I run through my mental checklist again: bag packed, coin pouch in pocket, not a single thing forgotten... hopefully. Still, I keep adjusting my cloak and glancing toward the corridor I know Poppy will emerge from, waiting for her.
I still can’t believe she asked me to come with her this weekend. And I’m determined not to fuck it up.
Students bustle around me, voices lifted, laughter drifting through the vaulted space. Dinner will be served in the dining hall soon—and given the smell in the air, I’m pretty sure dessert is going to be some sort of apple dish. Which reminds me of the cake Poppy and I baked together in cooking class.
I’m lost in thought, remembering that day, when a tiny voice behind me says softly, “Hi.”
I turn, and Poppy stands there, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, a small satchel slung across her body and a slightly larger travel bag at her feet. Her lavender hair peeks out from beneath a knit hat, catching the golden light from the big chandelier overhead. Her fingers flex around the strap of the bag looped over her shoulders, and she looks both nervous and determined, like she’s steeling herself for an exam and a holiday at the same time.
I may have been in cooking class with her less than an hour ago, but I still feel excited at the sight of her. “Hey, Brains.”
Her mouth twitches up on one side. “You’re early.”
“So are you.” I scoop up her bag before she can protest, slinging it easily over my shoulder. “Were you that eager to see me again?”
Her cheeks go red, and she ducks her head, looking like she’s fighting a smile.
With a grin, I ask, “You ready to go?”
Poppy nods, and I grab hold of one of the big wooden entrance doors and pull it open, letting in a swirl of cold air.
“After you, my lady.”
Cheeks still pink, she eases past me to step outside, and her familiar scent of peppermint twines around me. It sends a bit of calmness through me, helping to calm my racing heart.
Outside, the early-evening air is crisp and smells faintly of leaves and woodsmoke. A carriage waits in the courtyard, lanterns glowing cheerily against the falling light.
“This carriage is for Miss Poppy Waverly,” the driver says as we approach. “We’re bound for Faunwood.”
Poppy nods up at him. “That’s me. Thank you.”
I stash our bags, then pull the carriage door open before turning back to offer Poppy a hand. “Your chariot awaits.”
She takes my hand, her fingers featherlight in mine, and her touch sends a pulse of warmth through me. Once she’s settled inside on the padded seat, I climb in beside her and close the door. The driver clucks to the horses, and we lurch gently forward, wheels crunching over gravel.
Students scurry out of the way as the carriage rolls through the courtyard and toward the barbican, where torches are being lit as the sky continues to darken. We pass under it, then are on the other side, heading swiftly toward the Mistwood.
A carriage sure beats walking.
For a while, the sounds of hooves and wheels and the rhythmic creak of the carriage fill the silence. I try to distract myself from Poppy’s proximity, but I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting, how my knee keeps brushing against hers, how her shoulder bumps mine when the carriage jostles a bit too hard.
It doesn’t take long to move through the forest, and then we’re on the other side, where the sun’s rays are long and golden as it sinks toward the distant horizon, painting the fields in light and shadow.
Poppy glances out the window, her face reflected in the glass. “I love this time of year,” she says softly. “It’s beautiful.”
I look out my window. The landscape stretches into open prairie—rolling fields of tall grass painted gold by the fadinglight. Here and there, deer move in the distance, their heads lifting at the sound of the carriage as it passes by. Slowly, I look back to Poppy.
“Yeah,” I say. “Beautiful.”
She catches me staring in the reflection on the glass and blushes again.
I clear my throat. “So, what’s the first thing we do when we get to Faunwood? After eating, of course.”
As if to drive home my point, my stomach growls, making Poppy giggle. At least it breaks through some of the tension.
“Well, we’re supposed to travel through the night, so we’ll probably arrive tomorrow late morning. We can get settled at the inn first, then get a proper breakfast. But for now...” She reaches for her satchel and sets it on her lap. “I came prepared.”
She opens the flap to reveal a small collection of wrapped bundles—cloth packets tied with ribbon, a little jar of something amber colored, and even a cloth bag filled with candied nuts.
