Page 73 of Magick and Lead
No bard would ever write an ode of beauty to Clua Understone. Of course, no one had ever accused Rohree of being a beauty either, even by sprite standards, with her wrinkled face and her crooked antlers.
And yet, though the world seemed to be falling apart, having Clua near somehow made it all bearable.
Clua seemed to be asleep already.
Tentatively, Rohree reached out and took her hand.
“I’m glad we’re together,” she whispered in a voice so soft she was sure it wouldn’t wake her up.
Clua didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t speak. But ever so gently, she squeezed Rohree’s hand back. And they stayed like that throughout the long night.
33
ESSA
Iawoke to a room filled with morning sunshine and birdsong. Stretching, I rose from the bed and opened the door. The farmhouse’s living space was simple and homey, not so different from farms back home. There was a cabinet full of dishes and a table with a neatly draped tablecloth. A trio of comfortable-looking chairs stood grouped around the hearth, and dried flowers hung from the rafters. Out one of the windows, I could see a porch and the back of a broad-shouldered man sitting in a rocking chair.
Charlie.
My heart warmed at the thought of his name, but I shoved that feeling back to wherever it had come from.
This was all temporary. And as soon as I located Kortoi and finished my business, it would come to an end.
Still, I found myself hurrying out onto the porch. The air was already warm, foretelling a hot day to come, but the feeling of the breeze as the door swung open was delicious on my skin. I felt suddenly self-conscious of the borrowed garments I wore—a T-shirt, as Charlie had called it, and pajama pants. They were thin, far lighter than my flight leathers. I felt almost naked inthem and acutely aware of all the places on my body Charlie had awakened with pleasure the night before.
“So, I guess—”At the sound of my voice, Charlie turned to face me.
Only it was not Charlie.
This man was smaller than Charlie, his skin a shade darker, and he had the beautifully shaped eyes of a person from the Far West. We had plenty of westerners in our court back in Maethalia, so the sight of him wasn’t unusual. But there was something else about his eyes. Though he turned his head toward me, they focused on a place somewhere far beyond where I stood, and the irises were milky and pale. He was blind.
“You must be Charlie’s cousin,” I said.
“And you must be the famous Essa,” he smiled. “Call me Bo.”
At this, I paused. He had been asleep when we arrived last night. And I assumed Charlie was still asleep. So how, then, did he know who I was?
“I suppose there aren’t too many women with a Maethalian accent visiting your farm these days,” I guessed.
The cousin’s smile broadened. “No. But I was hoping one would show up one of these days. Sit. Pour yourself some coffee.”
I did as he asked, taking the rocking chair next to him and pouring myself a mug of dark liquid from a carafe on the table. I sniffed it.
“It smells good, but it’s dark as the void.” I took a sip and wrinkled my nose. “Uck. Bitter.”
“Try some cream and sugar,” he said, gesturing to a small pitcher and a dish of white powder on the table.
I went to work, adding milk and spooning in the white granules into the cup until the liquid inside was creamy brown and the bitterness of the drink was replaced with a rich sweetness.
“Mmm,” I said, sipping it. “Much better.”
“Watch out. It’s addictive. Like all the greatest things in life,” he added, smiling out at the fields. They stretched out as far as the eye could see, a hazy morning mist hanging above them, giving way to a vivid blue sky above.
“It’s nice out here,” I said.
He nodded. “Way better than the city. That place is like one giant machine.”
That was true, I supposed. But…
