Chapter 24
Poppy
THE GOLDEN LANTERN SITS NESTLED along Faunwood’s main square, its weathered stone walls covered in climbing ivy that’s turned brilliant shades of red and orange. A hand-painted sign swings gently in the morning breeze, depicting a glowing lantern surrounded by leaves.
The carriage comes to a stop, and Aric is out first, offering me his hand to help me down.
I take it gratefully and ease out of the carriage and into the cool morning air.
My legs are stiff from the long journey, and I’m deeply aware of how rumpled I must look—my skirt is wrinkled, and my hair is probably a tangled disaster under my knit hat.
But when I glance up at Aric, he’s looking at me like I’m a sunny day after a long winter, travel-worn appearance and all.
I can’t believe I fell asleep on him last night.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing our bags from the carriage like they weigh nothing. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
We climb the stairs to the inn’s front door, and I pause to lift a thankful hand to the driver as the carriage starts away. When I turn back around, Aric has the door propped open, a soft smile on his face.
“Thanks,” I say as I slip by, noticing the warmth he puts off as I brush past him.
“Anything for you, Brains,” he says as he steps in behind me.
The inn’s interior is cozy and welcoming, with exposed wooden beams across the ceiling and a stone fireplace crackling in the spacious sitting room, chasing the early-morning chill away.
The smell of fresh bread and herbs fills the air, making my stomach growl loudly—again.
Aric chuckles, and I feel my cheeks go pink.
An older woman with silver-streaked hair looks up from behind the front desk, her face breaking into a warm smile at the sight of me. “You must be Miss Waverly. Selene sent word you’d be arriving this morning. I’m Margaret Bluewren, the innkeeper. Welcome to the Golden Lantern.”
“Thank you,” I say, returning her smile. Then I glance toward Aric, who’s now towering over my shoulder. “This is Aric Vandermere. He’s . . . traveling with me.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Bluewren nods to Aric, then turns back to me. “I do hope the one room will still suffice?”
I bite my lip, feeling Aric’s focus on me over my shoulder. “Um, actually, do you have two? I-I’m happy to pay for it.” I don’t want to inconvenience Professor Silvermoon.
Mrs. Bluewren’s face falls.
“Unfortunately, all our other rooms are full. We had a family come through unexpectedly last night—a broken wagon wheel on the road—and they needed lodging. We only have the one room available at the moment.”
The words take a moment to sink in. One room.
“Oh,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. “I . . . That’s . . .”
One room. With Aric. All night.
The inn suddenly feels stifling.
Beside me, Aric clears his throat. “That’s no problem at all, ma’am. Is there a couch in the room? Or I’d be happy to sleep on the floor if needed.”
Mrs. Bluewren looks relieved. “There’s a couch, yes.
And plenty of extra blankets and pillows.
The room is quite spacious—one of our best. Selene made sure of it.
And it has a nice view of the village.” She pulls a big brass key from a hook behind the desk.
“Let me show you up, then. And I’ll have breakfast sent to your room—you both must be starving after that journey.
” She smiles, but it does little to calm the anxiety rushing through me.
One room.
She leads us up the staircase to the second floor, then down a hallway lined with oil paintings of the countryside. The room is at the end, and when Mrs. Bluewren opens the door and I step inside, I’m impressed by how nice it is.
Sunlight streams through a large window overlooking the village square. A fireplace sits against one wall, already filled with wood and ready to be lit. There’s a small table with two chairs, a wardrobe, a cushioned couch near the window, and—
One bed.
And it’s not even a particularly large bed. Maybe big enough for two people if they were really comfortable with each other. Which we are. In a way. But not that kind of comfortable. The sight of it makes my familiar butterflies start to swarm.
“I’ll have breakfast sent up shortly,” Mrs. Bluewren says, setting the key on the table. “If you need anything at all, just ring your bell.” She gestures to a pull cord beside the door.
“Thank you,” Aric and I say in unison.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the room feels much smaller once she’s gone.
Aric sets our bags down by the wardrobe, then turns to face me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So . . . this is cozy.” His lips pull up on one side, accentuating his tusks.
I let out a nervous laugh, but I can’t seem to come up with words. I just keep glancing at the bed.
“I meant what I said downstairs,” he says, his tone gentle. “I’ll take the couch.”
I twist my fingers together and rock onto my toes, then back, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t know if it’s big enough. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I don’t mind. Really. It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay . . . If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he says, and when I glance up at him, he’s wearing a relaxed smile.
The tension eases slightly, and Aric crosses to the window, peering out at the village below. “So, what’s the plan? We eat, then go meet Professor Silvermoon’s sister?”
I pull off my knit hat and try to smooth down my tangled hair, grateful for the change of subject. “Professor Silvermoon said Aurora will expect us around midday, so we have a few hours to explore if you want.”
“I definitely want,” Aric says, grinning. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I barely remember any of it.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Aric crosses the room to pull the door open, and a young woman enters with a tray laden with food: thick slices of toasted bread with butter and jam, fresh fruit, and two steaming mugs of tea.
“Compliments of the house,” she says cheerfully, setting everything on the table. “Mrs. Bluewren wanted to make sure you were well fed after your journey.”
“Thank you,” I manage, my mouth already watering at the sight of the steaming bread.
Once the woman leaves, Aric and I sit at the small table, our knees bumping underneath it, making him smile and me turn my face away shyly. Everything smells incredible, and for a few minutes, we eat in comfortable silence, too hungry to bother with conversation.
“This bread,” Aric says eventually, his mouth half full, “is amazing.”
That’s an understatement. It’s warm and crusty on the outside and soft and pillowy on the inside. I spread butter and strawberry jam on a slice and take a bite, closing my eyes at the taste. After I swallow, I say, “This might be even better than Mama’s.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Aric teases. “She might disown you.”
I laugh, reaching for my tea. The warmth seeps through the ceramic mug into my palms, and I breathe in the steam—chamomile and honey.
Across from me, Aric leans back in his chair, looking perfectly relaxed. The morning light catches on his earrings, making them sparkle, and his hair is loose around his shoulders for once, the topknot he usually wears it up in having fallen out sometime during the night.
My fingers get the sudden desire to reach out and touch him, to push through his long hair and see if it’s as soft as it looks.
I duck my head, focusing very intently on my tea.
“So,” Aric says, pulling me from my thoughts. “One bed. Not quite how I imagined this trip starting.” He lets out one of his rumbly laughs.
My cheeks flame. “Me either.”
“But for what it’s worth,” he adds, his voice softer now, “I’m really glad you asked me to come with you.”
I glance up, finding his hazel eyes already on me. “You are?”
“Yeah.” He reaches across the table, his large hand taking one of mine from where it was gripping my tea. “I’m glad to be here with you. Even if the sleeping arrangements are a little funny.”
My heart skips, then picks up a quicker pace. “I like being here with you too.”
He grins, showing off that easy confidence that I’ve always admired about him. “Good. Then let’s eat up, explore this village, and go meet Aurora.”
We finish breakfast, and afterward, I excuse myself to freshen up in the small washroom attached to our room.
My hair is a horrible mess, and I run a comb through it before twisting it back into a short braid.
When I emerge, Aric has changed into a clean tunic and is pulling his hair back up onto the top of his head.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, clasping my cloak around my shoulders. “Ready.”
We head downstairs, then step out into the crisp autumn morning. As we pause on the inn’s front porch, Aric takes my hand, threading his warm fingers through mine.
And despite the one-room, one-bed situation waiting for us tonight, and despite all my nervousness and overthinking, I find myself smiling.
This trip might be fun after all.