TWENTY-FIVE
The world twisted and warped around her as the suffocating grip of Waystone travel squeezed.
Landing roughly, Silas lost his footing, using her to remain upright with a hissed swearword.
Amelia staggered, boot catching on an uneven cobblestone, the rush of magic fading from her limbs like a receding tide.
The air was sharper where they had landed, filling her nostrils with the scent of chimney smoke.
Not to mention the familiar bite of the Rift’s not-so-distant influence, closer than ever.
It was much warmer here than where they had come from, but the late-night wind was still brisk as it whipped down the narrow streets.
Silas exhaled hard, one hand braced on his knee before straightening. He was pale, still recovering from what they had just escaped, but his eyes were alert, sweeping their surroundings.
East Town was little more than a cluster of stone and wooden buildings, huddled together against the changing weather patterns near the Rift.
Lanterns hung from iron hooks outside doorways, their soft glow cutting through the darkness.
The village was quiet at the late hour, though Amelia could still hear the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer and the occasional murmur of townsfolk as they wandered up the cobbled road.
A marketplace that would be bustling in the daytime, was dark and empty, stretched along the main street.
The stalls were closed and quiet, wooden signs swinging in the heavy breeze.
She knew that when they came alive, the streets would be teeming with buyers at stalls that sold preserved meats, dried herbs, and crude rune-crystals that flickered weakly with stored magic.
Beyond the village, the land sloped downwards towards the Rift’s border, a jagged, dark line against the horizon, an ever-present reminder of the magic that had fractured the world.
Amelia turned to Silas with an amused expression. “Subtle landing,” she murmured, brushing dust from the oversized sleeve of the cloak she had stolen. “And you give me grief about my Waystone travel. You sure you didn’t twist an ankle?”
Silas huffed a laugh, rolling his shoulders. “You cushioned my landing well enough.” His blue eyes shone in the golden lamplight as he winked. Then he sighed, losing the easy expression quickly, glancing around before focusing back on her. “You alright?”
She was still panting, heart still beating quickly as the magic she had finally begun to tap into faded from her blood. She was exhausted, body begging for rest, but the night was not over.
Amelia nodded. “I think so. Are you?”
“I’m fine.” She heard it in his voice, felt it in her chest. The weariness, the pain, the subtle layer of anger. He was not fine, but he would act as though he were.
“Who were they?” Amelia asked, wrapping her arms around herself, gripping at her elbows. “Why did they take you?”
He lowered his voice as he spoke to her. “We should walk and talk. We need to find an inn. Lay low.”
Amelia shivered against another gust of wind, biting at her lip. “I actually have a place in mind we can go. Someone I think we can stay with.”
Silas’ expression turned dubious. “Someone we can trust?”
She nodded. “Someone I trust with my life.”
He searched Amelia’s face before he agreed with a small nod of his own. “Well, I trust you . Lead the way, Winslow.”
Something warmed in her chest.
She didn’t know why the words had such a profound effect, but she felt something that had long since shattered within begin to piece itself together. It wasn’t much, yet it was also everything.
Amelia ducked her head, cheeks reddening. “This way,” she murmured.
They set off down the main street, the crunch of dirt and shifting cobblestones beneath their boots the only sound between them. The weight of what had just happened, what they had barely escaped, settled heavily around them. But for now, they were safe.
For now.
The cottage sat on the outskirts of East Town, tucked between a cluster of bare-looking trees.
A stone chimney puffed out thick curls of smoke, the scent of burning wood inviting.
The shutters were painted a familiar deep blue, weathered by the years, a soft glow emanating from behind them.
A small garden, abandoned to the colder months of winter, merely held dark patches of soil with a few feeble weeds poking through.
Despite the season’s chill, the place felt warm, inviting. A sanctuary.
At least, it had been a sanctuary once, for Amelia.
She hesitated for a moment, before stepping up to the door and rapping her knuckles against the wood.
Silas stood beside her, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “Who is this again?”
“A friend,” she said vaguely.
The door swung open a heartbeat later, revealing a tall man with tousled brown hair and a thick knit sweater, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms. His sharp hazel eyes flicked over Amelia, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Lia,” he breathed, and before she could even utter a simple ‘hello’, the man she knew as Brinkley hauled her into a crushing embrace, lifting her off the ground.
She let out a startled laugh, returning the hug before smacking Brinkley’s arm. “Okay, okay, put me down, Brink.”
Her feet hit the stone step as he set her down, and she looked over to Silas. His arms were folded across his chest while he stared at Brinkley with what she could only describe as dagger-eyes.
Brinkley’s gaze flicked to Silas with mild curiosity. “And you are?”
Before Amelia could introduce them, Silas squared his shoulders. “Silas Finley.” His voice was perfectly polite. Almost too polite. “Who might you be?”
Brinkley’s lips twitched. “Beau Brinkley, but everyone calls me Brinkley.”
“Surnames, hm?” Silas’ eyes darted back to Amelia, eyebrows narrowing together for a moment. “An old friend, you said?”
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look—”
Brinkley, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow before his grin turned downright wicked.
He leaned closer to Silas, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have claims on her.
I prefer my men a little less—” He made a vague motion towards Amelia. “—curvy around the edges.”
Amelia snorted.
Silas froze. Blinked.
“Oh,” he said, and then, “ oh .”
He exhaled, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant.
Brinkley patted his shoulder. “There it is.”
Amelia rolled her eyes, pushing past them into the cottage. “Can we get inside, please? My fingers are still frozen solid from that wasteland we were just in.”
“By all means,” Brinkley said in a friendly tone, holding the door open. He winked at Silas as he passed by, who still looked a little sheepish.
The interior was just as cosy as she remembered.
Low wooden beams, a hearth blazing with crackling flames, shelves cluttered with books.
The smell of cinnamon curled through the air, punching her with nostalgia at the thought of late nights with hot mugs of cinnamon tea.
Wool blankets draped haphazardly over armchairs near the fire, where a steaming mug of tea sat abandoned on the wooden table next to an overturned book, as if Brinkley had just been in the middle of reading before they arrived.
Brinkley shut the door behind them and shook his head, still amused. “Lia, you always did have a habit of showing up on my doorstep looking half-frozen and in trouble.”
Amelia collapsed into the chair closest to the burning hearth, letting the warmth soak into her frozen, tired limbs. She rubbed her cold fingers together and sighed. “Some things never change.”
Brinkley turned to Silas, scrutinising him for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I imagine this one is part of the trouble.”
Instead of denying it, Silas merely blew out a short laugh and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “You have no idea.”
“We’re sorry to impose,” Amelia offered.
“Are we?” Silas was quick to interject.
Amelia shot him a dirty look while Brinkley looked between them with a growing smile.
“Yes, we are,” she said, turning back to her old friend. “We, uh…need somewhere to lie low, perhaps for a few days.”
Brinkley strolled over and took a seat in an armchair, lifting his teacup to sit on his lap.
He levelled Amelia with a serious look, which was not often found on this man’s face.
“You know you’re always welcome here, Lia,” he said before he raised a devilish brow and sent Silas a smirk. “Even him, I suppose.”
“Such a welcoming host,” Silas said, raising his hand to his chest and bowing mockingly.
Amelia sighed wearily. “Quit it,” she said, voice low, lacking strength. Her eyes fell shut, body relaxing back into the chair. “I’m too tired to deal with two male egos at once.”
A hand was warm against her knee and her eyes opened, finding Silas kneeling before her, concern etched into his features. “You okay?”
“I have nothing left to give today,” she answered honestly, the fatigue settling deep into her bones. “How far away is midnight?”
“Less than an hour away,” Brinkley answered. Amelia tilted her head to find him looking between her and Silas with a curious expression. “You can have your old room. You remember where it is?”
Amelia smiled gratefully, nodding. “Thanks, Brink.”
He smiled warmly before turning his eyes to Silas. “It’s the couch for you, unless you want to share my bed—but before you answer, you should know…I’m a snuggler.” Brinkley’s smile widened, hazel eyes dancing with mischief.
Silas rolled his eyes. “The couch will be fine,” he said before adding, “thanks.”
“Sure,” Brinkley said. “Anyone for a cup of cinnamon tea? It’s rather lovely.”
“I think I’ll head to bed,” Amelia announced, pushing herself to stand while Silas stepped away, his hand slipping from her knee. “Finley, if we could have a word before you retire?”
Silas nodded, following her towards a narrow, dark passageway.