2. Disaster Strikes A Match #2
“A magical alchemist,” I replied, insisting on preserving the distinction most people chose to ignore.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Um, let me introduce myself.
Malvelian Fountenblym. Please call me Elian.
I run this stall.” I made a wide gesture encompassing my booth.
“Enchanted Matchsticks for Every Occasion.”
The extended regard he gave me made my ears flush. “Were those dreams your doing?”
The question, delivered with the persistent gravelly intensity, struck like a blow, cementing the nauseating truth: we had been sharing the same dreams. And he suspected me of inflicting them on him somehow. Well, then.
“Sweet goddess. Not at all. I swear, I had nothing to do with it. Well, I mean, I had something to do with it, since I was in them, obviously. As a participant. An unwilling participant.” I shook my head, realising how it sounded.
“Wait, no, that’s not what I’m trying to say.
Um, not unwilling as in ‘didn’t want to do it’.
That would be untrue. I’ve never done anything so daring and pleasurable in my entire…
” Blood rushed to my cheeks. How did I manoeuvre myself into discussing my erotic terrors with the chief protagonist himself?
“Err, that is to say, um, I didn’t in any way orchestrate… ”
I forced my mouth to cease yapping its flabbergasted nonsense the exact moment the soldier’s left eyebrow climbed toward his hairline. His stern countenance was locked into an expression of bewilderment, as though he were trying to interpret the foreign dialect of an unhinged creature.
“Mmm,” he growled. “Very well, then, alchemist. I have a breach about to happen at the Sable Citadel. You summoned me and now I’m here…
Where the hell am I, exactly?” He finally turned to look about him.
His glower deepened and his scowl grew more sour with every moment.
“What is this place?” A flicker of distaste crossed his features.
“What imbecile set up this camp? It’s a mess and a fire hazard. And why is everyone wearing ribbons?”
“Pardon me, I’m so sorry. I didn’t quite summon you, as such, I don’t think. Well, I mean, it wasn’t on purpose.” I protested with a frantic wave. My stupefaction reached its zenith. “You… You have a… breech? Like a baby upside-down?”
I wished I could’ve stuffed that comment right back down my throat the moment it rolled off my tongue.
Observing the terrifying warlord’s jaw muscles twitch and tighten, I offered what I hoped might come across as a friendly, reassuring grin, trying to brush the glowing crystalline dust off my tunic.
‘First impressions and presentation are everything,’ my gran used to say.
Since I’d buggered up the former to hell, I felt desperate to preserve what little could be saved from the latter.
“You’re at the Everend Midsummer Market, of course.
And technically, those aren’t just ribbons; they’re Festive Favours. This season they’re especially—”
“I’ve never heard of Everend. And I own every tactical map ever published.” He stroked his chin, his gaze narrowing into a piercing calculation. “Is it somewhere in the Empire?”
“‘Empire’? No. That would, err, involve the existence of an emperor, wouldn’t it?
Here in Emberleigh, we’re a constitutional monarchy.
With an elected parliament.” I raised my finger, the small spark of academic pride overriding my terror.
“But over in Gearwick, they have a representative republic. Isn’t that quite progressive? ”
The murderous look he cast my way shut me up again. I tended to ramble on when flustered and the man seemed anything but invested in any sort of administrative reform.
“I want to go back.” He stepped into my personal space, his voice as rough as gravel. Meeting his gaze required me to crane my neck upward at an unnatural angle. I couldn’t quite fathom how he managed to come across as frightening and attractive at the same time. “Now.”
“Right. Of course. There’s a small snag, though.” I cringed at the squeak that came out of my mouth. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. On the contrary, I would be delighted to assist you. It’s just… I mean, um, the thing is, I don’t quite know how to do it.”
Who would have thought that teeth grinding and hilt grabbing could also amount to a flattering pose?
“Unacceptable. You did this.” He swept a scarred hand in a vague arc towards the glittery mess of my counter. “So, you can undo it.”
I bowed to his logic and yes. I most certainly did do it. While I still couldn’t bloody well tell how, the evidence remained stamped on the friction strip. However, I felt inclined to disagree with the second part of his statement.
My stalling and explanations appeared to agitate him further, because he reiterated with more emphasis, “Send me back, alchemist. Time is of the essence. My troops are on the road to glory. We shall dine at the Citadel this evening.”
“Damn. I admit that’s a very reasonable demand, and I’m…
terribly, just awfully sorry about all the failed glory and dinner plans, but…
” I blabbered, panic burning a sinking vacuum in my stomach.
“It’s just, I don’t have a single clue as to how to fix it at this precise moment.
I don’t even know how I managed to get you here in the first place. Um, I’m really sorry.”
A bizarre sensation washed over me, heavy and suffocating.
Months of tangled, vivid, breathless dreams had seared the exact contours of his face into the muscle memory of my fingertips.
I knew the specific warmth of his embrace, what he liked in bed, and how to make him moan.
But facing him in real life, exasperated and frustrated, was an entirely different experience—one that resembled trying to pet a thunderstorm.
“You say sorry a lot, alchemist. But apologies now are about as useful to me as a cannon of spun sugar.” He shifted his weight, towering over the display case until his shadow swallowed me completely .
For one ridiculous instant, my treacherous brain wondered if he intended to kiss me or decapitate me, my cognitive faculties dissolving at a frightening speed.
“Well, then. You will need to figure it out.” He planted his palms flat against the worktop, setting the command in stone.