The Blacksands were ruthless, and she knew someone as decent as Tommen would never survive in such a place. She pushed back the image that came to her in many dreams: him bleeding out, lying in the unbearably hot black desert with no one to comfort him in his final time of need.
After a quick prayer to the god Santh to protect and watch over Tommen, Orelia buckled the belt around her waist. She grabbed the only weapon she owned, a knife her aunt had stolen from a gentleman caller, and secured it in one of the sheaths.
Thankfully, there was a waterskin and a bedroll inside the closet left behind from another of her aunt’s lovers. Orelia pulled out the thin roll of bedding and gave it a sniff. “Ugh.” Pipe smoke and sweat. But it would have to do.
She padded into the washroom and filled up the waterskin, then gathered an empty jar and a few empty vials in case she found anything interesting in her travels. Orelia carefully added them to thepack, along with a bar of strawberry-scented homemade lye soap, a handheld mirror, and three vials of sana she’d stored for emergencies. She wouldn’t need it, but perhaps someone she met along the way would.
When everything was accounted for, Orelia tied the bedroll to the pack, hoisted the lumpy bag on her back, and slid her arms through the straps. The smell of pipe smoke assaulted her nostrils, but the leather instantly conformed to the shape of her and was surprisingly comfortable.
The straps pinned her loose tunic taut, making her ample chest strain against the ties. She tightened the strings as best she could, but a bit of cleavage remained visible. Not like the fae would take a sudden interest in her because of it. Not like she’dwantsomeone as rude as him to be interested.
She tied the waterskin to her belt and gave her home one last look over. Morton would know to come by and check on her house while she was gone, and Teegan would tend to her roses when she could. Orelia had only ever known this small cabin on the outskirts of the village, and a pang of sadness struck her at leaving it behind.
“It’s okay. You’ll be back, then all will be as it was,” she told herself.
When she stepped onto the porch, the fae was plucking the last plumrose off the bushes. He squeezed the flower so hard that violet juices slid through his fingers, dripping onto the ground. He dropped the crushed rose and wiped his hands on his pants.
Orelia cleared her throat as she approached.
When he looked at her, he barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
He pointed at her.
Orelia looked down at her clothes, then back at him. “What’s the matter?”
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
She fidgeted with her skirt, not understanding what he meant. “What’s wrong with it?”
He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest in that condescending way men did when they were about to explain something to a woman. “Well, for starters, your skirt is going to get caught on every low-hanging branch and bramble out there. Your shirt is too loose, so it will also catch, and the cut is too low. Your chest and the rest of your pale, freckled skin will burn, and those boots look like they’re about to fall off your feet.”
She held back tears as he finished picking apart her outfit. The fine leather and tailored cut of his clothing must have cost an amount of money she’d never even seen. She looked ridiculous in comparison. “It’s all I have,” she whispered.
His thick brows rose. “You don’t own any pants? Or leathers?”
She shook her head.
When he looked at her belt, he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me you have more weapons in your pack other than that one knife on your belt.”
Orelia adjusted the straps of her pack so it sat higher on her back. “I don’t like violence, so this is the only one I have.It’ll be fine.”
“It will absolutelynotbe fine. Your life is now my life, and I need to be able to rely on you to defend yourself if we get into an altercation on the road.”
She didn’t know what to say. Tommen had tried to get her to buy a sword so she would have one for protection, and to use when they sparred, but she’d refused and always borrowed one of his instead. “I’m a healer, not a fighter, but I do know a few moves,” she offered in an attempt to placate him.
He looked at her like he didn’t believe her and sighed. “One problem at a time,” he grumbled before making for the back fence.
The gate he’d broken still laid on the ground, and she righted it with a sweep of her arm, then hurried after him.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, eager to get going and explore. He may be poor company, but she wouldn’t let him dampen her enthusiasm.
“Go to Dorsey and get this fuckup reversed. Obviously.” The last word came out with a bite.
The urge to ask him a million questions sat on the tip of her tongue. Realizing there was one important question she needed an answer to if they were going to be traveling together for the next month or so, she broke her silence.
“What’s your name? I’m Orelia.” Her voice hiked up at the end, and she hoped her cheeriness would ease the tension of their situation.
