Chapter 5
five
The fae tromped through the wildflower field, and when Orelia finally caught up to him, he quickened his steps.
“Can you slow down please? I can’t walk that fast,” she said, breathless.
He snorted, which she guessed meant something along the lines of I don’t give a shit.
“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, and I’m sorry about what happened, but—”
He shot into the sky.
Orelia waited for the pain to lance through her body, but it never came. A few seconds later, she caught a glimpse of a dark shape sinking behind the roof of her house.
She broke into a brisk jog, not stopping until she made it into the garden.
The fae sat on the back steps with his elbows on his knees, leisurely picking at a blade of grass. “Pack your shit. We leave now.”
She panted, fanning her shirt. “What? Now? I can’t just leave.”
“You can, because I am not spending one second longer than necessary tethered to you.”
The blatant disgust in his voice was clear, but he was a fool if he thought she’d leave just because he said it was time. “I have lived here my whole life, so I can’t just pick up and go. We can leave tomorrow.”
He pointed at the house. “Get in there and pack a bag right now.”
Knowing he couldn’t kill her gave Orelia a bit of spine. “You don’t get to order me around, especially in my own home.”
He rose and stalked across the yard. Bulky arms may have been loose at his sides, but nothing about his predatory posture said ‘relaxed’.
Orelia craned her neck as he approached. It took everything in her not to cower.
Black eyes searched her face, flicking to her hair, then down her body, not a hint of emotion giving away his thoughts. He would make an excellent card player.
“Go. Pack. Now.”
She stood her ground. “Ask nicely.”
Quicker than she could register, he grabbed her by the back of the neck.
“Let go of me!” Orelia tried to pry his hand off, but he squeezed tighter.
Her feet struggled to keep up as he forced her across the yard, making her look like a fool.
“Let go, you asshole!” He shoved her up the porch steps and she tripped, catching herself just in time to avoid hitting the back door.
Orelia whirled, face red-hot. “What in the hells is your problem?”
He pointed at the house again. “Go, now. Before you piss me off even more.”
After a silent stare-down to determine who could glare harder, she finally yanked on the back door and stomped into the kitchen, cursing the mannerless bastard.
Orelia ladled water from the basin into a glass and sipped on the cool liquid in an effort to calm herself.
She mumbled more curses into her drink, things she was too cowardly to say out loud.
From her spot in the kitchen, she had a clear view of the top of the fae’s head as he sat on the steps. Orelia envisioned summoning the shovel resting against the railing and accidentally smacking him over the head with it.
She chuckled, then finished the water and headed into the bedroom. After retrieving the pack under the bed that hadn’t been touched in years, she began filling it with what little she owned.
She sat on the floor and used her magic to sift through the drawers, flicking a wrist and tossing aside items that weren’t absolute necessities.
Orelia stuffed underwear and a breastband inside her pack, a pair of socks, a sleeping chemise, and a spare traveling outfit.
The only pair of shoes she owned were the haggard boots on her feet, and her favorite emerald scarf was already tied in her hair.
She tossed in her coin purse, lamenting at its light weight.
She felt under the bed for anything she may have forgotten, and her fingers found the weapons belt Tommen had bought her.
She pulled the smooth, brown belt out, and there was a pinch in her heart as she trailed her fingers over the detailed leatherwork.
She’d worn it when he’d asked her to spar to help him train for the king’s army.
Since then, it sat hidden away collecting dust.
Duty had called Tommen to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a soldier, and though Orelia had implored him not to go and get himself killed, her love hadn’t been enough to make the blonde-haired, blue-eyed neighbor boy stay.
To deepen the wound in her heart, he’d fallen into bad company and joined the Riders instead.
She’d never forget his father showing up at her house, eyes red from crying as he showed her the letter from his son saying, ‘I can’t explain, but this is something I have to do.
’ His parents had left Minro shortly after receiving the letter, and she’d had to watch the only people besides Teegan who had ever felt like family leave her too.
The Blacksands were ruthless, and she knew someone as decent as Tommen would never survive in such a place. She pushed back the image that came to her in many dreams: him bleeding out, lying in the unbearably hot black desert with no one to comfort him in his final time of need.
After a quick prayer to the god Santh to protect and watch over Tommen, Orelia buckled the belt around her waist. She grabbed the only weapon she owned, a knife her aunt had stolen from a gentleman caller, and secured it in one of the sheaths.
Thankfully, there was a waterskin and a bedroll inside the closet left behind from another of her aunt’s lovers. Orelia pulled out the thin roll of bedding and gave it a sniff. “Ugh.” Pipe smoke and sweat. But it would have to do.
She padded into the washroom and filled up the waterskin, then gathered an empty jar and a few empty vials in case she found anything interesting in her travels.
Orelia carefully added them to the pack, along with a bar of strawberry-scented homemade lye soap, a handheld mirror, and three vials of sana she’d stored for emergencies.
She wouldn’t need it, but perhaps someone she met along the way would.
When everything was accounted for, Orelia tied the bedroll to the pack, hoisted the lumpy bag on her back, and slid her arms through the straps. The smell of pipe smoke assaulted her nostrils, but the leather instantly conformed to the shape of her and was surprisingly comfortable.
The straps pinned her loose tunic taut, making her ample chest strain against the ties.
She tightened the strings as best she could, but a bit of cleavage remained visible.
Not like the fae would take a sudden interest in her because of it.
Not like she’d want someone as rude as him to be interested.
She tied the waterskin to her belt and gave her home one last look over.
Morton would know to come by and check on her house while she was gone, and Teegan would tend to her roses when she could.
Orelia had only ever known this small cabin on the outskirts of the village, and a pang of sadness struck her at leaving it behind.
“It’s okay. You’ll be back, then all will be as it was,” she told herself.
When she stepped onto the porch, the fae was plucking the last plumrose off the bushes. He squeezed the flower so hard that violet juices slid through his fingers, dripping onto the ground. He dropped the crushed rose and wiped his hands on his pants.
Orelia cleared her throat as she approached.
When he looked at her, he barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
He pointed at her.
Orelia looked down at her clothes, then back at him. “What’s the matter?”
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
She fidgeted with her skirt, not understanding what he meant. “What’s wrong with it?”
He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest in that condescending way men did when they were about to explain something to a woman.
“Well, for starters, your skirt is going to get caught on every low-hanging branch and bramble out there. Your shirt is too loose, so it will also catch, and the cut is too low. Your chest and the rest of your pale, freckled skin will burn, and those boots look like they’re about to fall off your feet. ”
She held back tears as he finished picking apart her outfit. The fine leather and tailored cut of his clothing must have cost an amount of money she’d never even seen. She looked ridiculous in comparison. “It’s all I have,” she whispered.
His thick brows rose. “You don’t own any pants? Or leathers?”
She shook her head.
When he looked at her belt, he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me you have more weapons in your pack other than that one knife on your belt.”
Orelia adjusted the straps of her pack so it sat higher on her back. “I don’t like violence, so this is the only one I have. It’ll be fine.”
“It will absolutely not be fine. Your life is now my life, and I need to be able to rely on you to defend yourself if we get into an altercation on the road.”
She didn’t know what to say. Tommen had tried to get her to buy a sword so she would have one for protection, and to use when they sparred, but she’d refused and always borrowed one of his instead. “I’m a healer, not a fighter, but I do know a few moves,” she offered in an attempt to placate him.
He looked at her like he didn’t believe her and sighed. “One problem at a time,” he grumbled before making for the back fence.
The gate he’d broken still laid on the ground, and she righted it with a sweep of her arm, then hurried after him.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, eager to get going and explore. He may be poor company, but she wouldn’t let him dampen her enthusiasm.
“Go to Dorsey and get this fuckup reversed. Obviously.” The last word came out with a bite.
The urge to ask him a million questions sat on the tip of her tongue. Realizing there was one important question she needed an answer to if they were going to be traveling together for the next month or so, she broke her silence.
“What’s your name? I’m Orelia.” Her voice hiked up at the end, and she hoped her cheeriness would ease the tension of their situation.
He side-eyed her. “Vade.”