowled at him but got up and answered the door.
The innkeeper stood there, panting, holding a heavy tray filled with food.
Lyra felt terrible for her, for having to do all the work, with her bad leg at that. She guessed they didn't get many guests and she wondered how much the woman made each month and whether it was enough to live on.
She took the tray and thanked the woman sincerely, wishing she could do more for her. Terrin reached them in two strides, took the tray from her, balanced the heavy thing in one hand and pulled a few coins from his pockets with the other, pressing them into the old woman's hand.
She blinked and looked down at the shiny discs in her palm, and opened her mouth. Lyra thought she might protest, but the woman seemed to think better of it, and closed her mouth with a clack, pocketing the coin, and limping away.
Terrin returned to his spot on the rug with a plop, leaning his back against the wooden bed frame. He looked liked a giant in this room. One she wouldn't like to cross, at that.
They silently ate their meals until they were was full and sleep called. Lyra stepped outside to use the outbuilding, and then returned back to her room to wash her hands and face. When she returned to the room, Terrin was propped up in bed, engrossed in examining a map laid out in front of him. A stray lock of black hair curled in front of his eye. Black pants slung low on his hips were the only garment he wore.
Here we are, alone, in a small room together for the night, with one bed.
Lyra’s body heated as she averted her eyes and crossed to the wash basin, scrubbing her hands in the icy water and splashing some on her face. It managed to cool her down a little.
The fire was dwindling quickly now, the light fading as the kindling burned away.
“At least give me that top blanket so I can make a bed on the floor,” Lyra finally asked, leveling her gaze at him and crossing her arms.
“There’s room enough for two,” he said, gesturing to the other side of the bed while not looking up from his map.
Lyra examined the opposite side of the bed. It was narrow, but she supposed she would fit if she balanced on the edge. It beat sleeping on that threadbare rug. Even with an extra blanket, she would be sore in the morning.
Now getting out of her clothes for bed was a different story.
Lyra crossed to the wooden chair and planted herself, waiting for the fire to die off, dozing off, until only a dim spark in the ashes was all that remained of the fire.
The room sufficiently dark, Lyra stood and began undressing. She was unsure if Terrin was awake or not, but she wanted to get undressed and under the covers before his eyes could adjust to the darkness. Finally down to her silk chemise and underwear, Lyra crossed to the bed, sliding under the thin blankets and nestling onto the feather down mattress. She was surprised by how comfortable it was, and tossed to her side so that her back was facing Terrin. He lay very still, so that she still wasn’t sure if he was still awake. Listening for his deep breaths, she supposed he was asleep.
The crescent moon illuminated the midnight sky, spilling into the bedroom. Her eyes adjusted. A creak sounded from downstairs, a cough. Lyra sighed. Despite being tired, restless energy ran through her body and she had the itch to turn around to make sure Terrin was sleeping. Just to see his eyes closed would calm her, and she could sleep. Rolling her body slowly around toward him, she froze when her eyes locked onto his--wide open, his face starkly illuminated in the moon’s blue glow.
Definitely not asleep.
Turning back over quickly, she ignored the awareness of his shifting heaviness weighing the bed down behind her even though her body tingled with each movement he made.
Angry at her traitorous body, she stared out at the moon for a long time, watching bats beat their wings across the night sky, until her eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore and she gave in to sleep.
✽✽✽
Lyra woke to a warmth and a contentedness she hadn’t felt in all the years of her life. She was having a wonderful dream about a man holding her close, cradling her body in a breezy field on a lazy summer afternoon. The love, joy, and felt the same toward the man. He was her mate, she felt that surely in her heart.
She snuggled more deeply into his body, breathed in his earthy scent as his arm wrapped tighter around her. Her body responded, something deeper inside her ignited to life, a passion stirred. Her eyes still closed, she nuzzled his bare chest, lips pressing into the warm, smooth skin. She had the urge to flick her tongue out, taste him. When she did, she tasted saltiness and male.
A wetness pooled in her center and a rough hand cupped her almost-bare ass, her chemise pulled up around her waist. She slung a leg over his in response, the dusting of hair tickling her inner thigh. And something hard as steel pressing even closer inward, right at the apex of her legs…
Her eyes popped open to a wide expanse of muscled chest. Shooting u
p in the bed, her right shoulder strap fell down, and she tossed her pile of bed-tossed golden frizzy hair out of her face. Terrin watched her through hooded eyes, a smug expression on his face. She sniffed and pulled up her strap, then scooted off the bed, pretending what happened surely didn’t just happen.
“Where to today, your Majesty?” she asked, watching his expression change to annoyance as she pulled on her pants and tucked in her chemise. She smiled when the smugness disappeared from his face. Using that term seemed to put distance between herself and him. It was a useful defense mechanism, even as she felt the aching void of being pulled away from him.
“Besides being specifically ordered to not call me that, uttering those words is dangerous out here,” Terrin said through clenched teeth, glowering.
Lyra finished tucking in her blouse and slung her arms through her vest. “It’s an expression of sarcasm,” Lyra replied, though she did feel the seriousness of his words. And the sense of danger was out there—a cloud slowly closing in on them. She could feel it, but couldn’t see it.
“Even still. You must not use those words while we are out here—“ Terrin was cut off by the door swinging open, the innkeeper sweeping in with a tray of what looked like two heaping bowls of porridge. The woman’s eyes became round as saucers when she saw Terrin, her gaze landing on his bare chest. The poor woman’s cheeks turned red and she was retreating just as soon as she set the tray down on the table.
“Accept my apology, where are my manners—newlyweds--should have knocked—“ Her voice trailed off as the door closed with a click.
Lyra attacked her breakfast, only stopping from stuffing her face when Terrin got out of bed, her eyes trailing the height and size of him. His bed head seeming out of place on such a manly body, making him more endearing, a touch of innocence and vulnerability she hadn’t seen on him before.
Newlyweds. Ugh.
“Exactly my point. That woman could have been waiting outside the door and heard our conversation,” Terrin said before digging into his meal.
