There’s nothing really holding me here now. My friends are here, but Daemon and Alix are going on their honeymoon and Odessa and Kastian will be leaving in a day or two to return to their ship. Jett will probably leave soon on another one of his spy missions, so it will be just Fox and me trapped here together, with nothing to say to each other. The horror of that is almost too much to bear.
With a sudden burst of energy, I jump to my feet and lunge for my ingredient shelf, sending a bottle of dried moonflower crashing to the floor. The glass shatters, petals scattering like pale stars across the stone, but I don’t care. My fingers close around a squat jar of powdered dragon scales and a vial of morning dew. A flick of my wrist toward the hearth produces a whoosh of blue flames, and another flick fills the cauldron with water. My heart pangs with more regret as I watch the water bubble.
Fox hates magic. I should have known this would never work out, but I stupidly let myself get involved with him, anyway. On top of all the hurt, rejection and disappointment, I’m angry with myself for being such an idiot.
I angrily toss ingredients into the cauldron, barely paying attention to what I’m doing. In less than five minutes, I dip a ladle into my potion and bring it to my mouth, gulping the foul-smelling liquid down while it’s still steaming.
I cough, gagging as the potion burns a path from tongue to stomach. In addition to burning, it tastes disgusting, but at least it works. Instantly, I feel entirely sober. The wine fog lifts from my mind, replaced by a clarity so sharp it cuts. My fingers tremble as I lower the ladle back onto the workbench.
Eugene sits on the workbench watching me and makes a hesitant squeaking sound, like he’s asking if I’m alright now.
I swallow thickly as I reach out and scratch beneath his chin. “I know, I know. I ignored you when I came in. Some friend I am, but my head’s clear now, and we have work to do.”
Eugene cocks his head in question, and I scoop him up placing him on my shoulder before I scramble up the ladder to my loft, fling the wardrobe doors wide, and start yanking out clothes—sturdy boots, warm cloaks, anything that might serve me on the road—tossing them in a chaotic pile on my quilt.
“My birthday is only a couple of weeks away,” I explain to Eugene. “For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to see the lights and now I’m finally going to do it.”
I pause, feeling into the back of the wardrobe and unearthing an old satchel I use to gather large potion ingredients. I dust some dirt from the outside canvas, and bring it over to the pile of clothing on my bed.
“It will take a long time to get to Thermia,” I muse to Eugene. “So if I leave tonight I’ll be sure to arrive by the time the lightsappear on my birthday…now, what to bring with me? I’ll need my potions belt, some money, a sword, but what about clothes?”
It takes only a few minutes for me to decide which clothes to bring. I need to pack light, but functionally. I usually wear a mixture of Fae and human clothing, but outside of Vernallis the human clothing will probably draw unnecessary attention toward me. I don’t pack any of my beloved t-shirts or hoodies, but I can’t resist including some of the stretchy human leggings. Unless someone was looking closely, they will probably just look like riding trousers, and they’re so much more comfortable than any of my long dresses.
When I’m finished packing, I get dressed—again, in a pair of the leggings, paired with tall boots, a long tunic top, a corset, and my potions belt. I braid my hair, as it’s gotten long enough now that I have to keep it away from my face, then finally I’m ready to leave.
Eugene’s claws scrabble against the wooden floor as I heft my traveling satchel onto my shoulder. His ears flatten against his head, and he lets out a high-pitched mewl that sounds almost like a question. I crouch down, extending my fingers toward his quivering whiskers. “Well, don’t look at me like that. You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
He leaps onto my hand, then runs up my arm to perch on my shoulder. In spite of the ache still lingering in my chest, I smile. At least I won’t be entirely alone.
The house is silent as I slip out of my tower and make my way downstairs.
It’s early morning and typically the servants would be awake and bustling around the manor, but due to the snowstorm and the wedding last night everyone seems to be sleeping in.
I’m relieved when I reach the entrance hall and glance across toward the sitting room and find it empty. Jett, Connell and Fox obviously finally went to bed. My chest squeezes painfully at the thought, but I ignore the feeling as I turn and march through the formal dining room to the kitchen. I expect that I’ll be able to stay at inns along the way to Thermia, but I still need to bring some food for the journey, just in case I’m unable to find somewhere to eat.
I push open the door to the kitchen and I’m surprised to find Beatrix already in there. She’s standing looking out the snowy window, seemingly lost in thought. There’s a teapot on the long counter in front of her, but it looks as if she’s gotten distracted halfway through filling it and never finished making the tea. At the sound of the door opening, she spins around.
“Oh, good morning dear, I’m surprised to see you out of bed.” Beatrix’s eyebrows raise, and her gaze falls slowly over my clothing, the large satchel over one shoulder, and finally to Eugene perched on the other shoulder.
“…but it seems like you have things to do this morning,” she says lightly. “Places to be, perhaps?”
My throat suddenly feels dry and I can’t find the words to answer her. I feel like a naughty child—like I’m doing something wrong, and Beatrix is going to scold me. I have to physically shake my head to try to clear that absurd thought. Beatrix hasn’t been in charge of where I go or what I do in decades.
Back when I was in hiding things were different. The former king Thorne is—was—my father, but I’ve never truly thought of him that way. Beatrix always made sure I understood that my father couldn’t handle even the smallest threat to his throne, including his own heir. If he’d ever known I existed he would have killed me. But now Thorne is dead, and I can leave home at any time.
“Why don’t you sit?” Beatrix says.
“I came in here to get some food from the pantry.”
“I can help with that. You sit and we can talk while I make a basket for you.”
I sigh, knowing that it’s pointless to argue with her. She can’t stop me from going, but I’m not going to get out of this room without talking first. “Alright.”
Beatrix disappears into the pantry, and emerges again a few minutes later with her arms full of sourdough bread, jars of jam,strips of venison jerky wrapped in wax paper and a wedge of sharp cheese with its rind crumbling slightly at the edges. She arranges everything in a neat row on the worn wooden counter, her fingers lingering momentarily on a pile of dried apricots as if counting them.
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” she asks, glancing from me to the enormous pile of food.
Part of me wants to tell her about the ordeal with Fox and the mortifying conversation a few hours ago, but I can’t bring myself to explain it. “I’m not sure,” I shrug. “Until my birthday at least.”
