Page 9 of The Spark that Ignites
He didn’t need to know she wasn’t praying for herself, so she kept that bit of information clamped between her lips.
Emmery straightened her spine and fought a shiver. “You found me.”
A nod. “I did.” Voice low, he said, “I had to leave the body, but the guards are searching for you anyway.”
Her gut churned as she pictured Fallon slumped against the alley wall, his liquefied flesh under her fingers, and the gurgle of his last breaths.
He added, “You weren’t hard to track down.”
“Which means the guards won’t have a hard time finding me either,” she replied. Emmery’s chest tightened as she glanced around the temple. She was safe now, but for how long?
“What are you doing here? I figured you’d be fleeing for your life.”
Cheeks flaming, she glared at his smug face. “I ran for hours. I needed a few moments.” She trudged to the bench to retrieve her pack and pressed down a loose seam, hoping it wouldn’t split. Fishing the note from her cloak pocket, she demanded, “Did you leave me this?”
His grin was back—the one that spurred an uneasy feeling. “I did.”
A glimmer of anticipation surged in her chest. “And I’m guessing it wasn’t to report me to King Silas?”
“Nah.” He breathed a wry laugh. “I hate those pricks as much as you.”
She sincerely doubted that.
Emmery slid her pack on and looped her thumbs through the straps, keeping her eyes downcast on the scarlet runner as she mulled over how to approach this. “Were you sincere about the offer?”
“To get you across the gate? Yes.” His booted footsteps echoed as he followed close behind until he lingered a few paces away. “Are you alright?”
A bit startled by the question, Emmery slowly turned and lifted her gaze to meet his. In the torch light, his face was clearer—his straight, pronounced nose and the crisp line of his jaw accentuating his bow-shaped lips. His sharp features composed a face not to contend with, but his eyes were gentle. His thick dark brows furrowed as he searched her face for an answer and his stare lingered on the large birthmark staining her cheek. She raised her hand to cover it, but it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t staring at her birthmark and was rather assessing the welt courtesy of Fallon’s slap.
He lifted his gloved hand and with feather softness, brought his fingertips to her face. “That looks like it hurts.”
Emmery flinched away. “I’m fine.”
It throbbed with a dull heartbeat, but she’d endured worse before. Emmery yanked her pack straps to keep her hands busy while she battled the tension in her chest. How long had it been since someone asked her how she was? Or touched her so gently?
“The swelling will go down soon. I heal quickly,” she assured him.
He dropped his hand. “Can we go somewhere? There are too many prying ears here.” His attention flicked to the women in robes.
Emmery nodded. “I have questions.”
“Lucky for you, I have answers.”
Chapter Four
Against her better judgement, after leaving the House of Gods, Emmery led the stranger to her original destination. Last night's missed sleep weighed on her and Emmery dragged her feet as they slunk through the trees, gladly concealed from the prying stares of the streets. But her eyes burned, and she squinted through the morning sunlight. What she wouldn’t give for a few moments of shut eye.
Pine scented forest wind caressed her face; the familiar thicket and overgrown path etched into her childhood memory. Emmery’s heart caught in her throat as the cottage appeared. Not a shingle was out of place and the weathered wood was still the same faded sable she’d never taken the care to paint. Aside from the mounds of grass, untamed trees, and infesting weeds, after nearly a century, the cottage remained untouched by the hands of time. She had no explanation how. It had to be magic.
“Do you live here?” the man asked, his nose wrinkling as he surveyed the cottage.
“I used to.”
After all these years, Emmery thought returning would be easier and all the memories would dwindle with time, leaving this place a stranger’s home. That her distant life here could be felt at arm's length but never truly held again. Coming home to see Maela sleeping soundly, the meals over-flowing with laughter, soup spewing from her sister’s nose, and the morning lemon teas would all fade into the past. Because it was the haunting memories that kept her away.
Emmery cautiously opened the door, and the stale smell of aged wood greeted her. To her left was her mother’s ratty sitting chair with blankets, books, and papers strewn about the family room. She could still see her mother in that fawn-brown chair—her frail wrist on the armrest, gaunt cheek against the cushion, and knees tucked under a thick blanket to contain her shivering. To her right was the kitchen, everything awaiting her return. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Maela carelessly climbing the counters for Emmery’s stash of cinnamon biscuits she hid out of necessity. Because if she didn’t hide them away, she wouldn’t get a single one.
The grooves notched into the kitchen doorway caught Emmery’s eye—each a milestone for her sister’s height. She reached down, resting her finger on Maela’s last mark. Too many were missing. Too many moments stripped of sharing.
