EIGHT
Nestled between two mountains and surrounded by thickets of dark trees, Rider’s Retreat was a waystation for travellers who were reckless enough to venture near the Rift.
Amelia had never visited before, choosing Waystone travel to transport her directly to cities and towns. She was surprised to find that the large building teemed with people wandering in and out of the lodge or loitering near the stables.
The lodge was fortified with reinforced walls of stone foundations and protective runes carved across every beam she could see.
As they dismounted their horses, the smell of forestry and rain-soaked grass gave way to a strong scent of damp wood and animals.
Amelia followed Silas, holding the reins of her horse, towards a sprawling stable yard stretched out beside the lodge.
Lined with wooden pens, horses shifted or stomped in their enclosures restlessly.
Lanterns fuelled by arcane crystals flickered in the growing dusk, casting golden pools of light that barely pushed back the shadows of the approaching night.
Amelia glanced warily at the small stables and the uneasy nature of the horses. Silas, perfectly content, loosened the reins on Ember with practiced ease.
She eyed the pens before inching closer to Silas. “I’m not sure I trust this place with Tempest. Look at the stalls. How do we know what they feed the horses, or if they feed them at all?”
Silas snorted, tugging on the reins before turning his head. “You don’t trust them to care for our horses? What do you think they’re going to do? Roast them over a fire?”
She had been glancing at a stable hand, sitting on a bale of hay, and looking supremely bored, but shot Silas a look at his sarcasm.
“We could stable them ourselves. There’s a hitching post over there and a trough.
If we can purchase food, at least we know they’ll be groomed and fed to a high standard. ”
Silas rubbed at his temples with a sigh. “Winslow, we’ve been travelling all day. I’m starving and exhausted. The last thing I want to do is hand-feed my horse like some kind of doting parent.”
Tempest flicked her tail and stomped a front hoof into the dirt as though protesting his words. Silas glanced at Tempest guardedly.
Amelia patted her head gently. “I am a doting parent. She’s been a perfect companion for this trip and deserves the attention. Besides,” she said, sending his chestnut gelding a look, “Tempest actually listens to me, so perhaps I’m alone in thinking she deserves it.”
Silas looked offended. “Ember listens to me,” he said, giving his horse an affectionate rub. “She just has occasional temporary deafness.”
“She takes after you, then?”
He smirked. “Only when you’re talking. Though at least Ember doesn’t try to murder me when I tighten her saddle.”
“She’s spirited,” Amelia said defensively, scratching Tempest’s neck.
“She’s evil,” Silas countered with a twitch of his lips. “She literally tried to kick me in the head yesterday when I walked behind her.”
“You shouldn’t have been standing there.”
“It was a campsite, Winslow,” Silas said with a shake of his head, “not a battlefield. She shouldn’t have been so restless.”
“The Rift is—”
The stable hand she had noticed approached them tentatively, as though unsure whether to interrupt them. “Uh…do you need me to take them? One silver per horse for one night.”
Amelia folded her arms. “I’ll take care of mine.”
Silas, apparently done with the argument, handed over Ember’s reins with one final pat. “Please take care of her.” He shot Amelia a smug look. “Unlike some people, I know how to delegate.”
The stable hand took the reins, glancing between them.
Amelia snorted and lead Tempest towards the hitching post. “Don’t come crying to me when they switch out your gelding for some half-starved mule.”
Silas sauntered beside her with a quiet grin. “As long as it’s not your horse, I think I’ll manage.”
The entrance was dimly lit, the hearth crackling with embers, casting long shadows against the aged wooden beams. The walls were busy, plastered with relics and runes, housing swords, weathered maps, and faded banners from travellers long since passed through.
The air was thick with the smell of stew and cheap ale.
A chalkboard behind the counter listed the available rooms. As her eyes tracked across the chalkboard, she felt her willingness to stay in the lodge progressively lessen.
Sections were crossed out, depicting either the rooms being occupied, or the rooms being deemed ‘ uninhabitable ’. She paused with caution.
What would make a room uninhabitable?
The innkeeper, an older woman, sat behind the wide counter, shifting coin from left to right. She didn’t look up as they stepped inside and approached.
Amelia turned to Silas with a frown, who seemed at ease despite her initial impression. “Well, looks like we have three solid options: ‘ creaks while windy ’, ‘ lock doesn’t work ’, or my personal favourite, ‘ rot in the floorboards ’…”
Silas brushed at a patch of dust on his riding cloak before he finally looked up, glancing unflinchingly at the chalkboard.
He took a step forwards and knocked on the front desk, bringing the older woman’s eyes glancing up to glare at him.
He smiled charmingly at her, and Amelia could have rolled her eyes for the way she softened under the look.
“Can I assume that ‘ rot in the floorboards ’ is minimal and not hazardous?” Silas asked.
The innkeeper let out a loud snort. “Depends what you consider hazardous.”
Silas’ smile just deepened at the words. “Will me or my companion fall through the flooring?”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Possible.”
Amelia sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose. She walked away from the counter, motioning for Silas to follow. He gave the innkeeper one last charming look before joining her in the dark corner.
“Fantastic,” Amelia hissed to him, “you brought me to the one place that might be more dangerous to our health than the bloody Rift itself.”
Silas rolled his eyes. “So dramatic, Winslow. I’ll get the room that doesn’t lock, and you can deal with a bit of creaking if it gets windy out. No problem.”
She stared up at him incredulously. “Are you daft?”
He tapped at his chin mockingly, pretending to think on her question seriously. Amelia scowled. “Not to my knowledge, which may prove I could be.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Amelia snapped, feeling her exhaustion stoking her temper. “I am not going to be pulled into the middle of the hallway at midnight. We should share a room until the bond is broken.”
His smugness rapidly faded, an unusual seriousness taking its place.
“No,” Silas said firmly. “We can wait until midnight, before retreating to our own rooms.”
Amelia shifted impatiently. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep. “Afraid to share space with me, Finley?”
Silas looked away, eyes straying to the fireplace. His jaw shifted with what she took for irritation. “We’ve spent a lot of time together the past few days. I would have thought you’d be eager to put some distance between us.”
“Our predicament is going to make that difficult, unfortunate as it is.” Amelia held up her palm, the cut representing their bond thrust into his face.
Silas’ eyes moved to stare at it before looking past her hand and meeting her gaze, expression hard. He nudged her aside to walk past her. “Unfortunate yes, so let’s not spend any more time with each other than absolutely necessary.”
Amelia watched him order their rooms, before tossing some coins to the bench.
His movements were jerky, clearly irritated.
She felt a moment of regret for her scathing responses.
She might have tried to blame fear or fatigue, but Amelia was no stranger to her fiery personality, and that Silas knew just how to stoke it to life.
She wandered back slowly, the innkeeper sliding one key over with a nod to Amelia. “For your room,” she said in her scratchy voice before sending a look to Silas. “Yours don’t lock.”
He shrugged casually before hauling his pack onto his shoulder and disappearing into the dark stairwell without a backwards glance. Guilt squeezed in her chest again. She reached for the key. “How do we order from the kitchen?”
The innkeeper, who had returned to tallying coin, sighed when she had to pause and look back up. “Through that door, speak to the cook.”
Amelia muttered her thanks before taking the stairs upwards to locate her room, pinching the rusty key between two fingers, and hoping she didn’t catch anything.
She washed and changed into fresh clothing, eager to be free of the dust-covered items that seemed to host the cloying smells of the Rift. Feeling fresher, she moved across the hall to knock on Silas’ door.
When the room beyond remained silent, Amelia frowned and knocked again.
Giving up when he didn’t answer, she walked back down the stairs. The entrance, previously quiet, now swarmed with travellers heading for dinner. She followed two large men into an adjacent room, pausing when she spotted the blonde head in the corner, tucking into a bowl of stew.
Amelia found her own, before weaving her way to the dark corner where Silas sat. He glanced up at her, expressionless.
“Can I join you?”
He set down his bread, brushing his fingers together. “And subject yourself to more of my company?”
Exhaling wearily, Amelia sat without invitation and stared moodily into her bowl.
It smelled good, though her stomach had abruptly soured.
After a beat where she debated internally how to broach an apology, Amelia finally looked up.
He was watching her with a small smile, as though privy to her inner battle.
She ignored her rising ire at the smirk. “Look, I know I’m not easy to be around…”
He scoffed quietly.
When she glowered, he chuckled lightly and raised his hands. “Sorry. Carry on.”