Chapter Twenty
Peterputhishandout to grab a dirty cup from a table. The cup flew into his hand. What? He staggered back, the cup crashing on the hearthstones. The pottery shattered.
“What’s wrong, Peter?” Addie glanced up from where she counted coins on the bar top. Her night’s haul gleamed under lantern light.
Peter’s heart lodged in his throat. He didn’t just see that! He’d not been in need, when his power normally manifested. What if someone had borne witness? “Di… did you see that?”
“See what?” Addie resumed her counting.
He held his hand out again. Nothing.
Addie came out from behind the bar and patted him on the shoulder. “Peter, love, you’re tired. Go upstairs. Get some rest, or better yet, come home with me. We’ll share a pint by the fire like old times.”
Sure. Tired. Maybe Peter imagined the whole thing or knocked the cup to the floor accidentally. Perhaps he should talk to Addie. But not tonight, when exhaustion scrambled his thoughts. He rubbed his burning eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s all right. You can go on home.”
Grabbing his shoulders, the stronger-than-she-looked woman spun him around and gave him a shove toward the storeroom. “Go on, now. I’ll clean up.”
“But—”
“You heard me, now, go!” Addie placed her hands on her hips in a gesture known to strike fear into the hearts of stronger men than Peter.
It took him three more of her threats to give up and climb to his loft. Hewastired. Motions wooden, he bathed in cool water from the basin, washing away sweat and grime. Tomorrow he’d take the time to visit the bathhouse. If he went early, he’d get fresh water.
Or fresher than usual.
Not bothering to don a nightshirt, he settled down in bed with a sigh. Sometimes, when he grew tired, he could almost feel the sway of theSeabirdbeneath his tiny bed, not much larger than his old bunk.
The bunk had been big enough when needed, however. For a moment, he indulged memories of a warm body in his embrace, brushing his lips against Arkenn’s shoulder, and wondered, as he did far too often, what became of his friend.
No, not his friend. His love.May he have found a comfortable life.Still, Peter’s heart ached for what might have been.
He yawned, frowning at the light in his room. Right. He should have blown out the lampbeforegetting into bed. Sitting, he reached… The lantern went out.
He jumped back as far as the wall let him. Had a breeze swept through? Never happened before. Focusing all his will, he imagined a flame dancing on the wick. Nothing.
Yes, he’d made things happen before, but usually under dire circumstances, not day-to-day tasks. Or without his even wanting.
Maybe Addie was right. Peter needed sleep.
The river stretched out before Peter, the sun warm on his skin. The place seemed familiar. He’d been in the city for so long that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been alone in the countryside. Trees. Birds. Definitely not the city.
He strode along the riverbank, nowhere to go, enjoying the day. An overwhelming urge hit. He must hurry! Quickening his pace, he followed where the feeling led him.
A body lay still on a sandy bank.
Peter slowed. The body let out a low moan, so not dead. He drew closer. A boy lay there with light-colored hair, darkened in places by blood, dirt, and debris. The bitter stench of burned flesh hit Peter’s nose.
Bending low, he placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gently rolled him to his back.
The tavern stranger stared up at him.
Peter bolted upright. He’d thought of Arkenn last night, which explained the dream. But why the stranger’s face? Then he noticed the brightness.
The lantern burned in the corner.
He must be losing his mind. Peter couldn’t make objects move or light a lantern without a match. His magic didn’t work like that. He’d put out a fire before but never lit one. What if he lost control totally, and odd things happened in front of customers? He’d be dragged away to the Lady’s priests.
And then they might turn their attention to Addie…
