I pulled out the one inefficiency I always allowed myself on these trips: a pad of paper and pencil. It wasn’t a fancy sketch pad or artist’s pencil, but I began to draw anyway, reflecting the image that formed in my mind. A house built into the hill opposite me, just below the road out, with a live roof and a dark blue timber facing to match the colour of the water. The drawing didn’t have colour, of course, but it helped it come to life more in my mind.
Before long I had a mostly accurate sketch of the hill opposite me, but with a new structure in perfect harmony with its surroundings.
It wasn’t the first time I’d done this; in fact, my weekends away were some of my most inspired times. I’d started doing it when I was with Aria, taking in the different architectural styles we saw when we were travelling. I’d expected the inspiration to wane when I’d moved home, and especially when I’d started working for Dad, but if anything, it had deepened. Knowing how buildings came together had added a new level of consideration to the sketches, and I found the British landscape super inspiring.
But it was just a creative outlet, nothing serious. So I shoved the pad back in my pack and continued to watch the rain until it was time for bed, hoping it would clear up in time for my hike with Morgan.
Chapter11
Captain Morgana Silversword
Morgana hadn’t expected to actively battle faeries when she’d come to the fae realm, but as she watched Gorlag cleave their axe upward to take out three who were positioned above them, she was glad she hadn’t ruled it out. She swung her sword at the archer, then ducked out of the way as the mage fired off a splash of acid at her.
“Let me out!” cried the faerie trapped in the cage; the reason they’d entered the fight to begin with. They’d been bushwhacking through the underbrush beneath a flight path when they’d heard her shouts for help – as heroes, they couldn’t exactly say “ignore that” – and they’d found her locked inside a cage under an outcropping of rock, surrounded by other faeries with weapons drawn. After a failed attempt to negotiate her release, and being told not to meddle in the affairs of the fae courts, Calamity had opened fire. Literally.
Now Calamity was trying to get the cage unlocked, whilst the rest of the party fended off the others. Yorick played his lute in the background, bolstering them, and Morgana used that bolstering to skewer the mage on the end of her sword. She flung it off the end and went for the archer again, but this time she missed. Gorlag took out the ones swarming them, but the archer got Yorick in the back, and he broke a string on his lute as he stumbled.
“Thrormir, help!” he called. He hadn’t taken many hits, but the wound on his back was starting to bleed.
“You’re fine,” Thrormir yelled, as the final faerie flew straight towards him. He cast a spell, and suddenly a spectral version of his warhammer was floating in front of him. He used it to attack the faerie in front of him, then cast another, and the faerie fell to the ground, clutching its ears. Morgana took the chance to step forward and finish it off.
“That was unnecessary,” Gorlag said to Thrormir. “I could have finished it off.”
“It was fine,” Thrormir said. “And honestly, it was nice to get to use those spells. All I ever do is heal you lot.”
“Some of us actually need healing,” Yorick said, standing up and dusting himself off.
“If I recall,” Thrormir posited, “you’ve got some healing spells of your own you could use.”
“I’m really better as a motivational force,” Yorick said, but Calamity cleared her throat for the party to pay attention. They looked over to her to see that she’d freed the faerie who’d been trapped. She hovered a few feet above the ground so that she was eye level with Morgana and Calamity. Her dark hair fell in a braid over her shoulder. Her skin was green, and she wore leather armour over her green dress, a trio of daggers sheathed at her side. She was dressed and armoured like a thief.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice high-pitched and musical. “My name’s Clover. Welcome to the Spring Court.”
The party all introduced themselves, and when Yorick stepped forward, posturing slightly, Morgana rolled her eyes. He had a habit of trying to charm his way through situations.
Calamity caught Morgana’s eye, and she nodded. She knew what Calamity wanted to do, and it was worth a try.
“Could you help us get to Thelanoris?” Calamity asked. And as she did, Morgana could hear her voice slightly doubling; a thieves’ cant that only a trained ear could hear. She knew Calamity would be asking about the catacombs, where they now knew the Sphere was. She couldn’t understand it herself to know for sure, but she’d encountered the Thieves Guild in the Capital enough times to recognise what Calamity was doing. She only hoped it would translate to the fae realm, and that Clover was indeed a thief.
“I see,” Clover said, understanding dawning on her face as she looked them over. Morgana sighed in relief. “I think I can help you get where you want to go.”
“Thank god,” Gorlag said under their breath, but then Clover smirked.
“For a price, of course.”
Chapter12
Morgan
By the end of the following week, I had a pretty solid to-do list for the gala compiled. What was less solid was the budget – Aaron had gone over in almost every area where he’d actually managed to do something – but that was Next Week Morgan’s problem. By five o’clock, Today Morgan was wholly concerned with the tall blonde man in a plaid shirt and hiking boots greeting Chloe at the front door.
When he saw me walking over to him, Jack stood up straight and gave a stilted wave. He looked as unsure of how to greet me as I felt about him. As I got close, he opened his arms out to the side in a gesture that could have solicited a hug or could have just meant something like “ta-da, I’m here!” if I wasn’t keen on a hug. I indulged it though, wrapping my arms partially around his middle as he folded his around my shoulders.
As he did, I couldn’t help but relax into the warmth of his chest a bit. He was a great hugger; not too tight, but tight enough that it felt intentional. Wanted. Way better than my fumbled attempt at a hug on the weekend away. And he smelled so good: like sawdust, and a hint of something deeper, like amber or musk. I’d never been a scent guru, but whatever this particular smell was, I was a fan.
And then I had the tragic, humiliating realisation that I was hugging Jack for the first sober time ever and was actually sniffing him. Like, full-on inhaling through the nose multiple times to get a good whiff. Was I even capable of not humiliating myself in front of him?
I was instantly desperate to save face, so I pulled away and tried to confidently meet his eye.
