Chapter 23
Aric
BY THE TIME I REACH the entrance hall on Friday evening, I’m breathing hard, and my heart is beating fast. I keep telling myself it’s because I nearly jogged over here, wanting to get here before her, but I know that’s not true.
I run through my mental checklist again: bag packed, coin pouch in pocket, not a single thing forgotten . . . hopefully. Still, I keep adjusting my cloak and glancing toward the corridor I know Poppy will emerge from, waiting for her.
I still can’t believe she asked me to come with her this weekend. And I’m determined not to fuck it up.
Students bustle around me, voices lifted, laughter drifting through the vaulted space.
Dinner will be served in the dining hall soon—and given the smell in the air, I’m pretty sure dessert is going to be some sort of apple dish.
Which reminds me of the cake Poppy and I baked together in cooking class.
I’m lost in thought, remembering that day, when a tiny voice behind me says softly, “Hi.”
I turn, and Poppy stands there, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, a small satchel slung across her body and a slightly larger travel bag at her feet.
Her lavender hair peeks out from beneath a knit hat, catching the golden light from the big chandelier overhead.
Her fingers flex around the strap of the bag looped over her shoulders, and she looks both nervous and determined, like she’s steeling herself for an exam and a holiday at the same time.
I may have been in cooking class with her less than an hour ago, but I still feel excited at the sight of her. “Hey, Brains.”
Her mouth twitches up on one side. “You’re early.”
“So are you.” I scoop up her bag before she can protest, slinging it easily over my shoulder. “Were you that eager to see me again?”
Her cheeks go red, and she ducks her head, looking like she’s fighting a smile.
With a grin, I ask, “You ready to go?”
Poppy nods, and I grab hold of one of the big wooden entrance doors and pull it open, letting in a swirl of cold air.
“After you, my lady.”
Cheeks still pink, she eases past me to step outside, and her familiar scent of peppermint twines around me. It sends a bit of calmness through me, helping to calm my racing heart.
Outside, the early-evening air is crisp and smells faintly of leaves and woodsmoke. A carriage waits in the courtyard, lanterns glowing cheerily against the falling light.
“This carriage is for Miss Poppy Waverly,” the driver says as we approach. “We’re bound for Faunwood.”
Poppy nods up at him. “That’s me. Thank you.”
I stash our bags, then pull the carriage door open before turning back to offer Poppy a hand. “Your chariot awaits.”
She takes my hand, her fingers featherlight in mine, and her touch sends a pulse of warmth through me. Once she’s settled inside on the padded seat, I climb in beside her and close the door. The driver clucks to the horses, and we lurch gently forward, wheels crunching over gravel.
Students scurry out of the way as the carriage rolls through the courtyard and toward the barbican, where torches are being lit as the sky continues to darken. We pass under it, then are on the other side, heading swiftly toward the Mistwood.
A carriage sure beats walking.
For a while, the sounds of hooves and wheels and the rhythmic creak of the carriage fill the silence.
I try to distract myself from Poppy’s proximity, but I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting, how my knee keeps brushing against hers, how her shoulder bumps mine when the carriage jostles a bit too hard.
It doesn’t take long to move through the forest, and then we’re on the other side, where the sun’s rays are long and golden as it sinks toward the distant horizon, painting the fields in light and shadow.
Poppy glances out the window, her face reflected in the glass. “I love this time of year,” she says softly. “It’s beautiful.”
I look out my window. The landscape stretches into open prairie—rolling fields of tall grass painted gold by the fading light. Here and there, deer move in the distance, their heads lifting at the sound of the carriage as it passes by. Slowly, I look back to Poppy.
“Yeah,” I say. “Beautiful.”
She catches me staring in the reflection on the glass and blushes again.
I clear my throat. “So, what’s the first thing we do when we get to Faunwood? After eating, of course.”
As if to drive home my point, my stomach growls, making Poppy giggle. At least it breaks through some of the tension.
“Well, we’re supposed to travel through the night, so we’ll probably arrive tomorrow late morning. We can get settled at the inn first, then get a proper breakfast. But for now . . .” She reaches for her satchel and sets it on her lap. “I came prepared.”
She opens the flap to reveal a small collection of wrapped bundles—cloth packets tied with ribbon, a little jar of something amber colored, and even a cloth bag filled with candied nuts.
She thought to bring us snacks.
I adore this woman.
“Geez, Brains. Did you rob the dining hall or what?” I ask, only half joking.
Her lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Lyra might have. Would you like some?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, accepting one of the bundles when she offers it to me.
It’s still faintly warm. Inside, there’s a small roll stuffed with spiced apples and sugar glaze, probably pilfered from dessert—I knew I smelled something with apples.
“You’re a miracle worker, you know that? ”
Her laughter fills the carriage again, easy and bright. “I didn’t want us to get too hungry on the way there. That’s no way to start an adventure.” She nibbles on one of the sweet rolls, eyes twinkling.
As we eat, I feel myself relax. My tension fades until even the silence with Poppy is comfortable.
Outside, night settles fully. The lanterns on the carriage cast pools of light that glow and dance across the rolling fields. The forest has long fallen away behind us, and open prairie stretches on every side, bathed in moonlight.
Hours pass in a rhythm of creaking carriage wheels and swaying fields.
Our conversation drifts in and out. Poppy yawns once, covering her mouth, and I hand her the blanket from the back of the padded seat.
She thanks me softly and pulls it around her shoulders before sinking deeper into the cushions and leaning her head against the side of the carriage, still staring out at the moonlit landscape.
At some point, the road smooths, the sound of hooves steady and hypnotic. I yawn and glance out the window, catching sight of what look to be faint lights moving across the dark prairie.
“Poppy, look,” I say gently.
“What is it?” Poppy whispers sleepily, shifting on the seat beside me to lean closer and get a better look. Her thigh presses against mine, and I have to try really hard not to get distracted by it.
Tiny shapes glide above the fields, their luminous bodies turning and drifting as they float easily through the air.
“Prairie fish,” I whisper.
The prairie fish move in slow, fluid waves, their scales catching moonlight and scattering it in flashes of blue, green, and silver. Their light draws in the mosquitoes and other tiny insects, and they snatch the bugs out of the air, just like other fish snatch them off the surface of the water.
“Have you ever seen them before?” Poppy asks.
“Yeah. Once.”
I saw them on this same trip, about twelve years ago now. But on that trip, my parents were on either side of me, and I was still small enough to sit squished between them. The memory makes me happy and sad at the same time.
Poppy’s reflection glows in the window, lavender eyes wide with wonder.
The moonlight paints her in shades of silver.
“I’ve never seen them before. They’re amazing.
” Her mouth curves into a delicate smile, reminding me of the kiss at the cookie shop—and making me want to kiss her again.
But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially so early into our trip. So I resist the urge to lean in.
The prairie fish drift alongside us for a short while, their gentle shimmer keeping pace with the carriage until they finally glide off, leaving us traveling through the dark on our own.
When I glance down, I find Poppy’s hand resting on the seat between us, fingers relaxed. Slowly, I slide mine over hers, and though I give her plenty of opportunity to, she doesn’t pull away.
So I curl my fingers between hers, holding her hand in mine as the night grows later and the air inside the carriage gets cooler.
When Poppy finally dozes off, her head tips against my shoulder, the blanket slipping down her arm. I pull it back up carefully, nestling it around her so she’ll stay warm, and let my eyes drift toward the window again.
The rhythmic sway of the carriage lulls me, the gentle clop of hooves against the road blending with the soft whisper of Poppy’s even breathing. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute, and I find myself leaning closer to her, careful not to wake her.
Before I even realize it, I’m drifting off too, head tilting against the back of the seat, shoulders loosening, the prairie outside the window fading into a soft blur. As I fall asleep, I can still feel the gentle weight of her hand in mine.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, the first hints of dawn begin to paint the sky, a soft pink and gold spilling across the fields.
I wake slowly, neck stiff, and find that Poppy is still asleep on my shoulder, her knit hat and glasses askew. Slowly, I stretch my neck to one side, then the other, then wipe the sleep from my eyes. All the while, I’m careful not to wake her.
By the time the sun has risen higher in the sky, Faunwood comes into view. We cross a wooden bridge, then roll into the village, which is still waking up, thatched roofs shining with dew, chimney smoke curling lazily into the autumn sky.
It’s smaller than I remember from my time here as a boy, and it looks busier as well, with more shops than I recall when I was last here. Time changes everything, I suppose.
Poppy stirs beside me, murmuring something sleepy, and I smile down at her.
“Morning, Brains,” I whisper. “We’re here.”
Her lavender eyes flutter open, unfocused for a moment before she realizes where we are. “Oh,” she breathes. “Already?”
I nod, watching the sunlight catch on her perfectly messy hair. “Yeah,” I say softly. “You slept through the night.”
Her cheeks go a little pink as she straightens her hat and glasses. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
I shrug, grinning down at her. “I didn’t mind.” I brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “You can fall asleep on me anytime.”
She ducks her head, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
The carriage slows as it enters the village square, the horses’ hooves clopping over stone. The driver calls a good morning to a baker setting out trays of steaming bread.
Poppy’s eyes light up when she looks out the window. “Fresh bread,” she says, and now it’s her stomach that rumbles with hunger.
I laugh, leaning back against the seat. “First things first: Let’s eat.”