I have no food except for the warm drink the mother and son gave me, but I do have the tapestry lining my coat. With or without Soren, I won’t rest until I’ve reached the dark and forbidding mountains, seeking answers and aid.
The next rise gives way to a steep slope of knotted grasses when what I thought was a boulder comes to life. I hasten my steps and find Soren, splayed in the grass, his ankles crossed, and his hands supporting his head—reclined as though he was just catching a nap under the noonday sun.
There’s no mistaking the smile that spreads on Soren’s lips when he realizes it’s me. We step quickly to each other through the thick grass. I anticipate the press of his broad chest against mine and his arms wrapping around me in a hug. But they don’t. Instead, we both stand there with our heads tilted, eyes questioning, arms and hands lifted awkwardly.
I brush off some more dirt.
“You made it,” he says at last. “Took the tunnel, I see.” He lifts a cautious hand to brush yet another clod of dirt from my shoulder. “I wasn’t sure they’d completed it.”
His calloused fingers graze my face. I don’t flinch as I let him remove the soil. “Dirty and you still dazzle,” he says softly, most likely noting the glitter beneath my eyes.
My mother always told me my eyes sparkled. I was born with eyes the color of ice, but the silver glitter trailing beneath my lids and down my cheeks appeared after that strange encounter that brought me here. I wipe away one salty tear at the memory.
The moment passes and Soren points toward the mountains. “Still want to do this?” he asks.
In answer, I start walking. “What happened after we were separated?” I ask when he catches up to me.
“I went back to the Roost, but the patrol was everywhere, looking for us. I searched the Basin and Flats and met Britta who received a message that you were escaping through the tunnel. I detoured to the wall, sneaking out along Battersea. It took me longer than I would have liked, but I knew the passage through the tunnel would be slow going too.”
I pass him the warm drink the woman from the Roost gave me. He inhales the aroma before taking a sip. “Bilberries, juniper, spices, moss, and magic.” His face brightens as the liquid fortifies him. “Fae tea,” he says, passing the container back to me.”
“My mother used to make it, I recognize the flavor.” My chest tightens. “I had no idea she was fae until I found her laying—” I can’t say it.
“Fae typically keep their wings concealed. They have to summon them.” Soren shoots an angry glare over his shoulder, before casting a wary glance at the expanse ahead of us. “Now, to get past the I’s.”
When we reach the base of the hills, Soren says, “These are the Innerlands.”
Wind sweeps across the plain of russet grass and green moss. Crags of dark rock bring the words bleak and breathtaking to mind in equal measure.
“This specifically is Inneveldt. We’ll stay off the Royal Road, but we must hasten to Inismoore and then another day to Inverness before nightfall,” Soren adds. “I don’t think the patrol is following us, but they’re sure to be looking for us and there’s no telling whether their allegiance lies with the king.”
“Whose allegiance?” I ask, knowing the guards are loyal if nothing else.
“The innerlanders.”
“I don’t see anyone.” Or houses, shacks, dwellings, or evidence of human life for that matter.
“Ah, but they see us,” he says, quickening his pace and hinging forward as he plows through the wind.
I trot to keep up and soon wheeze for breath. “Not everyone has long legs like you,” I call after him.
Soren doesn’t laugh, but stops and says, “I’m sorry. Shall I carry you?” That rare smile plays on his lips. “A ride on my back, perhaps?”
“How about don’t tease me.” But if that grin tells me anything, it’s not teasing, but flirting. And I don’t really mind.
Back home, I was so focused on becoming a Police Officer, guys were at the bottom of my list...and I probably scared a few of them off for being what our instructor called overenthusiastic. It was like I was made to fight evil. Too bad they wouldn’t let me.
“I’ll take small steps so you don’t have to trot like a pony to keep up.” A laugh gallops out of Soren.
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the grin teasing my lips, and breeze past him.
We walk for hours and then reach a thin stream.
“This is Inismoore and the Silver Strand. It swells in the spring and shines silver under the summer sun. This is as far as I’ve ever been.”
In the distance, a solitary, thatched-roofed house stands like a beacon in the scenery. Smoke rises from the chimney. Soren shakes his head, leading us in a wide arc away from it. “We must try to find shelter before nightfall. It’s too risky being out in the open.”
Not much farther on, we reach a small, rocky outcropping with space beneath it to spend the night. Soren and I share a piece of bread, but not many words. We’re both tired. After the sun sets, the wolves howl, and the space between us slims for warmth and comfort as we doze off.
We plod on for the first half of the next day, tracing the growing edge of the Silver Strand. The damp ground is squishy beneath my feet and my pace slows. With the lonely house that we saw yesterday, the place we overnighted, and any sign of humans long well behind us, the spring that feeds the river shines like an oasis in the distance.
My mouth
