I can’t wait to see Austin’s stupid face when the farmgirl he said wouldn’t tough it out for a week shows up with enough fuel to last him months, orseasonssince there aren’t formalmonthsin this world.
Somewhat tightly, Samson murmurs, “Your…bag.”
I hum, pushing hair out of my face and scooping the top of my bag over a larger lump of coal. It swallows it up, remaining light as ever. “What about it?”
“I thought it might be, but now it’s obvious. That’s a void bag, isn’t it?” Samson pushes himself through a hard exhale, eyes trained off me, on the darkest parts of the cavern. “I’ve only seen the one our traveling merchant has. Such massive means of transportation isn’t cheap. The gems required for it are rare and the skill of the blessed who imbues them to create it must be unparalleled. It’s as complex as forging an entity, since the master of a void bag is chosen by the essence of the magic in itself. I don’t think even Aurelia could manage such a blessing, and she’s honed her skills to the rank of Ruby.”
You know what?
I had noticed that the objects in Samson’s bag remained visible and retained their weight. I was just distracted by the broad back muscles said bag found to rest upon and forget to question it.
It’s pretty expected in this kind of genre—where someone from the known world ends up in a fantasy world—for the main character to spawn in with something, if not everything, overpowered. I’ll gladly accept enhanced cuteness and a cool bag as my OP consolation prize.
Given that Samson hasn’t exactly asked a question that he hasn’t answered himself yet, I tilt my head.
His gaze cuts toward me, then back to the darkness. He clears his throat. “You can hold your own down here, and you’re bonded to something that’s practically legendary in this age. In two days, you’ve given away enough supplies to rebuild a house and now you’re obviously gathering enough coal to gloat in front of Austin, which makes me think you’re planning to refill his fuel reserves, which have been dwindling since access to these mines was lost.”
I blush. “My intent to gloat cannot be that obvious.”
“You’ve been cackling deviously and breaking up chunks of coal with a seemingly limitless strength that can only be fueled by hate.”
Rude.
But.
True.
He scans me. “You also have char all over your face and bug guts in your hair. In case you’ve been too distracted to realize that.”
My stomach drops, and I contemplate throwing myself in the next pit I find.
Samson blows out a breath. “My point is: why are you here? What do you get out of helping us? Are you trying to gain trust, and—if so—why? You’re young. You have the world ahead of you. You don’t have to put down roots here just because our idiot lord suggested you take over some long-neglected farmland.” His brow knits, and he murmurs, “You have the skills and resources of a high-class adventurer. I would know. I used to be one. And…before I left that environment…I learned a lot about how those kinds of people behave. What are you after, and once you get it, when are you leaving?”
I swallow. “You want me to leave?”
His fist clenches around his sword, and he drags his roaming gaze to me. “I’d rather it not blindside everyone. These peopleare good people. They trust easy and we’ve not had anyone new in town since…me. I’ll help you get what you’re looking for, if I can, if it’ll get you on your way before anyone here gets emotionally attached.”
He’s trying to get rid of me.
My heart clenches at the idea of that, so I lower my attention and murmur, “Samson, I’m not going anywhere. I promise. The people here have shown me more kindness in a matter of days than I’ve received in my life. So, I’m staying. I’m staying and working hard until I can rightfully call this place my home.”
Stoic, he narrows his eyes.
“I promise I’m telling the truth.”
Turning from the dark, he approaches, and my heart shakes with each heavy step. Stopping in front of me, he lifts his free hand, cups my chin, and touches the cold blade of his sword to the side of my neck. “They aregoodpeople,” he mutters. “Am I making myself clear?”
He’s…threatening me. On behalf of the people he cares about. That is…so, so, so,sohot.
Parched, I wet my lips as my face heats. “Yes. I won’t hurt them. I’m not going anywhere.” I’m going to tell our kids about the time Daddy threatened Mommy with a sword. It will be beautiful. “I want to stay. I want a home.”
The tension in his eyes shifts before his gaze, hand, and sword drop away from me. Stretching his neck, he says, “It’s getting late. Gather the rest you want, then we’ll head up top so you can clean up in the falls before the sun sets. I didn’t make sandwiches with some of Neptun’s healing mineral salt for nothing, so we can have dinner before we both head back…home.”
I lighten, smile, and nod. “You made sandwiches?”
“I made sandwiches,” he mumbles.
“What kind?”
