CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We’re up with the sun the next morning and heading out within the hour. I half-expected to spend the night tossing and turning, whether from the discomfort of sleeping on the forest floor or my anxious thoughts surrounding all of the new developments, but that wasn’t the case. The trek from Bastian’s cottage to here must have exhausted me more than I thought because I was out within moments of my head meeting the bedroll. I also didn’t have a nightmare which is another small blessing. It meant that I rose for the day in a much better mood than I would usually have for the early hour. I am most certainly not a morning person, but that’s been especially true while the nightmares have been plaguing my dreams.
Despite the chill of the night, it was surprisingly warm. I suspect that was largely in part to Bastian’s magic which kept our campfire a steady presence throughout the night. As was his proximity to my bedroll. It was still where he’d moved it before dinner. We were practically touching. In fact, I had this nearly overwhelming urge to extend my hand out in his direction. Ittook every ounce of strength I had not to cave to the desire. I woke only moments before him to find his arm removed from the warmth of his blankets and outstretched in my direction. Almost as if he was unable to fend off the same urges.
The thought alone flusters me all over again, even hours later. I don’t know what to think about it. I mean, he definitely wasn’t reaching out forme. Just stretching out in a too small bedroll for his large frame. But yesterday he was so gentle with me. I was slowly–or not so slowly–unraveling and he somehow stepped in and knew exactly what to say to walk me away from that edge before I took the plunge. Something is starting to shift in me.
Is this respect I’m beginning to feel for him?
Am I starting to trust him?
Other scary questions whip through my head that I’m terrified to look at for too long, so I push them aside.
We’ve been walking all day again. The terrain barely changes as we grow closer to our destination. I’m beginning to find that Unseelie lands are just really dull and monotonous. The creepy barren trees, the muted gray-green grass that’s so dry it seems almost dead, the dirt road we’re following. Like I said, dull and monotonous.
It’s as we approach the first town in the past two days that things start to look different, and not in a good way.
“Welcome to Grimhallow,” Bastian announces dryly as we approach the front gates.
The town is surrounded by a large stone wall. I have yet to determine if it’s meant to keep things in or out. The wall is only broken up by a large wrought iron gate. It’s wide open, allowing access to the town, but manned by two guards that I can see at a quick glance.
I tilt my head down and tug the hood of the cloak lower over my face. Bastian stopped us an hour from the village for us bothto don these cloaks and provided instruction to keep our faces hidden from those in town until we’re safely to the tavern. That moment only seemed to spike my nerves. Why do we need the cloaks? Who are we hiding from? Is it only me we’re trying to sneak through, or him as well? I would’ve asked him all these thoughts but he seemed just as on edge, so I bit my tongue.
My heart is beating wild like a bird in a cage as we step up to the threshold of the gates. As if he can tell, Bastian’s hand snags mine and intertwines our fingers. The touch alone helps to calm the frantic muscle in my chest. It’s soothed further as his thumb sweeps soothing circles on the back of my hand.
With my head down like this, it’s hard to take in everything of the town, but if the road at my feet is anything to go on, it’s a bit ramshackle. The dirt path we followed turns into stone, but it can barely be called a path. The stones are so widely spaced with chips and cracks in almost every single one. Every building that I can see is made of deep gray stones. In fact, everything here is gray or black.
“They love a good monochromatic color scheme, huh?” I whisper to Bastian as we pass through the gate with no issue.
He lets out a soft chuckle and squeezes my hand but doesn’t respond otherwise.
A chill passes through my body despite the warmth of Bastian’s touch and the closeness of his body. The more I look at it, the more I get this spooky feeling.
“Ghosts aren’t real, right?” I ask, nervously.
He snorts another laugh, but once again doesn’t reply.
Is that supposed to be a no? Ayes? Dear gods, I’m hoping it’s not a yes.
Bastian continues to tug me with him as we pass various shops and houses, halting before what must be the tavern.
I lift my eyes to the sign swinging above the door.
T E DIR G ORY
“Te Dir Gory? What’s that mean? Is it Fae language?”
He looks at me with a smirk. “No, it’s the common language. But the sign could use a little bit of refurbishment. It’sThe Dire Glory.”
“Oh, that’s certainly a reassuring name for a place to stay.”
“It’s not so bad,” he says before tugging me behind him into the tavern.
And it looks exactly like the establishments I’m used to in the human realm.
The only difference is the clientele.
The stone facade from outside carries on inside bringing a cold vibe to the place, but the wooden tables and thick furs scattered around the dining room make it feel cozier. And the hearth in the back corner quite literally warms up the place. Stale ale lingers in the air, but underneath that is the scent of hearty meats and stewed root vegetables that fills me with a feeling of home and comfort. My tense body begins to relax.
