Sorcha looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and lingering fear. “It was more than that,” she whispered, clutching the ice pack against her head. “It didn’t feel like just a dream.”
Eirin looked at Sorcha. “I’m haunted by my dreams too.”
His gaze now on the teakettle, he poured them each a cup, the gentle clinking of porcelain breaking the silence. Sitting down beside her, he placed a comforting hand on her back.
Sorcha met his gaze, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I’m grateful you arrived when you did…” Her eyes glistened, holding back tears that threatened to spill.
Eirin offered to stay the night, settling into the chair in the living room in front of the hearth, just outside her bedroom. Sorcha kept her door open that night. She felt like a scared child again, afraid of the dark, needing the light and the comforting presence of another person. It brought her a sense of calm knowing he was there, and as she watched him from her bed, sleep eventually claimed her.
Eirin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Sorcha’s breathing was slow, deep but even in sleep, she tossed and turned. She didn’t let herself settle, even now.
He wanted to say something, but would she really listen? Eirin already knew the answer. He shook his headsoftly and slowly slumped onto the floor, his head resting on the door frame as he sat and watched over her.
When morning broke, the aroma of breakfast filled the air, eggs, toast, jam, and meats. The tantalizing smells beckoned her awake. Sorcha sat up slowly, her head spinning slightly as she rubbed the back of it, feeling the large lump that had formed where she had hit it.
She couldn’t distinguish whether the injury came from her fall or the nightmare. Her mind began to race with questions and fragmented memories, but the clinking of dishes and cups pulled her back to the present.
The smell of roasted coffee and crisp bacon hit Sorcha the moment she stepped into the kitchen. Eirin stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, looking fantastic, even in an apron. He didn’t glance up “You drooling, or just impressed?”
She scoffed. “Depends. Did you actually cook all this, or do I need to check for a bribed tavern maid?”
The table was laden with tea, coffee, fresh juice, toast with jam, venison sausages, bacon, and the mostperfectly cooked runny eggs she had ever seen sitting alongside some freshly picked flowers. Sorcha paused in amazement, her eyes on Eirin and she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Eirin, setting down the utensils in his hands, returned the hug without hesitation. His hands caressed her back as he pulled her closer. The hug lingered longer than she had intended, but she didn’t pull away. She hadn’t realized how much she needed it until then.
When she finally stepped back, “Well, come on, Chef. We can’t let this get cold. If I’m being honest, I haven’t made anything for breakfast besides toast in so long… I’m way too excited about this.”
Eirin chuckled. “I’ve been told I’m pretty decent in the kitchen,” he teased, “And after the nights we’ve both had, we need something to eat if we’re going to survive today. “
“Well, Eirin Oak, I feel pretty privileged to see this side of you,” Sorcha said with a smirk.
Eirin was still laughing and shaking his head as he flipped her off playfully before bringing their cups to the table. They sat and had the delicious breakfast he had prepared, laughing and enjoying each other’s company, the tension of the previous night melting away.
As they finished eating and tidying up, Eirin stood in the doorway, turning back to face her. “If you need anything, let me know,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “I’ll let the Commander know you won’t be on patrols today. You need some time to yourself. I’ll hand in the report.”
Chapter 23
Seeds of Doubt
Sorcha held Eirin close, her fingertips pushing into the fabric of his shirt. When she finally stepped away they exchanged goodbyes and Sorcha closed the door behind him. Once the latch clicked she sank into her chair again. Letting out a heavy sigh, her thoughts began to swim.
Frustration crashing over her, she gripped the armrest of her chair. “Why does it all feel so familiar?” The elusive name hovering just out of reach.
Meadowrun.
The name struck her like a blow. The dark growths, the dying flowers…She palmed her forehead. It was a place she’d just been, yet in the dream she couldn’t remember it. Letting the thoughts wash over her before reaching for her journal. Flipping to a blank page, she began writing down every detail she could remember, themeadow, the brook, the wisps, and the terrifying chase. She underlined “Meadowrun” twice, the ink digging into the paper; she wanted to remember the place. Time slipped by unnoticed until her stomach grumbled loudly.
She sighed, placing the journal aside as she rose to her feet. Wandering into the kitchen, her stomach twisted with hunger, only to find the cabinets bare. Of course, she thought with a wry smile. She hadn’t been home long enough to restock anything, too consumed by patrols, reports, and everything else. Her gaze landed on the food Eirin had brought over, a gesture that had helped more than she’d admitted. Letting out a slightly frustrated grunt, Sorcha grabbed a crumpled set of clothes from the floor, tied her hair into a messy pile atop her head, slung her bag over shoulder, and picked up a basket before heading out to the market.
The market was alive with its usual bustle. The scent of cinnamon and clove wrapped around her as she grabbed a loaf of Barmbrack, its golden crust still warm. She moved quickly, gathering apples, squash, and lateseason berries and other earthy vegetables. Her stomach growled once again, reminding her to visit the tavern for lunch.
The tavern was quiet at this hour, only a few locals scattered around, sharing muted conversations over teas and ales. Sorcha found a seat by a window and ordered the stew. Settled back and listened to the quiet hum of conversations around her, but one in particular caught her attention.
Sorcha kept her gaze down, tearing at the crust of her bread, but her ears sharpened at the mention ofthe Hollow.
“The hunters can’t find clean meat,” one man muttered. “The ones they do kill bleed black and smell foul.”
“Yeah,” the first man said, shaking his head, “you can’t get a word in edgewise with druids. They just repeat the same thing: ‘we’re looking into it.’ Looking into what exactly? Why can’t they just tell us if it’s a polluted stream, illness or something else?”
“We can speculate all we want but we’re here now and we will report it to the Lumora Circle. Maybe someone here in the city can make the Elders and council listen.”
