CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I wake the next morning, I have to blink several times against the sunlight streaming in through the window over the bed. The brush of something warm against my hand that hangs over the edge of the bed nearly causes me to jump out of my skin. Peeking my head slowly over the edge of the mattress, I find Bastian with his arm thrown wide, fingers outstretched as if he’s reaching for the bed in his sleep. The warmth was our fingers brushing against each other, not a monster hiding under the bed.
I let out a sigh of relief as I fall back against the pillows, and he doesn’t even stir. I trail my hand down the outside of my thigh, checking the bandage is still secure. Satisfied with it, I let my fingers drift to the backside of my thigh, prodding gently at where the arrow impaled itself into my flesh. I hiss out a breath at the soreness under my touch. It’s not as sharp as it had been, likely thanks to the poultice, but it’s still not fully healed yet.
“Stop messing with it,” Bastian’s sleep roughened voice cuts through the silence.
I let my hand fall to the mattress. “I’m not?—”
“You are.” I see him sit up slowly out of the corner of my eye. “It’s going to take another day to fully heal, I suspect. I’ll need to apply more of the salve and redress it. It’ll be sore, but at least it will be easier to walk on than it was yesterday.”
I roll onto my side so I can face him, tucking my arms under my head. “So, what’s the plan now then? Are we going to head straight to Seelie from here since we’re so close to the border?”
“While I would love to, we need to gather some supplies. We won’t be passing through many towns along the way, so we need to stock up ahead of time.”
“No towns at all?” I ask.
“We’ll hit a town once we cross into Seelie but that’s still a good few days into the journey. And then it’s only about a day's ride from there to Dawnspire.”
I perk up at the word ride. “So, we’re going to take horses this time?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, we’ll take the horse this time. It’ll make the journey faster.”
“Oh thank the gods,” I sigh happily.
“Don’t get too excited. Have you ever done a long journey on a horse before?” His eyebrow raised at me in challenge as if he already knows the answer.
“Well, no?—”
“Have you at least ridden before?” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes.
I scoff. “Of course I’ve ridden a horse.” He’s silent as he watches me, sitting up fully and crossing his arms across his chest. I can feel him trying to wait me out, challenging my answer without saying a word. I can’t take it anymore. “Okay, fine. So maybe only a handful of times, but it’s still riding.”
He smirks triumphantly. “Yes, well you’re in for a tough wakeup call with this.”
“How so?” I ask, nerves rolling through me.
“You’ll see,” he says with a pop of his eyebrows before he pulls himself to his feet and closes himself into the bathroom.
I barely tookin anything from Nightside on the way into town and the same is true for the way we fled the town. We were quick about getting up and out before the sun could rise higher in the sky. Bastian reapplied the salve and redressed my wound with impressive speed before all but rushing us out of the inn.
He was right though. The trek back to his cottage was so much easier with the way the salve has healed my wound. There’s no limp in my steps and aside from the occasional uncomfortable tug at the healing skin, the pain is nearly gone. And the longer we walked the better it began to feel.
We made it back to his cottage before the sun could dip below the horizon and he was quick to begin digging through the various cabinets in the living room. While he busied himself with that, I made a beeline for the bathroom. More specifically, his bathtub. The walk made me feel all gritty from the dirt and dust I’d collected along the way.
I turn the hot water tap all the way up. While the water fills, I turn to a shelf nearby that holds a variety of viscous liquids that I assume are the soaps and oils he added the last time I used his bath. I open each bottle, inhaling the scents deeply, until I find one that I like. One of a sweet citrus that almost reminded me of Bastian’s pine and citrus scent. I immediately put that one back. I don’t want to make myself smell like him. That would be… weird. The next bottle I grab is a translucent purple. It smells of vanilla and lavender. I think this is the one he gave me last time and I’m not going to lie, it might be one of my favorite scents. Ituck it off the side as an option but keep up my search. The next one is such a musky, male smell it causes my nose to scrunch in disgust as I quickly recork and return it to the shelf. No,definitelynot that one. The remaining two are a clean, standard soap scent and another floral, this one rose, I think.
Lavender it is.
I snatch the purple liquid off the shelf and turn back to the tub, shutting off the water. I uncap the bottle and tilt it above the water and let the soap mix, creating soothing suds. I set the bottle on my counter next to me before I strip out of my dusty road clothes, unwrap the bandage on my thigh, and step into the water.
I breathe in the calming scent of the soapy water. As much as I wish I could relax and soak away all my troubles, I need to make haste. We have a journey to the Seelie Court to plot out and rest to catch up on. I quickly scrub at my skin until it’s turned pink from the friction. I dip my hair beneath the surface, using more of the lavender soap to lather through the strands, trying determinedly to ignore the memory of the last time my hair was washed in this same tub. Once I’ve rinsed the soap from every inch of my body, I pull the plug from the drain and stand from the water. I grab a fluffy towel from the nearby shelf and wrap it around my dripping skin. Stepping out of the tub, I pause rubbing the towel over my damp skin, cursing to myself. I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me.
Tying the towel around my body, I throw the bathroom door open and run smack into a wall of muscle, stumbling backwards. His hands shoot out, gripping wherever they can make purchase. Which just so happens to mean that one lands on my bare, damp upper arm and the other on my towel covered waist. His touch sends a shock across my exposed skin.
“Fuck, sorry,” he says, voice rough and not quite like his usual tone.
I look up into his eyes and see they’re a darker blue than normal. His pupils are larger which has caused the normally ice blue to deepen to more of a navy shade. I see something in his eyes that almost looks like heat and desire but maybe that’s just me seeing my own growing desire reflected back. I’m seeing what I want to see.
