Page 37 of Heir of the Autumn Queen

“No wonder you can’t keep your hands off me.” I clear my throat thickly and he smiles, but it’s more reserved than normal.

The initial spark of energy that passed between us has dulled to a steady purr, and I forget that we’re flying for a moment. I forget everything I need to do, and the anxiety of my unchecked to-do list melts away as we soar through the air. It’s just Finn and me, and the sun. I relax my head onto his shoulder, my face dangerously close to the exposed skin of his neck. I can see his pulse thrumming there, and I have the strangest urge to kiss the spot where his blood pumps through the strong vein. I nuzzle my head closer to his neck and place my lips ever so softly against his skin, leaving a gentle, barely-there kiss. Finn’s grip tightens on me instantly, and I hear him swallow loudly.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He clears his throat, and I fear that I made him uncomfortable with the kiss. I pull away from his neck but leave my head on his shoulder.“For what?”

“For being my travel companion… and my friend,” I say, feeling more than a little sad at the idea of parting ways.

He leans down and places a kiss on my forehead softly.“It was my honor, Trouble.” His voice breaks slightly.

We fly the rest of the way in silence, both of us unable to think of anything else to say. Elsreth comes into view, and I’m shocked at the size of the city, especially from above. A massive castle sits in the center of the capital, and the rest of the city spreads outwards, with hundreds of buildings crammed together tightly as thousands of people—who are the size of small beetles from this altitude—go about their business. Finn slows us and starts to descend, aiming for a wooded area right outside the city. His wings flap slowly as he lowers us to the ground, Shadow right behind us. He lands soft as a feather, and sets me down slowly, as if reluctant to let me go.

Once my feet are on the ground, I keep my arms wrapped around his neck and stare up at him, searching his indigo eyes. Countless words bubble up inside me as I think of a way to stay with him a little longer, but nothing comes to mind. I relinquish my grip and instantly feel cold without his touch. I step back and a look of disappointment, or maybe even sadness, crosses his features before he looks away from me.

I adjust my bow and quiver and my bag, all of which have become crooked on my back during the flight in Finn’s arms. Shadow canters up to me, and I pat her neck and scratch her ears. Finn comes around to her front and rubs her nose softly, whispering something to her. She nudges him playfully in response, and he turns to me again, inhaling.

Before he can say anything, I cut him off.“May Dafina bless your journey.” The goodbye is much more formal than necessary, but I’m afraid if I don’t maintain some emotional distance, I’ll break down and beg him to stay with me.

He nods once, his face morphing into the mask of indifference that he exhibits to others.“And yours.”

I turn away from him and start walking toward the city, looking up at the sky to hold back a tear that’s threatening to escape. I’ve known him for a little over a week, and this goodbye feels just as painful as parting with Briar and Killian. Every step I take away from him is a sharp stab in my heart, as if my body wants to be near him as much as my heart does. But I keep on, reminding myself of what I came here to do. And that does not involve handsome, centuries-old, flirtatious distractions with considerable egos. I know he’s still standing among the trees watching me go, but I don’t look back.

Chapter Eighteen

Ifind an inn—that’s not a brothel—near the center of the city and the castle. The walk to the main plaza took much longer than I anticipated, and since I’ve never been in a city this large, by the time I get Shadow boarded and checked into my room, it’s well past noon. I eat a quick meal at the tavern across from the inn before I go exploring. Without a pegasus at my heels, I blend in seamlessly, and I’m grateful that no one seems to be paying me any attention.

I wander through the tightly packed streets in search of a leather-smith that I could ask about a modified saddle for Shadow, only to come upon a commotion in the street, a small crowd gathering in front of a shop.

I push my way through the small group of people to find a young boy, maybe four or five years old, sitting in the dirt, a bloody gash on his forehead. A woman who I assume is his mother is rushing around the crowd, asking if there’s a healer present. The panic in her eyes is apparent as the young boy sways, the blood still pouring out of the wound at an alarming rate, soaking the front of his shirt. No one seems to be doing anything except watching with pity as the mother grows more and more frantic.

I step forward, pushing through the bystanders, squatting next to the boy and ripping my shirt at the bottom. I wad up the fabric and press it against his wound to soak up the blood.“Hi,” I tell him softly, though I’m unsure if he even hears me as he seems a moment away from passing out, his face ghostly white.“We’re gonna find you some help, okay?” He nods weakly, leaning his weight into me slightly.

His mother gives up on searching the crowd and rushes over, kneeling beside me.“Are you a healer?” she asks me, her voice shaking with fear.

“No,” I tell her, honestly.“But I can try and slow the bleeding.” My hope of that actually happening is lessening with each passing moment since the wad of cloth I tore from my shirt is already thoroughly soaked bright red. The tang of blood coats the air and seeps into my nostrils, making my stomach sink.

“He was running through the shop and he tripped and hit his head on the hearth. I rushed him out here when I saw all the blood,” the mother rambles, sounding slightly ashamed. I look up at the shop she referenced and realize she must be a seamstress, and by the looks of the luxurious clothing inside the store, for extremely wealthy patrons. It makes sense that she brought him outside immediately; if any blood had gotten on the clothing inside, it could’ve been financially devastating for her business.

I give her an understanding nod and move the blood-soaked cloth to check the boy’s wound. The bleeding has slowed but it’s still oozing at a quicker pace than it should, and I know it will need to be closed quickly if he has any chance of surviving. I look at the boy and know that he doesn’t have much time left before passing out from blood loss, and I have to do something, even if that’s just giving him more time.

I drop the soaked fabric down in the dirt next to me with a stomach-churning splat and reach up with both hands to try to squeeze the wound closed with my thumbs.

As soon as my bare skin touches his, I start to feel lightheaded, as a dull, throbbing sensation takes hold in my brain, almost like I’m feeling exactly what the little boy is feeling. I shake my head and blink rapidly a few times, trying to focus on keeping pressure on the deep cut. I focus all my energy on keeping his wound closed with my hands and eventually, the throbbing sensation in my head lessens, and I feel my energy return. The boy’s mother gasps quietly next to me and lifts a shaky hand to her son’s head.

I move my hands away from the gash to find it completely healed, as if his skin decided to close itself, not a trace of so much as a scar to be seen. She runs her fingers along her son’s forehead in disbelief as the boy perks up and looks at his mother, appearing completely unaffected. The only evidence that the accident even happened is the drying blood that riddles the front of his shirt and my hands.

The crowd around us murmurs warily among themselves, as I once again find myself at the center of an unusual event. Obviously, something I did healed the boy, but it wasn’t a conscious decision. The only explanation I can think of is that my birth mother was a powerful witch who focused her abilities primarily on healing, according to my godparents. But I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’ve cleaned plenty of wounds back in Staghorn.

Sitting here in the street next to the little boy, I’m suddenly exhausted; whatever I did, it left me drained and confused. I know witches can heal with enchantments, and healers use mostly natural herbal remedies, but what just happened seems impossible.

The woman scoops her son up into her arms and says,“Come with me.”

I stand on shaky legs and follow her into the small shop, needing to escape the crowd that has somehow gotten bigger since I arrived. Once inside, the mother says to her son,“Go change your clothes, sweetheart.”

The little boy practically skips away into another room, when quite literally a few minutes ago he was close to death. My body is trembling, partly from shock and partly because I’m overwhelmed.

The woman offers me a seat in the main fitting room and I gladly sit, flopping down and clasping my hands together to stop them from shaking. The room is adorned with both male and female figures modeling her work, beautifully crafted tunics and extravagant dresses, along with countless rolls of fabric, scissors, and needles strewn across her work table.

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