***
By midday, the small sprinkle of rain has turned into a steady fall of fat raindrops on our heads.
It quickly soaks through my jacket, shirt, and even my boots until my carefully hand-knit socks are sopping and gross. I do my best not to let just how uncomfortable I am show on my face, but I’m sure I’m failing because, sweet goddess, I’m miserable.
Pemba can use his magic to keep himself dry, but extending it to keep the rain off me as well quickly burned out his reserves, leaving me to fend for myself. I had told him not to bother, but the stern glare he’d sent my way had swiftly shut my mouth.
Now I wish I’d been a little more forceful about it.
It's not that I'm afraid of him, or worried about any sort of repercussions from upsetting him, but the moment his reserves burned out and the rain began to soak through my clothes, I could feel his frustration at his limitations. Personal magic is easier than breathing for him, and he would be able to keep the rain off himself for the next six months without feeling it, but extending that magic to me… that is something else entirely. Being able to manipulate other people is advanced magic, and the limitation that he’s now feeling keenly breaks my heart. I feel like the worst sister, not only for not being able to manage that sort of protection for myself, but also for making him feel as though he’s failing me.
“We’ll have to stop at the inn for the night,” he says with a sigh and, ever the dutiful sister, I ignore the knots in my stomach at the thought of spending time with other lower fae.
I force a smile and shrug. “It’s no big deal. We were supposed to stop there originally anyway, what does it matter now?”
He scowls up at the dark skies as though they were sent just to torment him. “Father paid for a single night a few days ago, not for tonight. We might have to speak to the innkeeper, and they could refuse us altogether.”
A small part of me hopes that they do and that we'll make camp somewhere on the trail instead, but Pemba looks miserable, so I stick to my cheerful facade. “I’m sure they won’t… unless it's too busy. If itistoo busy, I don't think we should be staying there anyway. Papa always said to stay out of busy areas. Too many people, too many egos—”
“Too much danger,” Pemba finishes with a wry smile.
Our father was a cautious man. Something about his power of divination manifesting in the flames of his ironworking gave him endless visions of the evils that exist in the world. Women with the same ability are often called to become Seers, but looking into the vast expanse of the Fates and divining their meaning…it’s not the work of men. He’d never pursued the ability the way he would have if he were a woman; it became a small gift he accepted but mostly ignored.
I'd once asked my father about it, and he’d smirked at me and shrugged. “Men can't see past their own desires. It’s the hardest work for the purest of heart, but I'm glad it was not the path for me. I would have missed out on your mother, and I can't think of a more terrible fate.”
Their love for each other still burns as an ache in my chest. I used to think I'd never find something so perfect, but the voice in my head sends butterflies cascading like a riot into my stomach.
Maybe I will.
Maybe he's the one for me.
Pemba stumbles on the path ahead of me, cursing under his breath and then shooting me an apologetic look. I'm not sure why he's so concerned about cursing in my presence. He never cared before, but he seems to be taking my promotion to Mother of the coven far more seriously than I am.
“Do you think we'll ever go back?” I say quietly, as though, if the words come out of me too loudly, it will make them real.
“Yes, absolutely.” Pemba shifts the pack on his shoulders and then shrugs, carefully schooling his features to look as though I haven't just cut him to the core with the simple question. “We'll have to go back someday. You're the Mother of the Ravenswyrd now, Rooke. You can't hold that title and live somewhere else—the Ravenswyrd are the caretakers of the forest. We always have been.”
I’d give the title away in a second if I could, though I would never say it to Pemba. There’s a part of me that never wants to go back there, conflicting with the yearning inside of me. The forest was home to me, but that home was destroyed in the fire. No amount of rebuilding will ever bring it back, becausehomeisn't about the huts and the structures that were built by our ancestors. Home is the gentle hand of my mother as she directed me in my spell casting. Home is watching my father teach my younger siblings how to read the stars overhead. Home is sitting in my grandmother's lap and learning how to weave and create with our hands, the ancient art of making and weaving our magic into every item of the coven as a form of protection.
My home is gone.
Why are you sad, croí?
A blush creeps into my cheeks, and I duck my head so Pemba doesn’t notice and get suspicious. I want to keep Donn a secret for as long as I can, a selfish little comfort of my own. I haven’t told Donn exactly what had happened to my coven, only that I suffered a great loss, so it makes explaining my feelings difficult.
Just a memory. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, but I’m safe.
He floods me with comfort, the warmth of it flowing down my limbs until it spreads right into the tips of my fingers and toes. The blush deepens, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Pemba notices my hunched form, the way I’m turning in on myself as though to hide from him. “Don't think about it, little one. We have a long path ahead of us, longer than just this trip to the Seer. I can feel it. It'll be a long time until we need to go home, and when we do, we'll do it together.”
I nod and sigh, trying to ignore the ever-present ache in my legs as we continue down the path. The forest is thinning out a little now that we're out of the deep heart of it, and we’ll be on the other side soon.
Then there will be a long trek up the side of Augur Mountain to contend with, and I try not to wince at the very thought of how steep that mountain might be. There's no use feeling apprehensive about it. It's what we have to do.
We stop for lunch at another point where the river runs alongside the trail, filling our flasks once more as we share the last of the nuts and dried berries between us. I can feel the responsibility of finding something for us both to eat later weighing Pemba down. So while he stretches his legs out in front of him, shoes off and toes scrunched up in the fresh dirt, I search around us for extra supplies, even though my own legs are screaming at me to stop and rest.
On a fallen log I find a thick coating of oaken moss, which I carefully collect and stash away in a small satchel. I also find a few handfuls of fae flowers and feel as though I have won a great prize. They’re rare and highly sought-after, as beautiful as the name suggests, and the tinctures I will be able to brew with them will be incredibly valuable to Pemba and me.
