14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Evandra
After cooling myself off from our encounter and trying, with little success, to push Drake out of my mind, I began gathering what I thought I’d need for the journey ahead.
Excitement thrummed in my chest, a wild, restless rhythm that seemed to shake the very foundation of who I was.
For the first time in my life, I was leaving Winshire—leaving the inn, the only home I’d ever known.
The thought sent a shiver of both anticipation and fear down my spine.
I piled a small assortment of belongings onto my bed: a hairbrush, a few of my least stained gowns, and my pillow, worn flat and threadbare from years of use.
Gods, what I wouldn’t give for something finer to wear on this grand “adventure.” Then came my most treasured possession: Magic of Edralis: An Introduction to Magical Creatures and Riftborn .
Its scaled cover gleamed faintly in the moonlight as I placed it atop the growing pile.
I traced the title with my finger, knowing it held secrets I was still far from uncovering.
I glanced at the heap of belongings and frowned.
Shit, I don’t have a bag.
After a pause, I slipped from my chambers and padded quietly across the inn, into the cool, musty basement storage.
My candle flickered as I scanned the shelves, landing on a sack of potatoes.
Dumping the spuds onto the floor, I examined the burlap sack.
It was dirty and embarrassing, but it would have to do.
Back upstairs, I shoved my meager belongings into the makeshift bag, tying the top with a length of frayed twine.
Not exactly the image of a woman about to change the world, but this was my reality.
Threadbare and cobbling courage together from scraps.
I tightened the sling around my shoulder, still tender despite Felix’s miraculous healing, and gave the room one last look.
It struck me then—this might be the last time I’d ever stand in this space.
My little attic room, with its slanted ceiling and warped floors, had been my sanctuary for so long.
I stepped closer to the window, the buttery moonlight pouring in and illuminating the worn edges of my life.
The faint scent of the kitchen below—roasting meat and old spice—mingled with the must of the walls.
I brushed my hand along the edge of the rickety vanity, pausing to catch my reflection once again in the cracked mirror. My braid rested neatly over my uninjured shoulder. My face was pale but resolute. And for the first time in my life, there was something else in my eyes.
Hope.
With a deep breath, I turned back to the room and took it all in one last time—the weathered bookshelf, the patchwork quilt Mama had sewn, the corner where I used to sit and read stories until the candle burned low.
Each detail etched itself into my mind as I promised myself I wouldn’t forget.
This place had raised me. It had sheltered me.
It had shaped me into the woman who now stood ready to leave it behind.
As I exhaled, the weight of nostalgia lifted just enough to let excitement take its place. I adjusted the strap of the burlap sack, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the hall, closing the door gently behind me.
I gingerly made my way down the creaky steps, letting the soft glow of my candle push back the shadows that filled the empty corridors.
I took my time, each step deliberate, savoring the familiar sensations of this place that had always been my sanctuary.
The worn and rough rugs beneath my feet carried the weight of generations before me, their fibers comforting yet bittersweet.
The ancient structure groaned softly, its creaks and whispers a lullaby I had known all my life.
My heart grew heavier with each step as if I were saying goodbye not just to a building but to a part of myself. I suppose, in a way, I was.
Finally, I reached Papa’s door. The wood creaked softly as I eased it open, revealing him sound asleep in his hay-stuffed bed.
His peaceful form was cocooned beneath a patchwork of knitted blankets, his face softened by slumber.
He looked like a swaddled infant, so small and vulnerable compared to the man who had been my whole world.
Like someone I wasn’t ready to lose.
I stood still in the doorway, the flickering light of my candle casting a warm glow over him.
Memories flooded my mind. The two of us sipping tea on the front porch.
Hours spent by the massive hearth in the tavern, where he’d read me fables of the Rift and its mythical beasts.
I thought of the safety of his arms around me when the world felt too big.
He had always protected me, even from myself.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Though he had never given me the choice to leave this inn, I understood now that his choices had been born of love.
He thought he was protecting me, shielding me from a world that he knew could be unkind, cruel even.
But now I was choosing for myself. And that choice would break his heart.
He will never forgive me. The thought struck me like a dagger, sharper and deeper than any wound I’d ever known.
It wasn’t anger that frightened me—it was the hurt.
The betrayal he would feel when he woke to find me gone.
The thought twisted painfully in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I wanted to touch him, to tell him I loved him, to promise I’d return one day.
But I knew I couldn’t wake him. The goodbye would shatter us both.
Instead, I lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, imprinting the scene into my memory—the blankets rising and falling with each soft breath he took, the faint murmur of the inn settling in the night.
With trembling fingers, I crept across the room to his side table and placed the note I had written on the worn surface. I quietly stepped back and let my eyes linger on the words:
Papa,
You have done well to light my path, but now it is time for me to carry my own torch.
I love you with my entire heart, and though you may not see it now, I’m doing this for you. For Mama.
I will return someday. When, I do not know, but I promise you’ll be proud of me.
Always your little girl,
Evandra
I stood over his peaceful, sleeping face a few moments more.
My heart ached with the weight of not knowing when I’d see him again—not knowing if he would forgive me—not knowing if he’d still be here when I returned.
But I had a destiny to fulfill. For him.
For Mama. For me. I blinked away the last of my tears and straightened my spine, forcing myself to stand tall.
I had to be strong now—strong enough to carry the torch he had lit for me, strong enough to walk into the unknown.
With one last lingering look, I whispered, “I love you, Papa,” and slipped silently out of the room, leaving behind the man who had been my whole world and stepping into the one I was destined to save.
My palms were clammy as I sat in the dimly lit dining room, my favorite spot in the whole inn, waiting for the moment I’d leave it all behind.
Anxiety thrummed in my chest like a caged bird, a strange blend of excitement and sorrow.
I traced the familiar knots in the worn wooden table, committing their every swirl and groove to memory.
This might be the last time I’d sit here—the last time this inn would feel like my world.
Finally I caught sight of movement through the window.
My heart leaped as I saw them—Drake, Felix, and Fen—riding up to the front of the inn, their mounts kicking up small clouds of morning dust as they approached.
Of course, Eldrake’s horse was as impressive as he was.
It was black as shadow, with a thick, flowing mane and a powerful build that demanded attention.
The creature must have stood a full head taller than me, with hooves that struck the ground with a command.
Its coat gleamed faintly in the soft, early light.
My eyes shifted to Felix, and I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.
He rode an unimpressive gray pony that matched his small frame perfectly, the creature plodding along, trying desperately to keep up with Drake.
Beside him, Fen’s mount was a painted mare, her white and golden patches striking against the earthy tones of the forest backdrop.
The sunlight glinted off her mane, making it look like molten gold, cascading in waves down her neck.
Finally, my eyes landed on the fourth horse, and my breath caught.
A purely white mare, her coat so pristine it seemed to shimmer as though made of moonlight itself.
She moved with a grace that bordered on ethereal, her tail and mane flowing like spun silk in the faint breeze.
The morning sun cast a soft glow over her, making her appear less like an animal and more like a creature born from a dream.
I rose from my seat, my legs unsteady. The white mare was meant for me—I knew it the moment I saw her. My heart ached with the weight of leaving, but the sight of her stirred something deep inside me. The world beyond Winshire was calling, and for the first time, I felt ready to answer.
I suppose they don’t know I’ve never ridden a horse.
I stood, taking one final look around the inn that had been my home for the last 14 years. Every worn floorboard, every mark on the walls, every memory seemed to call out to me, begging me to stay. But I knew I couldn’t. With a deep breath, I turned and stepped outside to face my companions.
“What the hell is that?” Fen’s gruff voice cut through the quiet, stopping me in my tracks.