After what feels like hours of sleeplessness, I can tell he is not sleeping, either.
No matter how many times I tell myself it is all right, sleep will not come. I spend what feels like hours relaxing the muscles in my body bit by bit and counting up to a hundred and back down to one. My eyes burn from the late hour. I can’t drift off.
I’m awake so long that the storm tapers off to a downpour, and then to a light rain, and then to a shower that comes and goes. I imagine that I will fall asleep before the rain stops completely, but I find myself listening for the next set of drops, listening and listening and still awake.
His breaths are deep and even, but they are too purposeful for him to be truly asleep. I stretch my legs under the covers, trying to work out some of the restlessness.
Stretching does not dispel any of the fidgety feeling, which seems to be everywhere in my body. Even though we are both pretending to sleep—or at least rest—the tension only thickens in the silence. It makes the cottage even hotter than the fire, and without the cooling effect of the rain, the temperature becomes too much.
I wave my hand at the fireplace and send a cool breeze through the cottage.
The soldier lets out a gentle sigh of satisfaction. I let one out as well.
It’s still not enough to send me to sleep.
My thoughts circle in my head as the night drags on. I cannot stop thinking of the soldier. I cannot stop listening to his breathing. He is awake. I am awake. We’re both awake.
I fall into a pattern, checking to see if he is awake, then noticing he is, then noticing how impossible it is to sleep.
The walls of the cottage draw closer every time I exhale. At the foot of the bed, Ryker turns over a second time, then a third.
After a long time, I think his breathing has settled into real sleep.
I cannot lie here anymore, so I swing my legs out of the bed and tiptoe silently past him, holding my nightgown up so that it does not accidentally brush against his leg and wake him.
In the kitchen, I stand by the window and smooth my hands over my hair, breathing deep.
It’s still very dark outside. That could be because of the clouds, or just because it’s late, but either way, it soothes me. I cannot see my moon from where I’m standing, but I know she’s in the sky.
Maybe I was not able to summon Ryker’s portal because it has been so long since I cast in the presence of anyone else.
Without thinking, almost as if I am in a dream, I choose a few crystals from the windowsill and set them in a small triangle. It will not be his portal, but if I could summon a portal, I could begin to understand why it did not work the first time.
I gather my thoughts and intentions, then ease power into the group of crystals, calling for a portal to come to me.
No portal appears. Not even the hint of one. A morbid unease settles through me. I cannot remember a time when magic has left my side. And now…it fails to open a portal. When I need it most.
I try twice more. All the while holding my breath.
One more try, and I let my hands fall to my sides, breathing hard, fear and dread cold in my stomach.
He’s trapped here.
I’m trapped here with him. A true fear of this man being trapped here consumes me. Without a portal he would have to travel on foot either north or south, and both directions are unsafe. Why would fate do this? Trap him here? Why would fate take away my magic?
Swallowing thickly I stare outside at the storm and I know it to be the cause. It must be and it cannot last. With a flick of my fingers I light a candle and raise my hand to the flame, feeling the energy that exists between the heat and my palm. As the thunder cracks through the sky, a chill settles in the space, and as the storm is quieted, the warmth grows.
It is the storm. There is no doubt that once it’s passed, magic between spaces will be restored. It must be so. My confidence grows as lightning crashes down and the flame of the fire reacts.
Once the storm passes, I am sure the portals will be restored. With a steadying breath, I convince myself of it.
With the heat at my palm, I wonder how long that may be.
What if I just crawled into Ryker’s makeshift bed? What if I warmed myself by his body? Would that solve the problem?
My face sears hot at the thought. Where did that come from? Does he have some hold over me?
I blow out my next breath, straighten up, and cross the cottage so I may try to sleep once more, but his hazel eyes catch me in the dead of night.
