She fell into step beside me, our shoes crunching softly on the damp stone.
“This place has an ancient, otherworldly feel to it,” she said. “Like it remembers things.”
“It does,” I said. “The land here has been remaking itself longer than most civilizations have existed.”
She bumped her shoulder lightly against my arm. “I’m glad you brought me.”
“So am I.”
15
ARTEMIS
Icelandic cabins truly belonged on the cover of a fantasy novel I’d secretly read on my lunch break. With the mossy landscape and the steam drifting through the air, it looked like something out of a fairy tale.
The cabin sat low against the land, dark wood against black stone, tucked into a rise like it had chosen this spot very carefully and then refused to move for several centuries. A thin ribbon of smoke curled from the chimney. Warm light glowed through the windows, beckoning us in from the rain and the gray.
I stopped walking. “This is obscene.”
“The weather?” Arthur asked.
“The cabin,” I clarified. “It’s aggressively charming. I feel personally targeted.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up into an adorable half-smile.
It was even better up close with its simple lines, small porch, and a door that looked solid enough to keep out storms and whatever else the universe wanted to throw at us.
I pressed my palm briefly to my heart, just to check.
Still alive. Still me. Somehow also in the middle of Iceland after riding on the back of a dragon.
I didn’t know how to process that in an emotionally healthy way, so I didn’t even try.
The inside of the cabin was tiny. It had one main room that held a narrow table with two chairs, and a couch that looked like it had seen exactly three people in its lifetime, and approved of maybe one of them. A large stone fireplace, where a dwindling fire burned, dominated one wall.
“This is adorable,” I said. “I could live here. I would become mysterious. People would write think pieces about me.”
Arthur set his pack down—the one he’d stored in thatpocket realm—and walked through the space, clearly assessing safety, warmth, logistics.
“There’s a bathroom through there,” he said, pointing. “Hot water.”
The bathroom was small but clean. Shower. Hooks on the wall. A stack of thick towels and two robes folded neatly on a shelf.
I picked one up. It was soft and fluffy, and wonderfully warm. It was mine now.
Arthur hovered in the doorway, and I was suddenly very aware of the space his shoulders took up. He glanced at the robes,then back at me.
“I think,” he said carefully, “those are more your size.”
I looked at him. Tall. Broad. All quiet strength and restraint and competence. Wet hair pushed back. Jacket soaked through. Everything about him radiated calm and control.
Also, so motherfucking hot.
This was a problem.
I immediately scolded myself for that thought. Loudly. Repeatedly.
Focus. You are on an adventure. A historic, once in a lifetime, possibly never repeatable adventure involving tectonic plates and geothermal activity and ancient lands. And dragons. Focus on that.
