Waking up abruptly has become a theme for me.
This time, it's all thanks to Fyr's deep, unreasonably loud, hissed expletives as he tromps around the room we're in.
I inhale sharply and sit upright in annoyance, trying my damnedest to look at him in spite of my blurry, bleary eyes fighting against me. I catch his basic form, which paces the floor with big, stomp-y, deliberate steps.
"What is your problem?" I ask before I can really think about what the problem could actually be.
He stops and turns and looks down at me square in the eyes, and as my vision clears up, I'm pinned in place by his silver, steely stare.
"Bastard stole my backpack," he growls as he finally looks away from me and resumes his pacing. "I can't believe he took it. Of all the things to steal..."
"He left your other stuff; he just needed it to carry his things since he didn't have one," I shrug.
He freezes. "You're speaking as if you were aware he stole it."
I snap my mouth shut. Whoops.
Floundering, I point my eyes at the pile of mismatched but folded clothes by his cot. "Well, uh—I mean," I stutter, "I just assumed he didn't take all your st-stuff, b-because there's a bunch of it on the floor right there." The tail end of my explanation unintentionally rises in tone like a question.
His stare doesn't move, but it's not quite as accusing. I'm seriously the worst liar in the world, and it's embarrassing. I think he knows I'm lying, too, because he looks like he's fighting between calling me out on it or just dropping it.
"Oh, and look," I say, feigning surprise as I reach down by my cot and pick up my purse, "He left me mine. See, he didn't take everything! You have your important belongings, at least," I motion toward his pile of gear. "He just took that crappy bag, that's all. Nothing big."
A couple seconds drag past.
"It's not just a bag," he simply melts back into his frustration from earlier. He wrings his fingers into fists. "I…It's not just a bag," he repeats, trailing off. He wheels around, walks to a small dresser against the wall by the door, and starts rummaging through the drawers. It's only a few seconds before he yanks out a bag that easily outshines his old one in terms of quality, and then he shoves all of his things into it. Seriously, he just got himself a new bag. He shouldn't be so grumpy.
Before I can ask any questions, he's across the room and kneeling beside where I'm sitting on my cot. His face is a foot in front of mine, sending me an intense, imploring look. "You can take us to him, Ava. Use your magic. Focus it on him. You've a connection with him; it will work."
"What?" I recoil, eyes wide and brows tight. "What are you talking about? I can't do that!"
"Yes, you can. It's not as hard as you think, especially with power like yours. I am sure it can be done."
"Don't you think that if I could control it, I would have by now? Why would we have randomly teleported those times if I had any grasp over this...this magic? I can't do it intentionally, Fyr!"
He becomes even more frustrated. "You can, Ava!" He stands and paces across the room to his own cot, and then turns back to me. "Just do this one thing for me. Please. I won't ask for anything else. I will walk you through every step."
"Why is it so important? It's just a shitty, old, frayed bag—"
"—No," he stops me. "No, you don't understand, and I don't expect you to understand. Just know that I must get it back."
"What, is there something in it that he took? Something valuable? Add it to what I owe you. I'm still planning to pay you back in one way or another."
"It's not that," he paces the floor again.
"Then, what? You have your papers, your clothes, your money—" I pause. "Did he take your money?"
"Well, yes, he did take that too, but—"
"Is that why you want the bag?"
"No."
"Why, then?" I plead in true confusion. "I'm sorry if I'm frustrating you, I just want to understand. You want me to do what's apparently dangerous magic that you've hated up until now, so it must be a pretty big deal."
"It's…" he pauses again, "It holds sentimental value to me, alright? It's more than just a bag."
I hesitate and stare at him. I open my mouth to speak, but we're interrupted by the priestess, Vestia, who storms into the door of our room, swinging it wide.
"Where has he gone?" she asks. Her hair is all mussed up like she just woke, and she seems frazzled, which is very out of place.
"James? He left just before sunrise," I answer, feeling under pressure to answer her. It's like being drilled by a teacher after getting caught cheating or something, and the panic and tension is real. I catch my answer, though, and add on, "—or so it appears, I guess."
"He stole the crystal I confiscated, along with many others," she sounds like she's accusing one of us, even though neither of us are exactly guilty.
"Yes, he stole some of my belongings as well," Fyr turns to motion to where his things were, but then apparently realizes he already stuffed it in his bag, because he just turns back around to Vestia. "I must give credit to his ability to avoid detection. I'm a light sleeper."
"He didn't avoid detection," Vestia shakes her head frantically. "I awoke when he entered my quarters. He…tied me to my bedpost and made off with the amulet."
"He tied you to your bed?" Fyr's brows arch, and I notice a look on his face I've never seen before. Like his eyes are smiling, but he's also still concerned. "Did he blindfold you as well?" This question is very obviously him teasing her.
"The monster muzzled me with a handkerchief and bound my hands to my bedpost, then left me to watch him steal all of the amulets," she answers with a deliberate glare toward Fyr. "Then, he had the nerve to say it was my fault he stole them, and that I shouldn't have taken what was 'rightly his'. How could you have let such a person into our community, Aerefyr?"
"I informed you quite clearly of his character, Priestess," Fyr responds calmly.
"You should have restrained him in some way, if you knew he was prone to this behavior. It took me nearly an hour to escape my bindings."
"Yes, I'll admit that," Fyr nods. "I wrongly assumed he would stay put due to his unnerving fixation on this one," he bobs his head at me in a form of pointing.
Vestia shakes her head disappointingly and looks at me. "I am afraid you, too, are out of luck. Those crystals he stole held a crucial role in helping you to rein in your magic—which would've helped you to control your portals. Aerefyr informed me of your struggle while you were recuperating. It is unique and unfamiliar in its nature, but the rules of magic should still apply; you must rely on your magic in order to return to your home, because only you have any connection to it. Without the help of those crystals, there is little for you here. I am sorry."
I feel any positive feelings toward James flit away the moment she tells me this, and by now, if not for the fact that my body has frozen itself in place, I probably would have exploded. I feel regret and growing rage at both James and myself boiling in my head, but I try my hardest to keep it in check when that anger collects in the form of electric tingles in my arms. I know what happens if it goes out of control.
Fyr, however, notices that my magic is spiking, and tunes into it.
"It's not too late. We can get it all back," he says to me. "Like I said before, you have a connection to him. Strong or not, it's stronger than that of anyone else here. Portal straight to him. Just focus your magic on him."
Vestia reacts before I can.
"Open a portal straight to him?" the woman repeats an octave higher than him. "Aerefyr, you may no longer respect the arcane, but by Elune, you must know that this woman has been leaving veil scars everywhere she goes, yes? And every portal she summons creates a beacon, essentially, for demons and wayward spirits. The less magic she uses in her unpredictable state, the better. We've enough to worry about as it is, let alone an unstable arcane blister in the very heart of our tower."
So, I'm some sort of bomb. And also, demons? I am painfully ready to be home.
"May as well make that magic of hers useful, for once, since she's already dripping with the stuff," he argues back. "Don't tell me it's that great of a difference whether she uses the power or not; if it's that potent, it's doing damage regardless and attracting whatever it'll attract either way."
Vestia refuses this with a shake of her head. "It is too dangerous. She needs the crystal before she can safely practice. You of all people know the danger of using magic when you are not ready, and the destruction that it can cause."
Whatever she meant by that, it strikes a nerve with Fyr, and he tenses up, expression going cold. He doesn't say a thing, just disconnects from the conversation entirely. Fyr has a serious history in this place, I start to realize. He has a history with that first girl, Iyara, as well as with these people. I want more than anything to know what it is, but now isn't the time to ask.
"What exactly does the necklace do?" I ask Vestia curiously after a hesitant glance at Fyr. "I touched it last night, just for a second, and it glowed."
"It acts as a reservoir for potential magic, which can be drawn upon when necessary. It prevents the magic you've been exuding from radiating, and instead absorbs it. As I noticed when healing your injuries, you are ludicrously saturated with arcane; it is a wonder it hasn't taken hold of your health or driven you mad."
"Madness has yet to be determined," Fyr murmurs, apparently still listening despite his disengaged demeanor, and I shoot him an eye-roll. He needs to take his frustration out on Vestia, not me. She's the one challenging him.
"Either way, she will not be used as a tool for your exploits," Vestia demands.
"She needs to find him just as well as I do," Fyr argues, but then he seems to give up. "But, you know what? Fine. Ava, this is where I leave you. I'm going to catch the bastard who stole my things."
"How?" I feel a sense of panic just at the thought of him leaving me for good. He's my only sense of stability. He's been here since the beginning. I can already feel the loneliness creeping up around me.
"Finding people is my job." He readjusts the bag strap over his left shoulder and tightens the ties on one of his boots.
"So, you're leaving? That's it?"
"Yup," he moves to the other boot.
"What about me? She just told us that they can't help me here."
"Beats me. Unless you have a way of making yourself useful—such as porting us to Mr. Reid, I've got nothing. I can try to retrieve the crystals as well, but I don't plan on returning to this tower ever again. Maybe I'll send them via postmaster. It'll only take about, oh, four months."
"How do I teleport on command?" I come to the decision without having to think much on it. Fyr immediately sends me an unexpected approving grin and stands up.
Vestia looks like she's about to implode. "You cannot! Aerefyr, stop this foolishness at once."
He ignores her and comes to stand beside me, facing away from her. "For most mages, it takes months to learn, but you have a 'gift' when it comes to teleportation," he explains, then suddenly winces and sends Vestia a sideways glare, and looks back at me like nothing's wrong. "You're a non-verbal spellcaster. They're rare, but they exist. In your case, feel it, sense it, focus on the location—" he whips toward Vestia, "—and by Elune, can you not, Priestess? The human may have been easy, but your mind control is nothing more than an annoying buzz in my ears."
Vestia glares back at him. "If you will not listen, I will turn it on her instead." The way she says it is a clear-as-day threat, and uneasiness trickles through me. I don't want to be mind-controlled.
I throw Fyr a panicky glance. He holds up both hands, turning toward her with a frustrated, incredulous look. "All right! All right, we will take the conventional approach. Ava, gather your things. We are leaving. Might as well take you with me; you're at a dead end here."
"But I thought I was supposed to—"
He winks at me when she can't see him do it, and at the same time shakes his head. He speaks with that same frustrated tone, but I know it isn't real. "He can't have gotten far. We'll move fast and catch up with him that way."
I nod and grab my stuff.
Vestia sighs. "Thank you."
Fyr sends her an annoyed grunt and takes my elbow once I've gathered my purse and put my moccasins on, and he leads me out the door.
I half-turn with my body as I'm still dragged away and look at Vestia. I think about thanking her, but I feel like it'd be a little hollow, with her just having threatened me thirty seconds earlier. She lifts her hand in an immobile wave, and watches us as we swiftly exit the building.
As soon as we step outside, I'm hit with a shocking realization. The building I've been staying in is nothing more than one of those big old trees. We're surrounded by identical ones, as well as little single-story cabins, in a village of elves.
"You guys live in trees?" I stumble, still directed by the elbow as he pulls me alongside him.
He just grunts.
I continue with questions. "What was that about back there? What's the plan? I can't imagine you giving in to Vestia's demands that easily."
"You're going to teleport us to James Reid."
"Oh. What are we doing now?" I have to jog just a little to keep up with his outrageous stride, but I'm glad he has now let go of me.
"Leaving town, so we aren't under scrutiny."
"Ooh, exciting," I bubble, scuttling behind him. "Feels like middle school all over again, when I'd sneak out while my parents were asleep and run off with my friends. We would buy energy drinks and Twinkies from a local gas station and climb up on top of our school building and stargaze, and we only ever got caught by the cops one time because they'd installed security cameras on the—"
"I don't know what half of that means," Fyr confesses, and I sigh.
"Right, sorry. Didn't mean to ramble." Although my mouth has stopped, my mind continues to relive the memories, and I suddenly feel a pang of sadness. I miss home. I miss it so much. It's only been like four days, but it feels like it's been forever. And I miss the people. I miss my mom. I've gone weeks before without talking to her and that'd been fine, but something about not being able to call her at all makes it tougher to be away. It makes me miss her more. My entire life feels so far away right now—not only feels far away, but is. I am in another world. I am all alone here.
By the time we've made it out of the village on the winding dirt path, I've pulled into my own emotions like a snail, my eyebrows so tight they're giving me a headache.
"Here should be fine," Fyr stops and turns toward me. He catches sight of my expression before I can change it, and he pauses, his own brows furrowing. "You good?"
"Yep. What do I do now?"
"You need to get riled up a little. Get that magic active. That's when it's most effective, or so we've witnessed."
"How do I do that?"
"I doubt you're keen on another broken arm, so pain is out of the question. Maybe think of something that makes you angry."
I try to relive what made me mad before, but nothing's really effective. The only thing that comes close is the fact that James stole the exact things that I need to get home and I let it happen unwittingly, but even that doesn't hit as hard as it did this morning.
"I...can't," I shrug after trying and failing to focus on so many different things.
"You're kidding?" Fyr laughs at me uncertainly. "I've seen you lose your temper how many times, and you're telling me there's nothing?"
"I'm not an endless supply of anger, Numbskull," I snort.
"So, you're not angry, but you're still being rude," Fyr shakes his head. "Truly, it's like I'm looking in a mirror, Princess."
"Last I checked, I wasn't a purple giant, nor did I have a beard. And quit calling me Princess," I frown. "It feels patronizing."
"Yes, well, the Common tongue is so rife with sarcasm, it's hard to be sincere."
"As if calling me 'Princess' wasn't sarcastic for you."
"It may have been, but I never meant it as an insult," he smirks. "So, portal," he recovers the topic that's actually important. "Was there any other time you felt the magic strengthen?"
I think back to all the times I felt the static. "Only when I was mad or upset," I begin, but then I remember something else, something I wish I hadn't. "And...when I was with James."
"So he triggers those feelings? Unsurprising," Fyr folds his arms. If I'm correct, he's smug.
"No, not just with him, I mean...sex."
His arms drop to his sides, and his brows arch. "Oh."
"Yeah, er, obviously it didn't work enough to port us, but it was definitely something."
A thought pops in my head, and I realize we're both thinking it at the same time: should we? His eyes seem to pin me in place, practically broadcasting his R-rated thoughts before he forces himself to blink.
He recovers before I do. "I think that means that it activates when your pulse quickens, or possibly has something to do with adrenaline," he concludes, as if it's all some sort of scientific thing and we're not talking about me having sex with someone. I can't tell whether to be embarrassed or just go with it, but I choose to hide my bashfulness and nod nonchalantly.
"So, you're saying we shouldn't fuck each other's brains out right now?" I tease, mostly to ease the tension, but the look on his face makes me pause.
His intense silver eyes rake down my body, and he steps in closer to me, making my heart begin to flutter. "Well, I'd never say that. It might be just what we need."
I clear my throat, finally realizing by the look on his face that he's teasing me back, relishing in the effect his matching my energy has on me.
"So, the easiest way to...to uh..." I blink. "For adrenaline, I should just...exercise, right?" I ask.
His mischievous smile forms dimples on his cheeks. "Correct. How snug are your shoes?"
"Snug enough."
"Can you run?"
"Well enough," I guess.
"Try to keep up, then," he flashes me a challenging smirk, turns on his heels, and takes off in a brisk jog down the path. I freeze for a few seconds, then break into a run of my own. My soft soles make almost no noise against the damp but firm dirt of the path, and I acknowledge soon enough that I'm going to have to sprint to catch up with him. Might as well; it'll speed up the process and do exactly what we need.
Sending a silent prayer of thanks to Vestia for healing me so well, I increase my speed, my breath already coming in quick bursts even though we've only been at it for about twenty seconds at this point. Another ten pass, and another. I can feel the magic awakening in my veins, right alongside the burn in my lungs. It's working.
I'm panting hard pretty soon, running at near-full speed for this long, and I'm feeling the pain in my lungs and stomach. Distractedly, I notice that the trees around us are slowly thinning out, allowing more and more daylight to reach the forest floor. The dirt of the path starts to turn to sand as we race through the trees.
I develop a stitch in my ribs and attempt to breathe deeply to rid myself of the pain, but once it's started, it doesn't stop, and before long I'm slowing. Right as we break through a line of trees and reach a visual I hadn't anticipated, I stumble to a stop, nearly tripping when my feet sink into loose sand. We're at a beach. Mist clings to the water's surface, and waves crash against a combination of large rocks and coarse sand. The forest stretches left-to-right behind us, and the water does the same before us.
"H-hold up," I pant after Fyr, who slows as well, comes to a loping jog, and returns to where I've now stooped and braced my hands on my knees to catch my breath. His boots kick sand onto my feet when he reaches me and stops.
"Any luck?" he asks. I'm a little miffed that he doesn't seem remotely out-of-breath.
"Yeah," I nod enthusiastically. "I can feel it."
"Good. Focus on it. Try to...to draw it out, if that makes any sense."
"Draw it out?" I force myself to stand upright, breathing deeply still to try to stop that damn cramping in my side. Lack of oxygen is what causes that pain, and so I'm gasping.
"One step at a time," he says mostly to himself, and then puts his hand on my shoulder. "First of all, concentrate on the magic."
I do. I focus on the way it tingles through my limbs and into my extremities, and I pay attention to how it pulses. I send him a nod that I'm with him.
He nods back. "Focus on what you want it to do. You want it to make a connection, a doorway. Where do you want the door to open?"
"To James."
"Don't just think about the man; think about the space beside him. If you focus directly on him, it could... Teleporting into another person's exact location tends to make both involved people...pop."
"Holy shit. O-okay," I swallow down my nagging fear and do as he says. I feel like if I focus on my goal any harder, my brain will fry.
Fyr grabs a hold of my shoulder to link us, and I notice that the magic is traveling into my arms, converging at my hands. I feel like this is a good thing. I want a doorway, right? So I instinctively raise my hands and...somehow form one.
Even Fyr looks shocked at my success when a glimmering window shows up in front of me. It looks like a hole in the air, and my eyes don't want to accept it. I don't get a chance to truly marvel at the fact that I just did this, though, because a strange, eerie sensation crawls across my skin, like cold, airy hands sliding over my back and arms and tugging in different directions. A chill whisper and a shiver run down my spine, and I startle, glancing behind myself. There's nothing there, but a feeling of exhaustion hits me right afterward. It's all I can do to pay attention to Fyr, so I make that my mission.
His mouth has fallen open. "You actually made a portal! I thought you were just going to teleport us. There are so many missing variables here, I can't even begin to list the number of reasons you shouldn't have been able to do this."
"You said to make a d-doorway," I shrug, trying to regain my energy. That creepy feeling has persisted, but there's no one else around me, so I don't act on it.
"And we had damn-well better use it before it runs out," he takes me by the wrist and pulls me toward it. I can't even refuse him before I'm yanked through the weird shimmering air, and the world around us transforms from misty beachfront to a boggy, swampy city. The light here is dull, filtered through heavy, dark mist and surrounded with shady willow trees, and all around us tower these tall, cold stone buildings and walls. I'll admit, I sort of wish we could've stayed at the ocean a little longer. I love the smell of sea spray, and although I'm pretty sure I can still smell the ocean here too, it's got a dank, overripe sense to it.
"Huh," Fyr straightens his tunic out and brushes out wrinkles as we both take in our surroundings. "Makes sense he'd be in Theramore."
"Is he here?" I ask slowly, scanning for the man. There aren't many people around us, and those who are seem in a hurry to be somewhere else. If we did manage to create a doorway to James, he must've booked it before we got here.
"Can't have gone far," the tall elf hums. "Follow close to me."
Although I'm still feeling bewildered at the impossibility of what we just did, I do as he says, sticking near him as he takes off through the town. We weave past merchant carts and tall buildings, keeping our paces quick on the cobblestone path that winds in a broad curve. I keep my eye out, studying every form we see as we pass them, until through the throngs of heavily-armored infantry and plainly-dressed townspeople I finally catch sight of a dark figure that darts between two buildings. I see brown curls and a familiar-looking tattered backpack disappearing into shadow, and I grab Fyr's elbow.
"There," I point in the space between the buildings. It's kind of an alley, but not quite wide enough to be considered one. A small car could probably barely fit between them, if the mirrors were pulled in.
"You sure?"
"Pretty sure I saw your bag."
Fyr nods and beelines for the alley, and I hurry after as best as I can. I still feel goosebumps prickling my skin, and exhaustion pulls at me, but my mind is moving fast enough that I can't really address my issues. Right as we make it between the buildings, Fyr's voice barks out a demand.
"Reid," he shouts, and the shadow at the end of the alley stops still.
"James?" I call out curiously.
The figure doesn't move for a couple slow seconds as we draw forward, and then I hear James's familiar, saccharine voice escape the shadows.
"Ah, I knew the universe couldn't keep us apart, Love," he says, walking into the light, and I see an impish grin pulling at his lips and his eyes on me.
"Unfortunately for you, that includes me," Fyr adds. "Come on, you must've known you couldn't get away with this."
"I already have," James laughs. "What makes you think you have the upper hand?"
"Well, I do have a mage," he gestures toward me. "I'm willing to let you off entirely, if you return to us what you stole—a more than fair trade."
"'Us?' Now, if I'm not mistaken, I didn't steal a thing from Ava, so your argument should really only be for yourself. Don't drag her into your affairs; that's quite tasteless."
"That crystal amulet you took from the elves? She needs it. And I would like my bag back, as well as my bounty list and coins. Apart from that, nothing."
"Give a bounty hunter his bounties? That's like lining up all of my friends and handing their executioner his blade. You're quite thick in the skull, aren't you"
Fyr loses his patience almost immediately. "You've exhausted your luck, rat."
James takes a step toward Fyr, an obvious challenge. He's still at least four yards from us. "Well, I don't believe in luck."
Fyr advances on him, and James dodges and laughs aloud, "No luck," he repeats, "only skill!"
I let out a weird sound, a mixture between a frustrated groan and a whimper, when they break into a scuffle, with Fyr attacking and James blocking and dodging. At least the space here is larger than that tiny bedroom they were in last time a fight almost broke out, but now they have almost too much room, and it's like a Tom and Jerry cartoon. They both look ridiculous. Neither are using the many weapons they both have sheathed at their belts, and I can't tell if that's stupid or smart, but I am relieved.
They both land a few scuffs and punches, and at this point I really begin to wonder at how evenly-matched they are, regardless of size. I totally expected Fyr to completely kick James's ass, but he's having a harder time of it than I anticipated.
Soon enough Fyr manages to grab James by the cuff of his shirt, and he wrenches him around, knocking his elbow hard against James's temple in an attempt to stun him.
James takes the blow easier than expected, reaches down to a sheath on his thigh, and pulls out a tiny knife that glistens like it's wet. Before Fyr can stop him or grab his own knife, James stabs the tiny blade, can't be more than two inches long, into Fyr's upper chest. Fyr should have been wearing his leather armor, but all he has is his shirt, and it of course does nothing to help.
Fyr growls and hits James again really hard, but then without warning, sinks to the ground like a sack of grain, suddenly out cold.
"What the hell?!" I burst forward, dropping to a squat beside the unconscious Fyr. "What did you do to him? Is he dead?" The idea fills me with dread and panic. I notice, in the back of my mind, that those feelings don't spark a single bit of magic in me. That exhaustion from earlier follows me even now, like I'm drained. Maybe I used up my magic.
James recovers from Fyr's second attack, which hit home a lot harder than the first. He's sporting a bloody nose, which he staves with his left glove. "He'll wake up in a matter of hours; those elves have outrageous metabolisms. Now, why don't you tell me what is going on, Ava? I trust you'll have more decency than him in holding a civil conversation?" He pulls out a handkerchief and presses it to his nostrils, and already it starts to dye a deep crimson.
I stare at Fyr, still a little in shock, and do my best to consider what James just asked me.
"He wants that bag back. He's…attached to it, I guess. I don't know. And the necklaces you stole from the elves; they're the only thing, apparently, that'll help me."
James sniffs and readjusts the handkerchief. "Let us take a moment to consider. Say I give you the jewels and the bag. What does that leave for me?" His voice is slightly altered by the nosebleed, and it sounds like he has a sinus cold.
"I'm not sure, just the gold you already have..." I trail away, brows tightening. I'll admit, I sort of expected him to just be nice and give them back. Surely he'd choose me over money, right? Wrong. What an idiotic idea that is, a teenage girl's fantasy.
"I'm sorry. Honestly, Love, I would give you the amulet, but that's what he wants. It'd be too easy."
My mouth drops open. "Are you serious? How fucking petty can you be?"
His nose has stopped bleeding, and he dabs it with the cloth just to be safe. He wipes Fyr's dark blood from his knife onto the handkerchief as well, and then folds it and tucks it in his bag. "I cannot tuck tail and concede to a bully! You must understand, this is for his sake. He ought to learn a lesson from this."
"He doesn't even want the crystals; I do! He just wants the bag. The only one you're really pissing on here is me, James!"
"I'll cut you a deal," James produces the amulet from the stolen bag on his shoulder and holds it up, where it dangles like a clock pendulum. "You come with me, I'll give you the amulet. Stick with him, you won't be so fortunate."
"I have no idea how to use or activate the amulet," I argue. "It's useless without help from the elves."
"You'll figure it out! You're a smart one, clearly, if you've already learned to create portals. I saw that one you summoned just a foot away from me back there. Scared the daylights out of me. I'm no magician, but I know that takes skill and practice, especially to an unfamiliar location." He taps his nose. "You'll figure it out, I guarantee it."
"You can't guarantee a thing," I frown. "Neither of you can, but at least with him, I have a connection to the mages who are my best chance." I glance at Fyr. He looks kind of peaceful, passed out on the ground there. I mean, other than having a knife sticking out of him. I want to remove it, but I don't know if I should.
"You're out of luck, then." He tucks away the amulet.
"Thought you said you don't believe in luck," I glower. "Please, James, just the one amulet. You're not giving him anything by helping me, and you know it."
"Either come with me, or find another way." He's giving me this apologetic look, but I know it's bullshit. If he were actually apologetic, he'd give it to me.
I know he thinks I'm going to accept. I know that he's doing this on purpose, manipulating me to run off with him and leave Fyr passed out in an alley. He's making it my only choice. I'm seeing a side to James that infuriates me, and I'm hit with such a strong surge of tenacious resentment that I'm practically spitting fire.
"You know what?" I hiss, standing tall and placing myself over Fyr without really considering it. "No. No, I won't go with you. I won't play your trivial, stupid fucking game. Either give me back the amulet and the bag, or you can kindly fuck off."
He looks surprised, but he holds his own. "Well, then," he blinks a couple times, and at first I think maybe he's rethinking his ultimatum, but then he just shrugs. A look of calculating thought crosses over his face. "I thought you and I were to get along great, but now I'm going to have to make your life very difficult. You want your crystals back? You will play my game."
"Your game?"
"Want your things? You'll have to catch me, first. I'm sure you'll do just fine, with a bounty hunter at your side. You've lost a valuable ally. And a spouse, I suppose." He laughs at that last part.
I stand there speechless, staring at him incredulously. "James, you can't be serious."
"I am extraordinarily serious. You've chosen the wrong side, Love. When your brute awakens, inform him that he should set his destination for the Deepwater Tavern, across the sea. The Lady Mehley leaves harbor tomorrow; unless you choose portals, it's your best bet." Then, he gives me a mischievous grin. "Until next time, Ava. I cannot wait for our paths to intersect."
I'm so dumbstruck, I simply stare slack-jawed as he walks past me into the road, turns left, and disappears.
An intense wave of hopelessness drags me down, and for the first time since I've arrived, I genuinely feel like I'm about to cry. I'm pissed at my own temper, but I also feel so wronged. How is it that out of everything that's happened, I have to be the one to get the short straw? How come I have to be punished for something I'm not freaking responsible for? This is preposterous. Yes, I chose to stay with Fyr instead of James, but that was for my own good. He should have understood this. It wasn't a choice of personal attachment. In my own way, I've tried to stay neutral in this.
That's what this whole thing was about, I conclude. It's a personal spat between two men, and I got dragged into it. It's unfair, and James had better clear his head and recognize that it's unfair before we catch him next, or it won't be Fyr beaming him in the nose, it'll be me.
I kneel down beside Fyr, wondering what to do now. I have an unconscious, three-hundred-pound elf with a poisoned knife embedded in his left pectoral to deal with. I at first think I should take the knife out, but then I wonder if it'll cause bleeding. What if it punctured something important, and it's doing that whole 'cork' thing, and if I pull it out, he dies? Worst-case, sure, but still possible.
So, I decide to get him out of this alley. There's got to be someone who can help him, someone nearby.
I walk to the end of the alleyway and look both ways, scoping the area. The building to my left, when I look up at the sign, says it's an inn. It's tiny, just one story, and looks shady as hell, but that doesn't faze me.
As soon as I walk inside, though, I realize I'm an idiot, and I should've been fazed.
At first, I think they're three hulking, malformed humans, but I quickly notice that they're covered in fur. They're standing in a tight group as if discussing something, but when I enter, three pairs of wolfish eyes fall on me. They're wolves. Werewolves. Dog-people, whatever. They're showing teeth as long as my fingers, and I lose all control over my muscles, which lock up and hold me immobile.
"Can I help you?" the one closest to me asks in a husky growl, an inhuman voice speaking human words, and I just give a meager squeak in response.
Another one looks me over. "Looks like she's seen a ghost. You haunted, Lady?"
My eyes can't even blink, and they just widen further.
The third wolf makes a sound that I soon understand is laughter. "She ain't haunted, she's pissin' her knickers at the sight of your ugly mugs. 'Ello, miss," he pushes past the two. He's the biggest of the three. "Don't you worry about Kate and Bernard here, they're none but lovey lapdogs. What's your story? Your skin's paler than the whites of your eyes."
I open and close my mouth, trying to generate a voice, or a whisper, or any form of audible communication. Panic is creeping up my spine and into my throat. I force myself to calm down and think. These creatures aren't creatures; they are people with names like 'Kate'. They're talking to me. Talking. Words. Intelligence, and politeness. I should only be as scared of them as I am of Fyr, the giant purple alien who's kept me alive these past few days.
The unconscious giant purple alien, with a knife in his chest.
That snaps me back to the present like nothing else.
"Yes, please, I need help," I finally blurt. "If you have the time."
"Certainly, mate," the big wolf tips his head as if he's got a hat on, and then I actually do see a tiny black top hat resting between his fuzzy ears. He was too tall before for me to see it. "How can we 'elp?"
"My friend is hurt. He's just outside. He got stabbed, and he's poisoned. I don't know who to go to."
"I'll gladly see what I can do," he suddenly seems more serious. "Poisoned? Take me to 'im. I've got some training in first aid."
"Thank you," I breathe, ignoring for the moment the fact that I'm commissioning medical help from a talking half-wolf, half-human in a top-hat. He isn't asking for anything in return; this is better than I could have hoped for. I lead him back to Fyr, who hasn't budged.
The wolf kneels down beside him, looking more feral than ever when he does so, and sniffs the blade that's stuck in Fyr's chest.
"Well, 'es not dead."
"I...I know," I say slowly. "Can you help him? Or at least help me carry him somewhere where someone can?"
"I'll 'andle it; give me a tick o' the clock and I'll have him on his way to recovery. Come 'ere," he beckons with a giant paw-like hand.
I kneel down beside him, and with an easy grab-and-tear, he rips Fyr's nice clean shirt into rags and stuffs a pile of cloth in my hand. "Press hard on the wound as soon as I remove the knife."
I nod, gripping the cloth tightly, and I cringe at the sound the blade makes when it leaves its bloody scabbard. I mash the cloth down against Fyr's bare chest, pressing hard with both hands and locking my elbows so the strength comes from my back. As soon as I've covered the wound, I glance at Fyr's exposed chest and shoulders. He has a full tattoo sleeve on his left arm that I'd never seen 'til now, and it spreads over his shoulder, ribs, and chest, and then mirrors somewhat onto his other side in some areas. The designs are sharp, thin, and look sort of like a type of writing, like old runes. I wonder what they say.
"If it's poison, it's best we clean it before dressing," the wolf says in his gruff voice. "Hold there."
He disappears and returns about a minute later with a flask that looks tiny in his hands, as well as a fishing pole for some reason, and he kneels by me again.
"Lift the cloth."
I do.
He pours a clear, potent alcohol onto the small but deep cut, which mixes in with the blood and seeps into the wound. The sight is nauseating, but I keep my calm by holding my breath and looking away.
"Pressure."
I press into it again, the cloth soaking up all the blood that had escaped in such a short amount of time. I notice, curiously, that even his blood, although still reddish, is actually purple, too. It seeps into the light cloth in a deep, maroon mauve. So, we don't all bleed red, although against his own lavender skin, it looks red enough.
I watch as the wolf unreels his line some, then douses it and the hook in the booze. Then he bends the hook out quite a bit straighter, until it's more of a needle.
"Alright, lift it off o' there."
I pull the cloth away and watch as he stitches Fyr's cut with a freaking fishing line. He's meticulous and careful, tying off a few stitches before he decides he's done, and the bleeding has slowed to nothing.
So, in a place where people can heal broken bones with magic, basic surgical knowledge is still important. Good to know. I feel beyond lucky that this guy knew what he was doing, even if he did just mix surgery with fishing.
"Thank you," I give a relieved sigh as the wolf re-ties his hook to his line and bends it back to normal, and he gives me a friendly nod.
"Shall I carry him into the inn for you? Can't imagine you two want to spend your afternoon lying in an alley. I've seen this poison, common among rogues. Can put a man under for a day, if it's strong enough."
I accept his offer, and he takes care of it for me. When we go inside, I request we just get a bunk for Fyr to sleep it off, and when I open my purse to retrieve that extra silver I'd saved from him, I'm shocked to find an entire satchel full of gold; it takes up almost all the space in my purse. I'd thought it'd felt heavier. I have no idea where it came from, but if I had to guess, it'd be James.
The wolf, whose name I still didn't ever ask for, leaves Fyr on the bed for me and bids me farewell. I slip him a gold piece as thanks, amazed and a little stunned that I found a Good Samaritan in the form of a werewolf.
I'm left alone in the room; Fyr has the final rags of his shirt bandaged around his chest to dress the wound, and with nowhere else to sit other than the bed, I leave our bags against the wall and relax down beside him. My eyes, against my better judgment, drift over his shirtless shoulders, chest, and stomach, and it doesn't take long for me to start blushing. He's frustratingly beautiful to look at, sculpted like a work of art by Michelangelo himself, all healthily-built with dense, full muscles that dip and swell impeccably, and a youthful complexion. He's got scars all over the place; nicks and cuts litter his arms especially, over the thick, visible veins that run over his forearms and the tattoos as well.
His chest pulses subtly with his shallow, silent breathing, and his face is smooth and calm and void of expression entirely.
I really, really want to touch him. Not in a weird way, more in the way that I'd wanted to touch his face that one time: it's just that sometimes I forget that this is all real, that he is real, that he's flesh and blood. Of course, seeing him copiously bleeding helped ground me, but...
Ah, fuck it.
I reach out and gently trail my fingertips across the bare, lavender skin of his inked shoulder. He's warm to the touch, possibly feverish. I wonder if he does have a fever, or if it's an elf thing. I hope it's not a fever.
His muscles give a slight flutter, a sleep twitch that trickles from his shoulder to his stomach. It's the first movement he's made since he passed out, and I hope he's waking, if anything just so I stop having an excuse to drool over him. But, he doesn't twitch again, and even after waiting about sixty more seconds, still nothing.
I lay my head onto my pillow, face turned toward him, and make myself comfortable. I'll probably be here for a while.
Thanks to all the sleep I've had recently, I'm unable to doze off the entire time I wait for Fyr to come to.
Hours—or what feels like it—pass as I simply wait and stare and think and daydream, lying on my side, watching the elf breathe in and out, in and out, in the silent room. I'm thankful there's a window in here, albeit tiny and far too high up for me to see out of, which lets in fresh air and sounds of seagulls and daily bustle from outside. I'm pretty sure I also hear ocean waves. They're distant, but distinct.
At this point, I start to wonder if maybe the poison has worn off and now Fyr's just plain sleeping, so I scoot toward him to pat him on the shoulder.
Just the motion of me jostling the bed causes him to inhale deeply, and for no explainable reason, I freeze as if I don't want to wake him. Then I remember that that's my exact goal, but as soon as my hand touches his skin, he jolts upright.
Before I know what's happening, we both tumble off the bed and I'm slammed against the floor. Fyr's entire body follows mine, and I'm unlucky enough to be the thing to cushion his fall.
"Oof-!" I fight to breathe as he complains at the same time.
"Ohhh," he groans next to my ear as if in pain, still on top of me, suffocating me. He lifts himself onto an elbow and pulls back, wincing, and makes eye contact with me. I try my hardest to ignore the way his shirtless body feels against mine, and I focus on regaining my oxygen.
I'm gasping in deep breaths when he looks at me with the most hesitant, confused look I've ever seen.
Then to my surprise, he dips into a deep, rolling laugh, warmer and more infectious than anything I've ever heard come from the man. If I weren't so distressed, I'd probably contract it.
"...What?" I snap, miffed. He's still on top of me, and he's shirtless, and his warmth is radiating through my thin shirt and into my skin underneath. It's not the worst position in the world, granted, but I feel like he's laughing at me.
"Nothing, just..." he chuckles, and the way his laughter quakes his body against mine makes my cheeks heat and arousal flicker through me, but before I can say anything more, he does roll off of me and onto his back beside me. "Your face. I violently...fell on you, and all you did was glare at me as if I'd insulted your grandma or something. I felt like I was the one under attack."
"I was glaring?" My voice isn't as harsh as before.
"Yes. I'm sorry, I would've apologized, but I was too stunned to move."
"Right, well," my heart is still hammering like hell in my chest at the physical tension I'm feeling here, though at least he isn't toasting my whole body with his anymore. Now the only heat I'm feeling is my own, and it feels somewhat lacking now that he's gone. "If you had insulted my grandma, you'd have gotten more than a glare, I'll tell you that much."
He chuckles more at that, and then finally starts to calm. "What happened?"
I peer over at him. We're both still lying on the floor of the inn, facing the ceiling. He's tenderly investigating the stitches on his chest, apparently just now realizing they're there. I'm assuming that he hasn't moved yet due to the stab wound, and I feel kind of bad that he doesn't have any of those healing potions left, considering I hogged them.
"You mean just now, when you invaded every part of my personal space, or back when James poisoned you and I had to recruit a werewolf to stitch you up with his fishing pole?"
He mouths the last few words of my question silently, and then he looks over at me, his long, amethyst hair pooling on the floor by his face. "Say again?"
"What part of that was hard to understand?" I tease. "I mean, I enunciated well, and—"
"Ava."
I smirk, sitting upright and leaning my elbow on a knee comfortably. "James knocked you out with that poisoned knife. He gave me an ultimatum between helping you and leaving with him in exchange for the amulet. Then I got mad and said some things that didn't help, and he left. He told me to tell you to find him in some tavern... Darkwater? Deepwater. Yeah. Deepwater Tavern. He's long gone by now; I'm pretty sure you were out cold for at least a few hours. He said there's a ship leaving tomorrow that we should take. So, here we are."
Before he can answer me on that, I remember something else, and I hop up to grab my purse. "I think I have something that belongs to you."
By the time I've grabbed it and turned around, Fyr is standing, and I falter at the sight of all seven-whatever feet of him towering in front of me. He wasn't so imposing when he was sitting or lying down. I blink it away as well as I'm able to and open my purse.
"I think James might've given me your coins. You said he stole yours, and then I found this," I pull out the satchel and hand it to him. It fits right in his giant hand, whereas it had taken both of mine.
He opens it, and his brows arch. "This is far more than what I owned." He jingles it a couple times, like he's feeling out its weight. "Got to be...what, sixty, seventy pieces here? I had half that on me."
"Well," I shrug, "It's yours. I don't have much use for it. Consider it repayment for your teapot, I guess."
"Wait. There's a note in it," Fyr peers into the bag and pulls out a tiny bit of paper, and reads it aloud. "For your debt to the elf, and a little taste of royalty, too. -Reid." He pauses. "Well, that's strangely kind of him."
"What?" I reach out and take the paper, and read it. "Weird."
"Why didn't you go with him?" Fyr asks me, as if I made the wrong choice.
I pause for a good two seconds, wondering if he's serious. "Well what would you have done if you had to choose between getting your stuff back or leaving your traveling partner stabbed and poisoned in an alley?"
Not to mention, at least Fyr has a basic knowledge of magic. James, I'm guessing, does not.
"You really want me to answer that, Princess?" A smile forms slowly in the corner of his mouth. He's in one of his weirdly cheerful moods, one I've only gotten to see one other time, when his cheeriness was at my expense.
My eyes narrow, and I tilt my head at him for using that name. "I do."
Fyr takes a calm step toward me, and I'm suddenly aware of our proximity and that I am a shrimp compared to him. Before now, even when he'd pinned me to the floor, I'd not seen him in this way. He's standing at full height without his shirt to mask his body; he looks even more gigantic without it, which you'd expect would be the other way around. His proportions, huge in the shoulders and narrow in the hips, are so exaggerated, like he's photoshopped or something equally as ridiculous. He doesn't have grossly-shredded Hollywood abs, but they're damn-well close. He'd probably be terrifying if he flexed.
I think he notices me staring below his face, because he visibly hides a smile by biting the inside of his cheek. Then he gives me a direct, conversational expression. "If I were you in that situation, I would have acknowledged that people are selfish and unforgiving, and that they don't owe me a single thing no matter how much I may do for them, and, that when presented with an opportunity to help myself, I would undoubtedly, unquestioningly take it. The only reward for heroism in this world is death, and it is naive to think otherwise."
"It's a good thing you're not me, then, because if you were, there'd be a dead-ish elf in the alley with your face and it'd be your fault."
"Would it not be the fault of the one who caused the injury?"
"That's not an argument worth arguing. Are you saying you're ungrateful?" My brows arch.
"No, certainly not, I'm simply saying that logically, you should not have made the choice you did. You should have been more selfish."
"Well, your 'logic' is stupid as shit, so I don't agree with you. If I had gone with him, I would still have no idea how to use the amulet, nor would I have any chance at finding my way back to the people who could help me. And lastly, he's really not my favorite person right now. I'd much rather stick around someone like you than someone like him. Don't even try to say that you'd want to buddy up with James Reid."
He looks off beside me, like he's staring straight through the wall, and his eyes narrow in thought. "I might not approve of that man's choices or lifestyle or actions, but I can't claim to be any more helpful to you, specifically, than he is. I have nothing to offer you."
"You have access to people who are my only hope. James just stole from those people, so he'd be of no use there. And you've saved my life multiple times. Until someone else can say the same, I'll choose to stick with you until I can find my way home." I hesitate then, realizing I'm asking a lot from him. "Unless, that is, you don't want me to. I know I've given you a billion reasons not to want to—"
"You can stay," he puts in quickly. "You've earned your welcome to travel with me. I don't...I don't mind."
I hesitate, then give him a partial smile and nod. "Thank you. I know it's inconvenient for you, so um…thank you."
I grimace at repeating myself. Why are we so abruptly being polite to each other? It feels...impersonal. Kind of weird. Awkward, even. I don't really know how to explain it.
"Not that inconvenient. We both are after the same goal now, aren't we?" he smirks. "And I'll admit, you don't make the worst company."
Was that a compliment?
I can't hide the mysterious grin that pulls at my cheeks. I'm not sure if I feel smug or surprised.
He groans and shakes his head in defeat. "Wipe that off your face, or I'll take it back."
I keep grinning as all the awkwardness from earlier is whisked away with his threat.
"I like your company, too," I grin at him.
Resisting his smile, he lifts his bag and sets it onto the bed, and starts digging through it. "On to the important matter at hand: how confident are you to make another portal to him?"
"Actually, I was gonna ask you about that," I lose my smile. "I'm pretty sure it drained me, or something."
"Drained you? One portal? How so?" he pauses and turns toward me with a grey shirt in one hand.
"As soon as I did it, I got really tired. Like, really tired. My eyes stopped focusing. And then I felt that cold, creepy feeling and hallucinated the weird whispering sound and the hands on me—"
"Hands?" Fyr's fingers are the only part of him that move as they curl tightly into the shirt.
"Well, not real ones; there was no one there," I reason. "It just felt like someone was sliding their hands over my skin. But that's beside the point. I just got super tired and—"
"Why didn't you mention that?"
"It's not exactly a normal thing to bring up in conversation. 'Oh, by the way, I got felt up by my own imagination,'" I mock with a laugh.
Fyr actually looks alarmed, which sobers me up pretty fast. He turns back to his bag and resumes putting his shirt on, and as he pulls his long hair through the collar, he speaks up.
"So. No more portals. Looks like we're traveling by sea."
"Why no more portals?" Obviously, judging by his reaction, what I described wasn't all my imagination.
He turns his head toward me. "I...fucked up. We'll find you those amulets, but in the meantime, the less magic you use, the better. That's all you really need to know."
I want to badger him with questions, but by now I know that he's as stubborn as I am, and we'd be stuck in an unending circle. Plus, I'm not one to argue against his choice to not use magic. It's not my favorite thing by any means, and I'd be happier without it anyway.
I nod a single time. "Okay, deal."
He lifts a brow at me. "No questions?"
"None that'll get answered, so, no questions."
He looks pleasantly surprised. "Alright."
"Alright," I shrug.
He smirks and straps his backpack over a shoulder. "Are you hungry?"
"Very."
"Really? Follow me." Fyr walks past me, and I just barely hear him grumble about me under his voice, "Elune forbid the woman actually communicate her needs as they arise. I'm no mind-reader."
"You want communication?" I snark playfully as I trail after him. "Wouldn't mind a nice hot cup of coffee, a hairbrush, some toothpaste, a bra..."
We leave the inn, with me still grumbling to myself as we navigate the streets. Fyr shows no indication that he hears me, but I know his keen ears can, and he's got a dimple plastered on the side of his cheek that I can see.
"...a psychologist, cell service, clothing that actually fits..."
Seagulls' cries and the buzz of voices gradually start to drone out my mumbling as we head through town, and soon enough I practically have to latch a hand onto Fyr to keep from losing him in the crowds. We've entered some sort of market. A fish market, by the smell of it, and sure enough I see a line of docks stretching out into the water. They are crowded with people who look like stereotypical privateers and sailors, wearing loose-fitting, open-chested shirts and rolled-up trousers, and anything from bare feet to full leather boots. Half of them have some sort of cloth wrapped over their foreheads to keep hair and sweat out of their eyes, and they're all busy with something, be it transporting crates or communicating poorly with people who are too far away.
But Fyr leads me past the crowds and the docks, on to a small building with a smoking chimney. The door is heavy and closes hard behind us, shutting out most of the natural light from outside and leaving only lamplight. At first I think the place is going to feel kind of stale and musty, but the air is clean, a little smoky, and bears an inviting scent of cooked meats and stored grains.
Fyr approaches the counter whilst pulling out his money.
"Any chance you've got liquid energy available? Closer to rocket fuel, the better."
I wonder what kind of potion he's talking about.
The salesman across from him offers a nod. "I've got a hot canister in the back, fresh-brewed, if you're in need of a fix."
"Even better," Fyr nods back immediately, "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."
A few moments pass as the guy disappears behind a doorway, and then he returns with a metal canteen and a short handmade cup. He plants them on the counter in front of Fyr. "Have at it."
I still haven't made a connection regarding what Fyr just bought, but as soon as he opens the lid of the canteen and I get a whiff of the strong, rich scent of coffee, I stare with my lips parted and eyes wide.
He pours the gorgeous black liquid into the cup and then hands it to me. His eyes flicker with humor as he watches me staring at it like it's the best thing to happen to me all week. In its own way, it is.
"This is...coffee!" I inhale its vapors deeply.
"First item on your list, aye. And it's getting cold."
My intense gratitude makes me giddy; the smell itself energizes me, and I take a mouthful. It's straight, black, bitter coffee, and it's more magical than anything I've experienced in this world. In a fit of joy and with a huge smile on my face, I peer gratefully up at Fyr.
Oh, I could kiss this guy. My eyes linger on his mouth, which is stuck in a kind of humored halfway-smile at my transformation. I realize, in my elated state, I want to do exactly that—kiss him, that is—and it takes all of my self-control to remain exactly where I am and not actually do it. That'd be too far, even for me. Just the thought of doing that makes my pulse jump like crazy.
"You have no idea what you've just done for me," I breathe and bring my coffee back to my mouth, if anything just to distract my lips. "Thank you!'
He gives me a benign laugh. "I think I can take a wild guess."
Then he turns back to the shopkeep, who looks bored. I stay fixated on my coffee. As soon as it's cooled enough to drink safely, I start to down the entire cup. I would savor, but I don't have that much self-control left.
Fyr glances at me, "Before I buy, is there any food to which you are averse for any reason?"
"No, I'm pretty enthusiastic when it comes to eating," I hum, feeling the oncoming effects of this caffeine. I feel better than I have since I arrived in Azeroth; partially just because I no longer have broken bones and I'm clean and dry, and also because this coffee is fantastic and energizing to boot.
Fyr buys bread, cheese, meats, and some cooking salts.
Then I see a slight dimple on his cheek again when he bites back a smile. "Add a pound of ground Zandal roast and a filter cloth, please? I have a feeling it'll come in handy," he shoots a look at me as I nurse my 'liquid energy', his silvery eyes twinkling. He takes the food and coffee grounds once it's all been wrapped and fits it in his bag, pays for everything, and then we're off again. As usual, he wordlessly leads the way.
I'm partially blinded when we step outside. The sun escaped cloud cover while we were indoors; it's just at that edge between day and evening, where it's low enough to be shining directly in the eyes but not so low it's started to dim. It ignites the buildings around us, turning the cold stone walls into glittering reflections. It's the first time since I've arrived that I've been bathed fully in sunlight, and in its own way, it is uplifting. It's the little things that count, despite my retinas crying out in pain.
"What now?" I ask Fyr as he steadily leads me back the way we came earlier.
"I have to get something sorted out. Mind if we sit?" He gestures off to the side, where there rests a vacant stone bench in a patch of grass.
I nod, also hoping we'll get some of that food out.
As if he reads my mind, Fyr hands me a hunk of bread as soon as we get situated on the bench, and I devour it. It's so different than the breads back home; this stuff is crunchy, whole grain, and the crust is thick, and it tastes less...sweet. Way healthier than what I'm used to eating. I really like it.
I look around me at the bustling port town, taking in everything I can. It's strange; it's like the last ten centuries of Earth's have been jumbled together here. There's a guy in a medieval-looking set of plate armor riding a horse through town, but someone's walking next to him wearing a pair of mechanical goggles that seem to run on some sort of electricity or battery. People in the markets are selling anything from armor, jewelry, and perfumes, to street food. One guy literally has what looks to be a crude refrigerator attached to a cart and is serving ice cream. At another cart, I can see what appears to be hygiene items, like beautifully-carved brushes made of wood and bone, and even what might be toothbrushes, as well as large baskets of bottles and bricks of what might be handmade soap. There's a cart loaded with differently-sized vials and potions, all labeled but unreadable for me due to the distance. It's amazing to see, really. Even the way people speak, it seems more modern and familiar from some, like it is with Fyr, and then with other's it's like they hopped out of the 18th century.
As I stuff my face with cheese curds and bread and summer sausage slices, I begin to watch what Fyr's doing. He sifts through papers so quickly I can't get a proper idea of what they are for, and as the caffeine's effects finally reach their full potential, I start to fidget. I don't want to interrupt him, but I can't much help it.
"What are you reading?"
He doesn't skip a beat. "Requests."
"For?"
"Help."
"Like jobs?"
"Exactly like jobs."
"What language is that one?" I reach out and point at a line of symbols at the bottom of one paper that's unreadable.
"Dwarven."
A couple seconds pass that feel like minutes.
"Is that the ship we're taking tomorrow?" I point off toward the docks at a large, old-fashioned style brigantine that's being unloaded.
Fyr shakes his head without even looking up. "The ship to Menethil is docked on the other end."
I lean forward so I can see all the way down the docks. It's tough, but I think I do see the tops of another giant ship's masts. "What about that big one way down there?"
"Possibly."
"What time are we supposed to leave tomorrow?"
"Transoceanic ships leave at daybreak. No earlier than seven."
"Oh. How much will it cost?"
"...Ava," Fyr gives a quiet sigh through his nose. "Please, pocket your questions just for a few minutes. Find something else to do."
"Sorry, sure," I nod, biting my tongue.
By the time Fyr lifts his head and realizes what he's done, I'm halfway into the market. I've kept him in my sight the entire time I went off to explore so that I wouldn't lose him, but even so, he scoops his things into his bag and briskly jogs after me.
His large hand loops around my wrist as he gently tugs me to face him. "Are you trying to get lost?"
"No, I'm just curious. And bored. What in the world do you people do for fun here?"
Fyr makes an exasperated sound and coaxes me to follow him out of the shops. He's officially taken me on as a responsibility. I feel guilty for stressing him out, but part of me—the part that's getting to know him—knows that he's not as annoyed as he lets on.
On our way out, though, he pauses by one merchant, hesitates, and then purchases what looks to me like a Rubik's cube, just a little less brightly-colored. He puts it in my hand with no explanation, and leads me all the way back to our room at the inn. By the time we get through the door, I'm deeply engrossed in this toy. It works just like a Rubik's cube, but the six colors are pearly-white, grey, red, blue, purple, and gold, and it's made of wood.
As I slowly sink down on the edge of the bed while solving the cube, Fyr pats the door frame and makes me look up at him. He's standing outside the door, reaching for the handle.
"I'll be back tonight. Working some odd jobs and making a little coin while I can around the city. Please stay here. I left the food and water in the room, so you should have no reason to leave."
"What if I have to pee?" Table's turned, I'm messing with him this time.
"You can leave for the outhouse," Fyr lightly rolls his eyes, and then sends me a rare handsome smile. "I'll see you tonight."
He closes the door behind him, and I flop onto my back, absorbing myself in the toy.
Time passes slowly, but not painfully so. The sun sinks into gold, then orange, then red through the little window, until it's a faded bluish purple that turns into night. I turn up the gas lamp on the bed table so I have enough light to figure out my cube. I haven't solved it yet this entire time, but I've taken lots of breaks—which is definitely the reason I've been unsuccessful, and it's totally not because I'm awful at it.
The repetition of the toy makes my eyes start to feel tired and lulls me into a sleepy state. I remove my moccasins and curl up under the warm covers of the bed, slowly rotating the sides of the cube as I feel my consciousness slipping.
Just then the door swings open and Fyr walks in, his boots shuffling against the floor loudly, and I'm forced awake in surprise.
He calmly locks the door, drops his stuff next to it, kicks off his heavy shoes and starts shucking his weapons and armor until he's in his shirt and pants. Then he tiredly stumbles to the bed, pulls open the covers, flops in beside me, and is apparently asleep the second his head hits the pillow.
Oh. Apparently we're sleeping in the same bed. I didn't even really think about that.
I'm sitting there dazed, wondering how he dozed off so quickly. Whatever job he just did must have exhausted him. I send him a lingering stare and then, after a moment of accepting the idea of literally getting in bed with an alien, I start playing with my cube again. Until now I haven't realized the sound the cube makes when I rotate it, and I cringe a little as it makes a little scraping noise. I don't want to be too loud.
I try to turn it more carefully, hoping it'll be quieter, but all it does is draw out the sound longer.
Schhhrk!
I mouth an 'F' as I cringe, but rotate it again.
Fyr, eyes still closed, stirs and reaches his arm out, gently takes the cube from my hand without looking, and reaches across me to set it on the table.
"Bedtime now. Sweet dreams," he says in a voice slurred by sleep, patting my face as he pulls his hand back over me, which I don't think was intentional. I think he aimed for my shoulder or something but got my entire face instead, and was too tired to correct himself.
Then he rolls over on his side, away from me, and sighs contentedly at his newfound silence.
One of his fingers has tangled the eyelashes in my left eye from when he patted my face, and I blink excessively as I reach over to dim the lamp as well.
"You too," I retort with the gnawing worry that considering the previous nights, my own dreams will be anything but sweet.