Page 51 of Bound and Tide

“I am concerned about them,” he finally said into the dark, his voice bobbing like a canoe in the middle of an ocean. “And I am concerned about you.”

There was gentle shifting behind him, and then Red’s arms came around his middle and pulled him against her chest. He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat before he could spit out some lewd request or tell her to release him, which was good since he wanted neither.

“I know,” she whispered in his ear, and her knees tucked up behind his.

He breathed deeply, chest expanding under her palms. “I was not forthcoming about the nature of this journey. I refused details about the prophecy, but the thing waiting for me is…bad.”

“I know that too,” she said, her hand finding its way to his neck and caressing his skin with more softness than he deserved.

“If you know, then why did you insist those two come along?”

“Because they need you as much as you need them.”

“I don’t need anyone,” he bit out and immediately regretted it.

But she only squeezed him tighter. “Hush now,” she said, fingertips gliding softly over the planes of his face, urging his eyelids to close. “What you need right now is sleep.”

And so he did as she said.

The next day, Xander made an effort, though it was excruciating, and he made sure Red knew it, telling her every time he wanted to yell or curse or belittle but was gracious enough not to. He also made a grand show of stopping for lunch before anyone even asked.

There, see? Nice.

Unfortunately, they found no nearby town when the sun was setting, but there was a cave. The sky was clear, and even though it was winter, the frigid breeze could not find them in the place they landed. Red turned out to be an expert at making a fire without arcana, and Maia and Costa were able to rub their half brains together long enough to catch a hare. Xander sat, watching the three of them set up camp despite living in Bendcrest their entire lives, and wondered what on earth he would have done otherwise.

When Costa passed him a skewer stacked with bits of cooked rabbit and winter apples, Xander stared at the food for much longer than he meant. “Tell me about your mother,” he finally said, and three sets of eyes flicked up to him, flames reflected in their pupils. “About Maisie and, well, I don’t know her name, but yours too.”

There was palpable hesitation around the circle, but eventually Red began. Elven names were often considered a chore to pronounce, but Maisie embraced the moniker she was given when her Bendcrest neighbors used it with more affection than her elven name had ever been said. Red smiled when she spoke of her mother’s unwavering will and her skill with herbs, how her mother’s original recipes still sold the best, and then laughed as she regaled them about Maisie’s determination when chasing off traveling charlatans.

More reticent than usual, Maia went next, telling them delicately about Demetra and how the woman had done what she had to in order to feed her children. It had made her sick, she said, because sailors were disease-ridden rats, but then Maia took a breath and her voice shifted as she described Demetra’s knack for telling stories. She and her brother didn’t even realize their mother was gone most nights because she was so good at tucking them into bed with the next installment of a tale about a man that could turn into a dragon and a woman questing to become the realm’s greatest mage. She was an expert carver too, apparently. “It’s where Costa gets it from,” Maia said, gazing at her big brother with admiration. “He got all her best traits, I think.”

The boy was staring hard at his hands, a piece of metal there he had been practicing his water carving arcana on. “I loved her a lot,” he finally said, “and I miss her every day.”

Heaviness settled into Xander’s chest in the deferential silence that followed, but it was not full of resentment and jealousy like when he was small and watched Bloodthorne’s mother kiss and cuddle him. This time, Xander mourned that Maisie and Demetra were gone, but was glad that these three had been loved in the way that they deserved, at least for a little while.

The ground was hard, and the four had to huddle close to the griffin to keep warm, but Xander slept peacefully that night, the voice still quiet if pummeling at the arcana holding it back.

Thistlemire would have been marshy if it hadn’t been built on a plateau just south of a lake called Crystal Basin. Bogs covered in ice surrounded the outskirts, hardened husks of thistle blooms jutting up out of the frozen pools. A raised road snaked between the glinting bogs and led them into clusters of shops and homes along the lake’s southern border.

They would not have had to walk if the griffin hadn’t had a sudden and visceral reaction in the air, but Xander was unsurprised—he too could feel the arcane push and pull of the place that lay beyond Crystal Basin. There would be no flying into Thistlemire’s sister village, Ironwood Hollow. Father Theodore’s spell was waning too, but Xander still didn’t seem to have control over his arcana. So they landed and strode in on foot.

It was of course another fishing town, and Xander realized he would probably never wash out that briny smell from his clothes, but the village was much smaller than Bendcrest with wider streets and shorter buildings. The griffin didn’t ruffle any local feathers, probably because there were so many elves here, full and half like Red, as well as an assortment of mages including a few in holy-looking robes.

I would avoid them, Father Theodore had advised, and not just because Xander was a blood mage. He kept his pockets full of the idols he’d corrupted, all broken now, but hopefully not entirely useless. They found the only inn, The Drowsy Dolphin, and Xander wondered if cleverness were really just a regional thing, but at least the place was a good distance from the Osurehm temple and set on a ridge so they could look down on the water.

It was late, and everyone welcomed a hot meal, but Xander stepped away from dinner to speak with the innkeeper alone. He was a willowy elf with a permanent frown, but agreeable enough to answer questions when not approached with hostility and passed an extra gold. As for the town’s founding, he explained, a clan of elves and a group of human Osurehm followers found harmony together a few hundred or so years ago during a particularly harsh winter. Together, they discovered Crystal Basin never froze over, something beneath it keeping it warm and well stocked.

Xander didn’t ask after Ironwood Hollow, but he peered out the nearest window. “Foggy out,” he said instead. In the darkness of fallen night, the layer of mist over the lake was aglow under the two moons.

“Always like that.” The innkeep flipped through his ledger, not looking up. “I’d say you don’t want to get lost in it, but usually you can’t—it keeps you out.”

Xander cocked a brow. “Does it?”

The elf heaved a great sigh. “You won’t be the first to try, but you would be the first to come back if you actually make it to the hollow’s shore.”

“Who said I’m going to try?”

“It’s what folks like you come here for. We get about one or two a year looking for old arcana or ghosts or the glory of Osurehm. No one will stop you, but they won’t help either.”

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