I’d known the strength of Benedict’s influence before, but to see it used in such a way was a new kind of unsettling.
The urge to dig into the satchel and pull out a Magni talisman assailed me.We had yet to test it, but it seemed natural that they would protect against Ben’s influence.
I wanted that protection.But until we knew more about the items and their magics, Sam and I had agreed it was best to only use what we absolutely needed.
“Are you… controlling that woman?Like a puppet?”I hissed.
“I am not controlling her.The sleeping mind is much more susceptible to impulses—it does half my work for me.I simply convinced her that she should cook a meal before returning to bed, to sleep late and wake with no memory of what she has done.”
“Benedict—”
“Mary?”Samuel sat up, pushing stray hair from his eyes in bleary, sudden concern.His gaze swept from me to Ben and then to the table.The iron pan wasn’t alone; there were two loaves of fresh bread, a steaming pot of coffee, and various platters whose contents I couldn’t see.
I thought Sam would scold Ben, but he didn’t.He just rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pushed upright, wincing and rubbing his back.
A few minutes later, I plodded to the outhouse in the snow-bright, violet gloom just before dawn.I dressed in my clothes fromthe prison, now dry and partially clean, if stained with salt at the hems.Then we ate, watching the eerie, distracted Mereish woman trail back towards the bedrooms, her expression still blank, her cheeks flushed from laboring over the stove.
“They’ll talk,” I murmured to Sam as we ate next to one another.“There will be food gone and things amiss.Ben needs to take clothes.I can call up a snowstorm to cover our tracks but…”
“We left a thorough trail in the opposite direction,” Sam reassured me.“Hopefully no one will think much of a disoriented farm wife this far our way, and Tane did well to hide Ben in the Other.”
“Whether or not they can track us, it changes little,” Benedict interrupted and drained his mug of coffee.He still looked a mess, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.“The farmers will not remember our stay, and we need to leave.”
He was right—we had no choice—but my skin still crawled as Charles and Samuel led our horses out of the courtyard.The dog, back under his warm awning, watched us dolefully and paid no mind when the gate clattered shut.
Samuel led his horse up next to me and held the stirrup in place while I mounted.Ignoring aching muscles, I arranged my coat as Sam climbed up behind me.His arms slipped around my waist, taking the reins, and I resisted the urge to snuggle back into the press of his chest and thighs.
“Are you comfortable?”he asked in my ear.
“Passably,” I replied.
“Don’t get handsy,” Charles warned Benedict as the other man climbed up behind him and sat on a thick blanket behind the saddle.
In answer, Benedict put a firm hand through the back of Charles’s belt and tugged him back an inch.Charles, startled, glanced at Sam for support.
“Never fear,” Benedict told Charles, adjusting his cloak with his free hand.“If I had an eye for men, you would already know.”
“Is that a compliment?”Charles asked as both he and Sam nudged the horses into movement and we started for the road.He unfurled a crooked grin and glanced slyly back at Ben.“It is!”
Benedict, to my surprise, laughed.It was a genuine sound, hedged with relief, and when I looked over he’d turned his face into the wind.“If that consoles you.”
I began to sing as we left the farm.The winds came to me curiously, flowing in from every direction and whispering what they held—snow, sea-salt, ice, warmth.I began luring snow in from the southwest, and, as the farmhouse passed from sight, the storm arrived.A flurry battered us until, breathless and bright-eyed with the chill, I convinced it to come to rest.Flakes ceased to drive and instead fell thickly then, layering the road behind us and filling in our tracks.
As my song faded Samuel made a warm, soft noise in his chest, and I looked up at him.
“It never fails to surprise me, when you sing,” he murmured, his eyes distant on the road ahead and the soft, thick snow.“I’m here, wholly.With you.”
I tentatively clasped his hand where it held the reins, forearm resting heavy on my thigh.There was a tension to the moment, an expectation of more to be said.I waited, willing him to speak.
“I am sorry,” he said, low and only for me.“For holding back from you.Once we are safe… can we speak?”
“Of course.”
He cleared his throat and changed topics.“We should let the snow clear in a quarter hour or so.We may be hidden, but we also cannot see or hear, and that unsettles me.”
Soon after, I began to sing again and the snow ceased to follow us.We left the storm behind, chased by fading flurries into open farmland and the growing light of dawn.The sun warmed the eastern horizon, pushing back the bruised twilight and diffusing in our misty breaths—beautiful, crisp and clean in the way that onlysnowy mornings could be.But I felt growing tension in Samuel’s arm at my waist.
At first, I feared I was the cause.But when I twisted to look into his eyes, his gaze was towards the sea.
