Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ADELE
Raoul landed in the village square with barely a jolt, and I slid from his back with considerably more grace than I’d managed earlier. My legs had gotten used to the rhythm of his flight, the powerful beats of his wings, and the way his muscles moved beneath his scales.
I was definitely not thinking about his muscles.
A crowd had gathered while we were gone, more villagers than before, their faces drawn with worry and hope. Children clung to their parents’ sides. Elderly dragon shifters leaned on canes or each other. Everyone watched us with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
Raoul shifted back to his usual form, the transformation as mesmerizing as always, and came to stand beside me. Close enough that I could feel his heat, but not quite touching.
“Well?” Piper asked, her voice cutting through the silence. “Did you find anything?”
I took a deep breath and stepped forward, pulling my notebook from my bag, where I’d left it. “I know why Brightmore isn’t getting rain.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Your valley is sitting in what I call a rain shadow,” I said, trying to translate the complex atmospheric condition into something they’d understand.
“The mountains create a barrier that diverts moisture-carrying clouds around you instead of over you.” I gestured, searching for the right metaphor.
“It’s like water flowing around a stone in a stream instead of over it. ”
Sebastian frowned. “But we’ve had rain before. Plenty of it.”
“Because this only happens during specific atmospheric conditions,” I said.
“When the seasonal pressure systems align in a particular way, which occurs roughly every fifty years, the wind patterns shift enough to push the rain away from Brightmore entirely.” I explained what we’d discovered in the archives and why we’d decided to stop her on our way to Silvervale.
I could see the confusion on most faces. They didn’t understand the science, and that was fine. It wasn’t like they needed to see how it worked. Knowing I could fix it was the most important thing.
“The important thing,” I met Piper’s eyes and swept my gaze across the gathered villagers, “is that manipulating atmospheric conditions is literally what I do as a weather witch. Tomorrow, I’m going to seed the clouds with magic that will trigger precipitation directly over your valley before the wind can carry it away.
I’ll cast a spell after that to make sure you get regular rain for the rest of the growing season. ”
I’d have to do something to ensure this issue didn’t occur again in fifty years, but I could think about how I’d do that once I’d solved the current problem.
“You can make it rain?” Quinn asked, her voice trembling.
“If everything goes according to plan, you should see clouds gathering by mid-morning. Rain by noon.”
The cautious hope on their faces transformed into excitement.
“Tomorrow?” Willa asked. “That soon?”
“The conditions are ideal right now,” I said. “And your crops can’t wait much longer.”
Everyone cheered, and suddenly people were talking over each other, asking questions, thanking us. I answered what I could, explaining the process in broad strokes while Raoul stood beside me, watching me with warmth in his eyes.
His face held an expression I couldn’t quite interpret, emotions that made my stomach flip over and my magic spark.
I looked away quickly, focusing on the villagers’ questions about tomorrow’s plan.
“You’ll need a place to stay tonight,” Piper said once the initial excitement had died down. “We have an empty cottage. The Harrises left last month because of the drought, but most of their furnishings remain. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable.”
“That would be perfect,” Raoul said. “Thank you.”
“Let’s hold a village dinner tonight,” Piper called out, her voice rising to carry across the crowd. “An early celebration of hope. Everyone bring what you can. We’ll host a community meal with a bonfire and dancing.”
People hurried off to prepare.
These people had been suffering, and tomorrow I was going to help them. I was going to use my weird, unpredictable, often inconvenient magic to do something that mattered.
“Let me show you where you can sleep tonight,” Piper said, gesturing for us to follow.
She led us to the edge of the village, to a sweet little thatched cottage with a flower box under the single front window with plants that had gone brown from drought. Piper pushed open the door and led us inside.
I took in the small fireplace with a neat stack of wood beside it, a tiny table with two chairs near the window, and empty shelves above a small cooking area. And—
One bed.
Not even a particularly large bed, considering the prior residents had been dragon shifters and these people were universally larger than witches.
No sofa. No other room that might hold a second bed. Just one modest bed pushed against the far wall, covered in a faded blanket.
My heart started doing complicated things in my chest.
“It’s cozy,” Piper said in a cheery voice, oblivious to my sudden inability to breathe properly.
“The fireplace draws well. The cave system along the back of the village offers a full bathing area.” She gestured to the small opening along the left wall I’d missed.
“There’s a toilet and sink through the door.
I’m sorry we can’t offer you both better. ”
“It’s perfect,” Raoul said, looking at me, not the cottage. “We don’t need anything fancy.”
“Wonderful.” Piper beamed. “Dinner will start at sunset. We’ll have tables set up in the square, and the bonfire should be going strong by then. Don’t feel obligated to bring anything. You’re our guests, and you’re saving our valley. The least we can do is feed you properly.”
She bustled out and closed the door behind her.
Silence fell over the room.
Raoul and I stood beside each other, both taking care not to look at the bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I blurted out.
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m smaller. The floor makes more sense for me.”
“I’m a dragon. I can sleep anywhere, including on stone.” His voice was firm. “You’re taking the bed.”
“I once fell asleep in a library, half lying across the table, and I didn’t wake for many hours. Floors are fine. Comfortable, even. And I’ll be so focused on tomorrow’s magic that I probably won’t sleep much anyway, so really, the floor is—”
“Adele.”
“—perfectly adequate for my needs, and you’ve been sleeping on a sofa for almost a week now, so clearly you need an actual bed more than I do, and—”
“Adele.”
I stopped, meeting his eyes.
“I’m experienced with discomfort,” he said. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
We stared at each other, and I realized how ridiculous this was. We were two adults arguing about who got to be more uncomfortable.
“We could…” I paused, my voice dropping off to basically nothing. “Share the bed.”
His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a breath, releasing it. “Ah. Share.”
My heart stopped. Actually stopped.
“We’re adults,” he pointed out, his voice carefully neutral. “Married adults. And we both need rest for tomorrow. The work we’re doing requires focus and energy. It’s a practical solution.”
Practical. Yes. Very practical. The word we kept applying to our relationship.
“Completely practical,” I said. “Professional partners often share limited resources. It makes sense.”
“We’ll stay on our respective sides.”
“Absolutely. Very respective. Each side clearly defined.”
“It’s just sleeping.”
“Just sleeping,” I whispered.
Neither of us moved.
“We should probably prepare for tomorrow.” I was desperate to change the subject. “I need to make a list of the compounds I’ll need from the caves and calculate the optimal distribution pattern for the cloud seeding, and—”
“And I should review the flight paths,” Raoul said. “Make sure I know the territory well enough to maintain steady speed and altitude while you’re working magic.”
“Right. Yes. Flight paths.”
We both stood where we were for another moment before simultaneously moving, me toward my bag, him toward the door.
“I’ll just go figure out those flight paths.” He gestured outside.
“Yes, I’ll be here. Making lists. Very important lists.”
He left, and I sank into one of the chairs at the table, pressing my hands to my burning cheeks.
We were going to share a bed.
For sleeping, I reminded myself. We were partners being practical about limited accommodations. Nothing else.
The fact that my hands were shaking as I pulled out my notebook had nothing to do with anything.
He returned a bit later, and I was grateful I’d been able to focus my scattered brain enough to make a list.
He scanned it. “I’m sure we can find what you need in the area.”
I nodded.
We washed at the sink and left the cottage, finding everyone bustling about.
“Let’s help,” I said, and he nodded.
While he strode toward where they were setting up the bonfire. I found Willa and Quinn preparing a big pot of stew. Someone else was forming rolls, while a few men were peeling potatoes. It might not be much, given the drought, but I could already tell we’d eat well.
“What can I do?” I asked.
Quinn handed me a knife and a cutting board, pointing to a big pile of vegetables. “Can you help us prepare these for the stew?”
“I’d be glad to.”
For the next hour, I chopped vegetables alongside the others, learning the rhythms of village life through their conversation.
Who was courting whom. Whose child had recently shifted into their dragon form for the first time.
The ongoing debate about whether old Samuel’s prize rooster was actually magical or just unusually smart.
“So,” Willa said, her tone too casual as she drizzled butter over the rolls, “how are you finding married life?”
I focused on the carrots I was chopping. “It’s been educational.”
Quinn laughed. “Educational. That’s one word for it.”