I can fight a lot of things, but can I really fight destiny? Right now I need to focus more on fighting this hellacious hangover.
We’ll cross into the Ruby Region today, with its major city only a few days further. While it may be our closest neighbor, its governor is no fan of mine. For that reason, the emerald cloak stays safely tucked away in my pack. I’ll wear the browns of the common folk to avoid drawing any additional attention to us, though I’m certain the Captain of Corinth will be recognizable no matter what color he wears. My only hope is that word of his traveling companion hasn’t spread all the way to Governor Rollins yet.
I try my best to indulge in one last cup of coffee before leaving the inn, but I end up vomiting both it and the whiskey I consumed last night outside the stable.
The ride is more treacherous than I anticipated. There is entirely too much alcohol still in my system and it sloshes around with my horse's every step. Cal doesn’t appear to be particularly happy about our late departure, though he never says anything about it. He never says anything at all, actually.
When he finally decides to put me out of my misery and let me off of this damned horse, I nearly fall to my knees in relief.
There’s a small stream nearby, the cold water instantly soothing me as I splash it on my face. I lay down on the bank for a moment and try to soak up a tiny amount of warmth from the sun.
The weather this late in the winter vacillates between warm and downright cold. Spring may be right around the corner but you can never count out a snowfall before the equinox. Today is mild and I close my eyes to relish in it. A shadow blocks out the sun and I groan at the loss of the warmth.
“We need to keep moving, princess.”
I pop open an eye and see him standing over me with a hand outstretched. Reluctantly, I take it and let him pull me up. He drops my hand the second my feet are under me.
“We need to talk about last night,” I demand. Better to get this over with now.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s plenty to talk about!” I call after him as he strides over to his horse. “You forced me into something I was not ready for.”
Cal turns abruptly towards me, scowling at my implication. “I didn’t force you into anything. Maybe you don’t remember?—”
“That’s not what I meant,” I interrupt, pinching the bridge of my nose.
This isn’t off to a good start and I am in no condition to go into all the reasons that I didn’t want to say his name. Rehashing them won’t turn back time anyway. My grave is already dug. Time to lie in it.
Ungracefully, I mount my mare, trying not to upset my stomach again.
“The gods have decided that we’re …something. I don’t know what that is and the only way I’m ever going to make sense of this is if we talk. So unless you want me to spend the rest of our journey talking about the social injustices in Corinth, you should probably answer my questions,Cal.”
I add his name for emotional emphasis and the flare of his nostrils tells me that my arrow hit its intended mark.
“What do you want to know,Ivy?”
There it is again. The fluttering of my magic like the beating wings of an insect, the maddening sensation that happens when he says my name.
“How about we start with the basics?”
“I’ll make you a deal. I will answer one question every half hour until we stop for the evening.” There’s a sparkle in his gray eyes, another glimpse of his hidden, playful side.
“And how many questions will that be?” I ask.
“Four, but you lose a question every time we have to stop for you to vomit.”
I roll my eyes. “That hardly seems fair. I can’t avoid that.”
“Then you should probably avoid whiskey,” he says flatly.
“If only you’d given me that advicebeforeI drank an entire bottle of what was most likely the worst liquor in all of Corinth,” I joke, shuddering at the memory of the first few sips of the burning swill.
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of watching you turn green.”
Nausea rolls again in my gut at the reminder. But truth be told, that verdant hue of unwarranted jealousy was pretty damn evident on both of us.
“I’ll take your deal,” I say, changing the subject, spurring my horse towards the road. “How old are you?”
