Page 74 of Heart of the Summer Queen

“Wait!” I take a deliberate step back.

He frowns. “What for?”

“To see if your magic spreads even after drinking the potion,” I say, pointing toward the ice lacing through the grass. “I can’tstand too close, or else it’ll be difficult to tell if it’s the potion or my presence suppressing your magic.”

We watch the ground for several tense moments. But then Elaric lurches forward with a gasp, bracing one hand against a nearby tree trunk.

I rush over without sparing a single thought for our test and grab his arm. “Elaric? Are you hurt?”

“The Irremisa potion,” he says through uneven breaths. “It must be taking effect.”

He straightens with apparent effort, muscles tensing against what must be agony blazing through his veins. He tries to mask it, but involuntary winces disrupt his usual stoicism.

“Will you be all right?” I ask, studying his strained expression. If even Elaric is struggling to hide the pain, it must be unimaginable. In this state, will he manage the walk into the town? What about sailing to Eruweth?

“I’m fine,” he forces out, though I don’t believe him for one second. I bite back the protest bubbling on my lips. Despite my worries, further arguments won’t help matters at all.

If only Belinda offered him another potion for the pain. But perhaps combining several potions is risky, or perhaps she simply didn’t care to provide it.

He takes a step forward and then another, each becoming a little steadier. A few more and he’s marching on toward the trees. If not for what I witnessed minutes ago, I wouldn’t believe him to be in pain at all. As I hurry after him, I spot no frost trailing his strides.

It seems the Irremisa potion is working precisely as intended.

It takes around half an hour to reach the village. Perhaps Elaric could have flown us much closer, but we would have risked the villagers spotting the carriage during our descent. While the cover of night may have helped to obscure it, a gleam of ice amid the stars would have aroused suspicions of magic.

Though Elaric does not wear his crown and the ground no longer freezes beneath his feet, his white hair and bright eyes will make him an obvious target for such suspicions. I’m unsure how this part of the world views magic, but I’ve heard in some regions, witches are feared and hunted. Even if these people don’t inherently fear magic, they may have heard of Avella’s Winter King and may immediately suspect Elaric’s true identity. While he may not be currently wearing his finery, his posture provides more evidence of his regality than any crown could. And a foreign king visiting these lands uninvited will surely incite a great deal of political turmoil.

Luckily, the late hour keeps curious gazes to a minimum as we walk along the narrow dirt lanes. Most villagers we pass are too glassy-eyed from ale to do more than glance briefly at Elaric’s unusual features before we turn down the next bend.

“We need fresh supplies,” Elaric says a few streets later.

I pause, considering the dark buildings. “That’ll have to wait until the morning. Along with our boat. It’s unlikely we’ll find one at this hour.”

Elaric nods. “Then we ought to find somewhere to stay the night, preferably a place still serving food this late. You haven’t had a warm meal since we left the palace.”

“I had bat wings before,” I say.

“They don’t count.”

“They were warm.”

“They weren’t a meal,” he retorts. “And there were more bones than meat on those things.”

“You can’t judge them until you’ve tried them.”

He just shakes his head at me and continues through the streets.

Further into the village, just a street away from the harbor, we come to an inn called ‘The Rusty Anchor.’ While the doors and windows are shut, raucous laughter escapes into the otherwise quiet night. I squint through the window, but the glass is too cloudy from the contrast to the cool air.

“It sounds rather busy,” I say.

“With drunkards,” Elaric replies. “If we’re fortunate, most will be locals and there will still be rooms left for tonight.”

If they don’t have any rooms, we’ll have to wander around the village until we find an inn which does. And failing that, we’ll have to find somewhere outside the village to make camp. But after several nights of sleeping on the grass, my back yearns for a bed. Especially since we’ll be spending the next few nights cramped on a fishing boat.

Pushing open the door, Elaric steps inside. He strides past the tables filled with large groups of men, all banging their ale mugs onto the table and singing old sea shanties at the top of their lungs, and heads over to the counter at the far end where the barkeep is pouring pints. I keep my head lowered as I follow, not wanting to draw any attention. There are few other women in here, and I don’t miss the hungry leers the drunkards flash at the serving girls passing them ale.

While both Elaric and I can handle ourselves in a fight, getting drawn into any confrontation here would be perilous given how vastly outnumbered we are. Elaric would have to drink Ruposley to regain his magic, resulting in a spectacle no generation of this village would ever forget.

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