Page 41 of This Midsummer Heart
“Thank you, Mayor,” I tell the taverna’s owner, surprising myself as I realize I mean it. Stopping in Adellor was a sound decision; finding someone who could furnish us with so many supplies was an astonishing bit of good luck.
But it’s not only that, is it? She could have turned me away for being a fete, just like the others. Perhaps there are a few good humans out there, and I can be a touch less embarrassed about Auberon and Robin’s little trick with the mortal Bottom.
Arquina brushes off my gratitude. “We had an agreement. I’m just glad you could fulfill your end of it.”
I lower my voice. “But you gave me a fine breakfast, and a place to stay besides.” Feeling a prickling on the back of my neck, I glance at Auberon.
He looks as though he is straining to hear what’s being said; his elven hearing is failing him, much like my eyesight.
I hop into the saddle of Chiara, a light gray dappled mare with a black mane and tail.
“When your people head south, tell them to come through here,” Arquina says, patting the dapple’s flank. “We’ll treat them right, just as I treated you.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head in a sign of mutual respect.
Arquina returns it.
The moment is much ruined by the grunt that slips out as Auberon mounts his chestnut gelding, Tiro’s flowing, creamy white mane is the perfect counterpoint to Auberon’s jet-black hair. They make a more striking pair than I’d like to admit. Auberon has always had a certain posture when riding that reminds me he’s a king. Right now, he almost looks like a hero from one of the old Dewspell Era stories Arquina mentioned earlier.
“Good growing and good harvest,” I call over my shoulder as I urge Chiara forward, forcing Auberon to scramble to find his seat and get the gelding moving. “And prosperity to Adellor.”
“Clear roads and all alacrity to you,” Arquina replies.
As we head for the widest gap between the rows of cultivated rose bushes, I swear I hear a sob. When I look over my shoulder, a somewhat familiar woman stands at the town’s edge, handkerchief in hand as she furiously waves. The miller’s wife, crying to see Auberon leave.
I eye my travel companion with a touch of disgust. He smiles and brushes back his hair in reply.
With a scoff, I turn my attention back to the path ahead. Yet, for some reason, I find myself matching his smile.
Am I having a change of heart? And why now? Was it the surprise on Auberon’s face last night, the husky way he’d said aloud what he shouldn’t have? Because we don’t belong together, no matter how many little moments pass between us during this journey to the southern wolding. It will never work between us.
For I can never let him get close enough to break my heart again.
Chapter twenty
Summer Storms
Auberon
Thisnightisaswet as a mermaid’s elbow.
Lightning flashes, illuminating the crush of buildings in this rain-drenched town. The further we venture down its crooked boulevard, the more Rubina—I think that’s what this place is called—resembles a city, thanks to its long stretch of beaches and the summer travelers. And we do have to venture deep into its haphazardly laid streets, built along the craggy cliffs, the rain drenching me and the endless mud speckling my trousers up to the knee.
Evidently, the entire coast is popular. This is our second town, and still there have been no rooms available for us to escape the rain. Our horses took the last two stalls available at the stable near the entrance to the town. I was tempted to stay in there with them just so I could attempt to get dry.
The Bridge of Miracles is just a few days’ ride from here. Tonight, it feels as though it could be weeks away.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Titaine says, her hooded cloak annoyingly pristine thanks to the enchantments woven into it. She’s already crossing the street, towards the stone facade of another inn with its lantern guttering out. “Come on.”
I eye the rivulets of water running down the street, the cobbles vanishing as we leave the main thoroughfare. Titaine is lucky the enchantments on her cloak and slippers still work—and so am I. I am not convinced a muddy and soaked-through Titaine is a tolerable traveling companion.
At least my boots aren’t leaking. The rest of me is going to need a solid week of sunshine to dry out. I’m not likely to get either of those things, though. Once we make it past the wild tides of the Bridge of Miracles, we’ll be entering mid-winter on the continent of Tethered Malu.
“We’re wasting time,” I grumble, also wasting my breath as thunder chooses just then to peel out, making the very ground shake.
Still grousing and miserable, I follow Titaine into the inn. “At least stall a bit so we can spend a few minutes indoors—”
“We’ve only our smallest room left. Not sure it’ll fit you comfortably—”
