7 Eira
Eira
Eira woke to a shake from the man she’d left Cilirien with the night before, and a feeling of panic that still lingered in
her mind from a shadowy figure in the dream that had just been interrupted. In a moment, it all came rushing back to her.
The bar, the beautiful man, the Iron Retinue, the two of them fleeing town. She panicked, reaching for Pennyroyal and feeling
a familiar head poke out of the bag, nibbling lightly on her fingers before jumping into her arms.
“Are you going to get down?” the newly familiar voice of Hugo said. He stood next to his horse, motioning to let Eira know
he was going to help her down.
Eira looked around, suddenly realizing that she was somewhere she certainly did not recognize. She held her hand out to Hugo,
Pennyroyal jumping onto her shoulder and quietly tittering in her ear. One large hand enveloped hers as his other hand grabbed
her waist firmly, a spark waking her up as he touched her.
They were in a small town, and to Eira, it looked eerily like Cilirien.
Most towns in the countryside had a similar feeling.
Small homes turned into shopfronts the closer they were to the town square.
Eira spotted the tavern near the center of town, which truly showed her that she wasn’t in Cilirien anymore.
The Pickled Pig aptly, and unoriginally, had a hanging sign shaped like a pig above the front door, swinging creakily in the chilly breeze.
“Where are we?” Eira asked. It was early morning, and it was clear to Eira that they’d been riding all night. They could be
anywhere in a six-hour radius of Cilirien.
She noticed the exhaustion in Hugo’s eyes as she looked at him, his hand still on her waist as he set her down on the ground,
and, as if her body realized how cold it was in that moment, she instantly started shivering. “Goodness, you look tired,”
she said without thinking, “Sorry, that was rude. You look perfectly . . . ruggedly sleepy.”
“That’s why we stopped outside of . . .” He paused, looking at the name of the tavern. “The Pickled Pig. I need to get an
hour’s sleep.” He muttered something Eira couldn’t hear as he tied the horse he called Arthur to the tavern’s hitching post
and turned around without another word to her.
“Hugo?” Eira said, following him as he walked toward the Pickled Pig.
He ignored her, stomping toward the inn.
White-hot rage flushed through her body. This man, whoever he was, had not only put her and Pennyroyal in danger, but he’d
taken her away from her home, a home she likely couldn’t return to anymore, and now he was ignoring her?
“You had better stop walking before I create a potion to destroy your life,” Eira said, grabbing his arm as she seethed.
Hugo finally turned, shucking her hand off of his arm. “If you even look at me the wrong way and try casting your magic, I’ll
report you to the Iron Retinue before you even have a chance to say you were kidding,” he growled.
“So, what, you brought me here to keep me hostage? Lost in a town I don’t know and stuck with you because if I leave or fight my way away from you, you’ll set the Iron Retinue on me?” Her heart started racing, panic flooding her thoughts.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m planning,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Eira, I’m trying to protect you.”
“You just threatened to run to the Iron Retinue if I tried casting anything in your direction,” Eira said, crossing her arms.
“Do you really think I’d go running to the Iron Retinue when they were clearly looking for me? Do you think I’d do that to
you, of all people?” Hugo sighed, pausing as he turned and walked to the door of the inn before opening it and motioning for
Eira to go in first.
To her of all people? Eira wasn’t sure what Hugo meant by that, but she had to admit it had been clear that the Iron Retinue had
been after him specifically . . . and now her too, Eira supposed.
“You could be a little nicer. Perhaps a smile?” Eira chirped instead of acknowledging what Hugo had said before stepping through
the doorway. She immediately headed toward the barmaid who was cleaning a glass behind the nearly empty bar.
Hugo grumbled as he fell into step next to her.
“Hi there, I’m Marnie,” the bartender said, lifting her hand out of the glass and motioning the two of them over. “Welcome
to our tavern, make yourselves at home.”
“Hello, Marnie!” Eira leaned against the counter, “Do you have any available rooms?”
The barmaid smiled and tossed the cleaning cloth over her shoulder. “You bet we do!”
“Great, we’ll take tw—” Eira was interrupted by Hugo.
“One room,” he said firmly.
Eira looked at Hugo, eyes on fire. She was not sharing a room with a man she barely knew.
“One room?” Marnie said, her eyebrow raised as she looked between the two of them.
“Two, please,” Eira said, staring daggers into the side of Hugo’s head.
“We’ll go with one,” Hugo stated, ignoring Eira and pressing what she could only imagine was double the rate a room in any
of these towns could ever be into Marnie’s hand. “My wife and I had a spat on the way over here and she wants to deprive me
of sleeping next to her warm body tonight.” He smiled, and though Eira could tell the smile wasn’t reaching Hugo’s eyes, it
reminded her just how handsome he actually was. It really was too bad that he had decided to uproot her entire comfortable
life instead of just being normal. To think, just the night before she’d thought about taking him home if he was charming
enough. She grimaced. Charming men were dangerous.
After Marnie handed him the key to the room and two plates of luscious breakfast, Eira followed Hugo to sit down in the nearly
empty tavern. He put one plate in front of her.
“Eat.”
“I’m not sharing a room with you.” Eira grabbed the fork on the table in a fist.
“You are,” Hugo said in between bites of eggs laid on well-buttered toast.
Eira’s stomach growled.
“Eat,” Hugo said, “before it gets cold. We’ll talk in our room, our one room, where I can keep you safe.”
Begrudgingly, Eira took a bite . . . and then another.
It was delicious, and she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.
The Iron Retinue had broken down the Honeyed Horn’s door before she’d had a chance to get the creamy potato soup that she always ordered for dinner at the tavern.
She hoped everyone was okay in Cilirien.
What town was she even in? Why was the Iron Retinue looking for this strange man she’d somehow shackled herself to by simply showing him a safe escape route?
Were they looking for her now too? Was she a fugitive now too?
She had to stop spiraling. There could be a perfectly good explanation for all of this and then she could be back home, snug in her own bed, this time tomorrow.
Eira looked at Hugo, her eyes washing over his face and truly taking it in. His hazel eyes were tired, and she noticed a scar
through one of his brows, silvered and old. The fresher scar was on his chin, still a little bit pink as it healed. Who was this man?
Hugo looked up from his breakfast as Eira watched him, his brow furrowing and then quickly turning into a scowl. “Eat your
damned food,” he said, before looking away again.
Who was this man . . . and why did he dislike her so much?
She begrudgingly ate the rest of her breakfast before the two of them headed up to their . . . shared room. It was a bare-bones
space with a bed that could fit two people comfortably, a few lumpy pillows at the head and a handmade quilt laid across the
top. A trunk stood at the foot of the bed, and there was little else in the room aside from a chair and a small table with
a candlestick on it. The fire was already burning and keeping the room comfortable, which was nice because Eira still hadn’t
fully warmed up from their long journey through the night.
She silently watched as Hugo set their bags down and sat in the chair, unlacing his boots and softly sighing as he slid them
off. Eira watched his body move, clearly exhausted but still unbelievably lithe. His hair fell in front of his face and he
took off his vest to expose a thin shirt underneath that barely concealed the ample muscles underneath.
“You can stop staring at any point,” he said as he pulled his other boot off, not looking up,
“I’m not staring,” Eira said, quickly looking down and opening her bag to let Pennyroyal out.
Hugo just looked at her.
“I’m not!” she said. She had been staring, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
“If talking about whatever is on your mind will stop you from staring a hole into my skull, then let’s talk,” he finally said.
“Great,” Eira said. “Why didn’t you let me go back to my house last night?”
He scoffed.
“Ask better questions,” he grumbled before looking up at her, their eyes connecting. “The Iron Retinue would have caught us
if we’d stopped off to get you so much as a change of clothing . . . Why is that even a question you’re asking me?”
Eira glared daggers at him, her limbs buzzing with electric anger. Her irritation only grew the longer she was in this man’s
presence. “You are unbelievably frustrating,” she said through gritted teeth.
Hugo stood, tilting his head and looking at her. “You sure you’re just a potions witch?” he said, taking a step to her and
pointing at her fingers. Eira’s heart picked up pace in a split second of fear—insinuating someone did more than just potions
magic was the most dangerous way you could speak to a witch. “Seems like you’ve got something else going on.”
“Certain of it, actually,” Eira answered, her mind flicking to Beatrice, the conjured hand in her house. That was just one
spell, one harmless spell.
“I’ve seen my fair share of witches, and I’ve never met a potions witch whose power I can see,” Hugo said. “Actually, the
one time I did, it was a witch who had been hiding her magic, keeping it from being used . . . and she didn’t do alchemy.”
“What do you mean?” Eira asked.
“I can literally see the magic around you, like you’re summoning something without realizing it,” Hugo said.
Eira looked down to where Hugo’s gaze rested.
A soft, barely perceptible iridescent shimmer was emanating from, and flowing around, her hands.
She flexed her fingers, the magic rippling around them like waves.
Sure, her magic was visible sometimes, but that was normal—it didn’t mean she could cast magic that wasn’t her alchemy. She was just a potions witch.
“Why pretend?” Hugo said softly, so close to her she could feel his breath on her skin.
Eira wasn’t pretending anything. She was proficient in potions and poultices and always had been; that’s why she’d opened
the Potions Patisserie.
“You don’t know me,” Eira said. “And I don’t know you. But I know me, and I know I’m an alchemical witch.”
Hugo watched her, eyes squinting ever so slightly as he evaluated how to respond. He shook his head as a frustrated sigh slipped
past his lips. “I don’t like these games.”
“Good thing I’m not playing any,” Eira retorted, sitting on the bed to get away from Hugo, who was now pacing and running
his fingers through his hair.
“We’re not going to be here long, then we’re going to go to another town, figure out what we need to, and hopefully the Iron
Retinue will forget about both of us and then you can go back to playing house in Cilirien. Okay?” Hugo stood in front of
her. “I think I want to be around you as much as you clearly want to be around me.”
“Then why bring me along? You could have pretended you hadn’t met me in my shop, fled the Honeyed Horn, and left me there,”
Eira answered.
Rage flashed briefly through Hugo’s eyes before he audibly exhaled. “You and I both know I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Eira answered. She could see rage rise in him like a tide before he took a deep breath
and exhaled.
“Eira,” he said. “Do not pretend like you don’t know what’s going on.”
Eira knew what was going on—she’d been taken from her home by a handsome stranger who, even though she wanted to strangle
him, she kept thinking about kissing.
“You need to at least stop pretending you only make potions if we have to fight the Iron Retinue, okay?” he asked, pleading.
“I can’t do more magic . . . but I can fight,” Eira said, standing.
Hugo scoffed, and Eira felt that familiar white-hot rage boiling up inside of her again. This man was insufferable. It was
a shame that all those good looks were wasted on such a horrid personality.
“You haven’t swung a sword in your life,” he laughed, motioning to her.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Eira defended herself without thinking, immediately regretting it. She sounded like a petulant child.
“I saw the hand you conjured in your house,” Hugo said. “I know you can do more than just potions. Admit it, what else are
you hiding?”
Eira paled, sweat building on the back of her neck. He’d seen . . . Beatrice?
“You had better explain how you’ve seen the inside of my home right now,” she spoke slowly, trying to sound calm as she turned
her body to be closer to the door so she could escape if she needed to.
Had Hugo planned this all along? Was the Iron Retinue attack fake? Was this all a ploy to kidnap and get a reward from the
Iron Empire for turning in an illegal witch? She was spiraling again.
“Are you a witch hunter?” she asked, hand rushing to her heart as it began to pound.
He laughed, a little too loud, the bark pained. “That’s funny.” Not a denial.
Nothing was making sense; Hugo said he wanted to protect her . . . but he’d potentially broken into her home. She didn’t know him, but he kept thinking that
she knew things she certainly didn’t. Suddenly, Eira remembered something from the night before as he laughed, something he’d
said as they rode out of Cilirien.
“Why did you call me ‘lady’ last night?” she asked.
Hugo’s eyes flicked up to hers. “I’m not entertaining these games of yours anymore.” He sat on the bed and propped himself
up against the headboard. “I need sleep. Don’t leave this room.”
“I’ll do what I please,” Eira said, sitting in the chair next to the fireplace.
“No, you won’t,” he said as he closed his eyes.