Chapter 9 Roan
Chapter nine
Roan
Roan woke up and rolled over, his neck stiff from lying on one side most of the night. Beastie was still insisting that he use her as a pillow, and while she was softer than the floor, she was taller than his pillow. His neck was unaccustomed to sleeping at this angle.
At least he’d had a good dream again.
He had vague memories of Conrad dancing with Beastie, holding her front paws in his hands, and Stumpy insisting she could dance on her own.
But the memories of dancing with Abigail were anything but vague—he could practically still feel her in his arms, how warm and alive and vibrant she was as she laughed when he twirled her out and back into his arms.
He swallowed hard. If only those moments weren’t a dream—he would love nothing more than to dance with her in the real world.
Had she had the same dream again? Would she remember the way they’d danced? Or the way they’d fed the men–
He scrambled to his feet, throwing the blanket off and reaching for his shirt, pulling it on as he hurried toward the kitchen. He had to know if the soup was gone.
Abigail was already up, using her apron to grab the handle of the kettle so she wouldn’t burn her hands as she prepared tea for the two of them.
“The soup?” he asked.
Abigail lit up like the sun itself. “It’s gone,” she exclaimed. “It worked.”
“And you know what I’m talking about,” Roan said, more to himself than to her.
“I know,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “The dream world is real and we’re actually interacting with them in it. So we don’t have to worry about them dying. They may be malnourished by the end of this, but if I can force enough soup into them every night, it might be enough.”
If anyone was capable of force-feeding them enough soup to keep their bodies alive, it would be Abigail.
Roan slumped against the counter as he accepted a cup of tea and murmured “Thank you. Good morning, by the way.”
Abigail chuckled. “Good morning. I had the same thought this morning. That’s why I’m awake before Beastie got to me.”
Roan looked down at the tiny teacup cradled in his hands. It was from his grandmother’s set, the one she’d found in the attic.
He hadn’t used it since they’d lost his grandmother and his father had packed away every memory of her that he could. Memories flooded through him: tea parties just because they could, sharing a cup of tea while they baked together, the way she hadn’t scolded when he’d chipped one of them.
A sip of the tea brought back even more memories. He’d kept his grandmother’s favorite stocked since her death—one of the few things his father hadn’t taken—but drinking it out of the teacup brought images of laughter and love he’d long since forced himself to forget.
The memories had been locked away for so many years, but Abigail had come into his tavern and changed everything, making his life brighter and happier.
How could he repay her for that?
He couldn’t.
He watched in amusement as Beastie bounded in and went straight to Abigail, rubbing against her skirts with her giant head.
“Apparently I’m useless now,” he said, as his dog threw herself all over Abigail.
“It’s just because I feed her,” Abigail said with a grin. “You have to go outside first,” she told the dog, who trotted over to the door immediately when she heard the word “outside.”
Abigail opened the door for her and closed it, shaking her head affectionately as she returned to her cup of tea.
“That dog is going to be the death of me one of these days,” she said.
“She loves you, though,” Roan said as he drained the rest of the tea in one swallow. Was it a child-sized teacup, or was he just that much bigger than the last time he’d had it?
“I was thinking today I can tackle the garden beds that need to be repaired,” he said. “Unless you have something else that needs to be done first.”
Abigail shook her head. “Unless you want to make a swinging door for Beastie, that’s a good task for today. I was planning on mending and adjusting your grandmother’s dress this afternoon, but if you want, I could come help you outside instead. It might be nice to get out in the sunshine.”
“I would be glad to have you help,” Roan said, his voice thick. He would, which was odd—normally he preferred working on his own. “And if you have time this afternoon, I’d love to look at the budget with you a little more closely and see what else we can cut back on.”
Not that he actually wanted to do that…but he needed to do it, and having her there would make it more bearable.
“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “I’ll just put a big pot of soup on this morning so I don’t have to think about it later.”
“And tonight we can give it to them again.” And hopefully they would wake up soon.
She nodded. “It’s interesting that we’ve been awake this whole time in the dream world. I don’t know what that means for the curse.”
“Maybe it means that you and I are the ones who are dreaming,” Roan said. “Are we dreaming these days in between? Is this whole part—is this whole thing—a dream?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail admitted. “I know more about magic than most, but this is not like the magic I know.”
Roan crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her, waiting for her to say more. She looked down at her feet, her hands fidgeting in her apron.
“Perhaps we could discuss this while working on the garden beds?” she asked quietly. “I would prefer to have something to do with my hands while we talk.”
Roan nodded. “I’ll get my hammer.”
The sun beat down on them as Roan and Abigail knelt next to one of the raised garden beds, the warmth welcome after the slight chill in the air. Roan’s grandfather had built the garden beds for his grandmother, and ever since, they had slowly been deteriorating.
Fortunately, Roan had gotten a pile of wood from one of his patrons as payment for a tab he couldn’t settle in coin. He’d been intending to use it to fix the garden beds, but he’d never had time. All his waking hours were spent serving customers or doing the necessary work to run the tavern.
“If we’re the ones in a dream,” he said to Abigail as they began to pry an old board off, “do you think all the work we’re doing will stick?”
Abigail grimaced. “I hope so. It would be quite the disappointment to wake up to find it all still needing to be done.”
Roan let out a coarse laugh. “It would be a cruel trick, is what it would be.”
Abigail was quiet for a moment. “I’ve probably enjoyed this more than I ought to,” she admitted quietly.
“It’s been nice to catch up on these jobs without having to worry about customers, and even sleeping on the floor hasn’t been as bad as it could have been.
I could do without all the stress, though.
If it wasn’t for that, I would say we should have the sorcerer send us back in time once a year so we can catch up on everything. ”
“Is that what happened then?” Roan asked.
She didn’t say anything for a moment.
Had he pushed for too much, too quickly?
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I’ve never seen this before.
I grew up in a hidden community of magic users.
We lived in the mountains to the north, where the king and his anti-magic laws couldn’t reach us.
But living up there came with problems. The growing season was too short, and we couldn’t grow enough to supply ourselves.
It had been one thing when magic was tolerated in Galamere and our people could come down and trade for what we needed—or at least, that’s what they told us. ”
She paused as if she wasn’t sure what else she could reveal.
Roan couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. There was a whole community of people who used magic? Did she use magic? And why was she here?
“I was supposed to marry a man down here. My father arranged it all. He was trying to take care of me,” she said, her fingers curling into the dirt beneath her palms, “but he didn’t do it well.”
Roan’s heart nearly stopped. Was she married? Or spoken for?
“The marriage didn’t happen. It all ended up being rather disastrous, actually, and I’m not sure where my father went after that.
But that’s why I’m here, on my own, and why I know things about magic.
It’s why I know that whatever spell was used to do this is more than is normally taught, and I’m afraid it means whoever used it is dabbling in a black magic that ought not to be used. ”
She shivered and Roan fought the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t want comfort—she wouldn’t even meet his eyes.
“I don’t know who the sorcerer who cast this spell was, or if I even know them.
We had to abandon our home when I was young and my father and I became nomads, which is why sleeping on the floor doesn’t bother me.
” She let out a dry laugh. “I just hope that whoever cast the spell knew enough about what they were doing to give us a proper out. You don’t remember anything else, do you? ” she asked hopefully.
Roan shook his head. He’d been racking his brain ever since that day when he woke up, with no memory of the actual curse happening.
“I wish I did,” he said. “All I remember is hitting my head. I do have a question for you, though.”
He hammered a new board into place. He could feel Abigail waiting beside him but wasn’t quite sure how to word it. How did you ask a question that could possibly be incredibly offensive? But he had to know.
“I hope this isn’t a bad question to ask,” he said quietly, “but are you able to do magic?”
He leaned over to grab the next board to avoid making eye contact.
Abigail let out a small humph. “I wish I was,” she said.
“I’m not talented enough to do real magic.
I can enhance things, which made me a valuable commodity as a child, until I stopped allowing myself to be used by people for the express purpose of amplifying their magic.
But I can do things like make the tavern a more welcoming place, or make the soup taste more delicious, or anything like that.
It’s useless in most cases, but a man like my father found it a very useful skill, until I realized what was happening. I—”
Roan looked over at her. She was looking down at the garden bed, avoiding meeting his gaze, but he still saw the tear that fell from her face into the dirt.
“He used me until I stopped letting him, and then he tried to marry me to someone down here. I’m sure he had some underlying reason that I don’t know, but to me, it felt like he no longer had any use for me.
Since I stopped letting him use my talent to enhance his own magic, he was only trying to get rid of me. ”
She cleared her throat. “When that fell through, I ran away from him. I don’t know where he is now, but I know that I don’t want to see him again.”
She still wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he couldn’t blame her. Baring her heart to him had to be terrifying—especially since she’d just admitted to using small magic in his tavern in a country where magic was illegal.
In her place, he’d be scared, too.
Roan reached over and lifted her chin gently until she looked up at him.
“You are so much more than just a tool to amplify someone else’s skills,” he said. “You say it’s not much, but since you came here, you have changed everything in my life for the better.”
The honesty behind the words surprised him—he meant every bit of it.
“I hope that you never think I’m only using you for your talents, but I do want you to know how much I appreciate them, Abigail.”
Abigail smiled, and he dropped his hand, unwilling to admit how much he liked touching her.
“You say that now,” she said with a self-deprecating grin, “but I’m sure someday it’ll wear off.”
Oh no. Did she really believe that?
Roan set down his hammer and shifted on his knees to take both her hands in his.
She had to know better.
“I know that after what you’ve been through, it must seem like there’s no one in your life you can trust to not use you for your magic.
But I didn’t even know you had it until just now,” he pointed out.
“And if you’d asked me yesterday, I would have said the same thing.
I hope you realize that you are worth so much more than just the skills you bring to the table.
You’re truly the sunshine in this place, and I hope you always will be. ”
She sniffled, but before she could say anything, Beastie came bounding up and skidded into them.
Roan grabbed Abigail as she toppled sideways, pulling her into his chest with one arm, flinging out his other to block the dog that had barreled into them at top speed.
“Down, Beastie!” Roan said, pushing her away from Abigail. “Don’t you dare knock Abigail over. You know better than that.”
Beastie sat, looking properly chastised, with a stick in her mouth. Roan reached over, took it, and threw it, sending the dog bounding away again.
“She didn’t mean to knock us over,” Abigail said softly, looking up at him.
Her hands were resting on his chest like they belonged there.
“I know,” Roan said gruffly. “I just didn’t want her to hurt you.”
He didn’t want anyone or anything to hurt her ever again.
Not Beastie, not her father, and certainly not him.
“Thank you,” Abigail said, pulling away from him, resting her hand on his arm for only a moment before turning back to the garden bed.
“Now, let’s get these beds finished so we can go tackle the budget.
I don’t know that my magic will be any good there, but who knows, maybe I can enhance that, too. ”
Roan turned back to the garden bed, as she wished, but glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I’ll be grateful for anything you can do,” he said, “whether or not you’re able to help.”
“I wasn’t able to help my father, but I can certainly try to help you.” Abigail smiled in his direction before looking back down at the dirt with a quiet sniffle.
If her father ever showed up, Roan would be having a word with him.
Nobody was allowed to make Abigail cry—but certainly not the man who was supposed to protect her the most.