13. Claire
Claire
The rain began before dawn. At first, it was just a quiet tapping against the carriage roof—a gentle rhythm that almost lulled me to sleep. But as the hours passed, it grew heavier.
By midday, it was pouring.
The sky had turned a dull gray, the kind that swallowed the sun, leaving the world dim and colorless. Rain streaked down the windows in uneven rivulets, blurring everything beyond into a shifting, watery haze.
And still, we kept moving.
My body ached in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
Every movement of the carriage, albeit smoother than yesterday thanks to the mud, seemed to settle deeper into my bones.
My back grew sore, my shoulders stiff, my head began to throb faintly from the constant motion.
So, when we finally stopped for the evening, I could have wept with relief.
No sooner had Caspian swung the carriage door wide than I stepped out into the rain.
I didn’t hesitate, nor did I care as the water began soaking through my sleeves, my skirts, and my bonnet.
To breathe the open air was to breathe freedom.
Cold and drenched though I was, I had never felt more alive.
The rain drummed against the ground, turning the earth beneath our feet into mud. My skirts were damp within seconds, the hem heavy and darkened as it brushed the muck.
I bit my tongue, hard. I was far too tired to muster any complaints today.
Caspian set up my tent again with a speed that felt like magic. I was freezing, damp, and exhausted by the time he finished. Crawling inside without ceremony, I wrapped myself in blankets and burrowed deep into the warmth, listening to the rain soften against the canvas above.
Traveling was harder than I had imagined.
Some roads had been smooth, gentle, even pleasant, but others were cruel.
Today was the worst of it. The rain had turned everything slick and treacherous.
More than once, the wheels of the carriage sunk into thick mud that refused to let go.
There had been a moment or two where I’d felt the carriage lurch and stall entirely, and then Ash’s horse had pulled us free.
I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the letter. Tracing the intact wax seal, I felt the thick paper beneath my fingers. This was Papa’s response to the duke’s offer. It was proof of my future. I pressed it close for a moment, grounding myself.
This letter was everything. Without it, my future was entirely uncertain. I carefully tucked it away, terrified it might somehow vanish if I wasn’t careful. Then I lay back, staring up at the dim outline of branches against the tent as the rain fell in a steady rhythm.
I daydreamed of warmer days in Norwich—of sunlight, fine shops, and quiet rooms where I could sip tea from delicate cups. I imagined buying beautiful ribbons instead of having to make them myself, and finding a partner who would protect me from muddy roads, exhaustion, and poverty.
This miserable journey was only temporary.
It had to be.
Because something brighter waited for me at the end of it.
The sun returned the next day, breaking through the clouds and chasing away the damp chill. For the first time since leaving Thistlebrook, the warm road felt almost pleasant.
I felt lighter by the time we reached our destination—not quite myself, but closer. Unlike Thornell, Dunmere was a small, quiet place. Here, the buildings seemed to huddle together under uneven roofs, their paint long since faded by time and the elements.
We settled into The Crooked Kettle and got ourselves seated at a table. The tavern was warm and buzzing with voices.
A singer had taken up a spot near the hearth of The Crooked Kettle, sending her voice weaving through the crowd.
She moved effortlessly between styles—now a soft, sorrowful melody that tugged at my chest, then a swelling tale of triumph and adventure.
Enchanting and effortless, her performance felt enthralling.
I leaned forward, drawn in. She was magnetic. Every note felt like it reached for an emotion inside me and found it.
Beside me, Caspian finished the last of his tomato stew, setting the empty bowl aside. Ash sat across from us, one arm draped over the back of her chair as she nursed a cup of ale.
I glanced between them. Then back toward the singer. And before I could talk myself out of it...
I caught the bartender’s eye and raised my hand. “Hi, sorry—could I just get a rum?” I blurted it out, terrified the opportunity would pass if I didn’t speak up.
The bartender gave me a quick look, scanning my dress and posture. Without a word, he turned and poured my drink.
I cleared my throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how loud it sounded.
I had never ordered anything like that before—never even considered it.
The bartender slid a thin glass cup in front of me, not even taller than my finger.
Its clear liquid caught the firelight in warm, golden hues. It smelled sharp and unfamiliar.
It took me a second too long to realize Ash was watching me; when I finally raised my eyes, her brow was already arched.
Meeting her eyes, I asked, “What?”
She tapped a finger against the rim of my glass. “Rum? Didn’t take you for that type.”
“What type is that?”
“The type who usually prefers tea from a delicate porcelain cup.” She paused, then added, “You usually order rum in a shot glass, by the way.”
“And this is a shot glass?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. I straightened in my seat, wrapping my fingers around the glass.
“Well, I am about to be married.” I lifted the glass, glancing at it once before meeting her gaze again. “I may as well try everything while I still can.”
For a moment, Ash just looked at me. And then she smirked.
“Well,” she drawled, lifting her own ale. “Can’t argue with that.” She tipped it toward me. I hesitated before raising my glass to meet hers with a small clink.
I brought the rim to my lips, bracing myself before taking a cautious sip. The burn was immediate and spread down my throat and bloomed in my chest, stealing my breath for a moment. I coughed, blinking as warmth rushed through me, my eyes watering.
Ash laughed softly. “Careful,” she murmured.
“I am being careful,” I gasped out, my voice tighter than I intended as I wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It simply... caught me off guard.”
“Right. Off guard. And I suppose your throat just decided to mutiny all on its own?”
“It is a perfectly natural reaction to liquid fire,” I countered, setting the tiny glass down with a bit too much force. “And for your information, I intend to finish it. Every, last drop.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. Sometime before we reach Norwich, preferably.”
The teasing was light, but the heat still lingering in my throat suddenly tasted bitter. I looked down at the gold liquid, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to me all at once.
“I don’t like being patronized, Ash.”
Ash went quiet. The easy, mocking posture vanished, replaced by a sudden stiffness. She stared at her ale for a long moment before looking up, the humor completely gone from her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her tone entirely genuine. “I didn’t realize I was making you feel that way.”
The honesty in her voice took the sting out of my anger. I exhaled a slow breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. Raising my chin, I held out my hand across the wooden bar.
“Let’s start clean,” I offered.
Ash glanced at my hand, then up at my face, waiting.
“I know I’ve been a pain to travel with,” I admitted. “Most of it is because of this terrible headache I’ve gotten ever since the rain started, but... well, the truth is, I’ve never done anything like this before.”
A faint, understanding smile touched Ash’s lips. She reached out and took my hand, her grip firm and surprisingly warm.
“Deal. For the sake of the journey, we try to get along.”
“For the sake of the journey,” I confirmed, letting out the first real breath I felt I’d taken all day.
Ash didn’t drop my hand right away. Instead, she gave it a final, reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Good.”
She leaned her elbow on the bar, a lazy, amused expression settling over her features as she began to absentmindedly play with her bottom lip. As her hand moved, one of the heavy ruby rings on her fingers caught the tavern’s low lighting, flashing a deep, brilliant crimson.
I stared at the flash of red, my eyes lingering a moment too long. The rum was finally beginning to settle in my stomach, spreading a pleasant numbness through my limbs that made the world feel a bit softer, a bit slower.
And, a bit clearer.
Looking up from her hand to her face, I found myself taking Ash in with a dizzying clarity.
She was beautiful—not in the delicate, manicured way of the ladies in Thistlebrook, but in a way that was entirely her own.
She was smoky and undeniably attractive, possessing a sharp, effortless grace that seemed to command the rowdy room around her without even trying.
I swallowed hard, the sudden realization making my cheeks flush warmer than the alcohol had. I quickly reminded myself of reality. She was off-limits. She was my hired mercenary—a shield between me and the dangers of the road—and she was that and nothing more.
To prove it to myself, and perhaps to shake off the sudden, dangerous warmth pooling in my chest, I cleared my throat and tapped my fingernail against the empty glass. The tiny clink sounded brave, even if my hands were still a bit unsteady.
“Well,” I said, meeting her gaze with a newfound boldness born entirely of the liquor. “If I am going to survive the rest of this journey with you, I think I will need another.”
“Another?” she echoed, her voice dropping to a low, amused purr. “Look at you go, Princess.”
“And don’t call me Princess,” I interjected, the boldness of the rum giving my voice a sharper edge than usual. “My name is Claire. If we are starting clean, you can start by using my actual name.”
Ash’s hand dropped from her lip, her eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. For a second, I wondered if I’d pushed too far, but then a slow, appreciative grin spread across her face. The ruby ring flashed once more as she gestured to the bartender.
“Claire it is,” she murmured, her tone carrying a newfound touch of respect. "I might actually make a traveler out of you yet.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I replied, though I couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my own lips. “But if we are starting clean, we might as well do it properly. Order one for yourself, too. My treat.”
Ash let out a genuine laugh, the sharp edges of her demeanor melting away entirely in the tavern light.
“A deal is a deal. Bartender, make it two.”