Each time it happened, she’d gone all ooey gooey inside, feeling like a silly schoolgirl with a crush.
“Ow!” A limb grazed her shoulder, slicing her shirt and drawing blood. When she hopped to the side, she stepped on a rock, and her poor feet seemed to swell in her boots. Then another limb sliced her. And another. Ugh! She hated this world. Hated feeling helpless and lost, not knowing up from down. Mostly she hated hiking and everything and everyone everywhere. And she wasn’t being dramatic right now. They all deserved it.
“Worst fantasy resort ever,” she grumbled. “One star.” The review for her guide might not be any better. Not once did he do what she secretly wanted and carry her.
He walked faster, making her walk faster.
As they trudged up another hill, her lungs cooked to well-done. Her thighs cooked. All of her cooked. “I’m never joining a gym. After this, I’m never exercising another day in my life.”
Jumping over a thick tree root, she whimpered. When she skirted a cluster of snapping flowers, the satchel slammed into her side, and she winced. Stupid bag! What was she lugging around, anyway? Anytime she reached for the tie, Kaysar—
“Do you enjoy going nowhere?” he snapped, increasing his pace.
That. He prevented her from finishing the task and pushed onward. So frustrating, but probably for the best. If she dropped an item, she lost it forever, guaranteed. The king pausing to allow his lowly partner to collect it? Please. But oh, she wasn’t sure she possessed the stamina to go much farther. Lack of food and water had taken their toll. Utter fatigue ruled.
Crush? Dwindling fast.
“What?” Kaysar said, pivoting to wag a finger at her face. “What is this look? We’re doing as you demanded. Where are your smiles? Your thanks?”
He actually wondered why she lacked smiles? Her nerves frayed beyond repair. “Are you referring to my Resting Serial Killer Face? Because I’m nearing a snap, and I’m not sure there will be survivors. Slow down a little.”
“You are the one so desperate to find a doormaker, Chantel,” he chided, as if she needed another reminder.
To her astonishment, he slowed to an amble before acknowledging her silent pleas and sweeping her into his arms. He redistributed the weight of the satchel, taking the burden upon himself.
“You’re so strong.” Cookie snuggled closer, molding her body to his.
“The strongest,” he said, as if her praise mollified whatever had angered him.
Her animosity seeped away. Mmm. He smelled so good. Though she’d lamented the heat only moments ago, she reveled in it now. His warmth delighted her.
She opened her mouth to ask him a personal question. She knew so little about him, and curiosity was a thorn in her side. Before a single word escaped, she clinked her teeth shut. Nope. No antagonizing her guide when he’d only just begun to carry her.
There were only two directions that kind of conversation could go.
Scenario #1
Cookie: Asks the question.
Kaysar: Snaps at her for daring to ask and puts her back on her feet.
Scenario #2
Cookie: Asks the question.
Kaysar: Refuses to answer and puts her back on her feet.
Besides, the moment she inquired, he would learn he possessed knowledge she wanted. Personal knowledge. He could use it against her. No, thanks. Already she relied on him more than she wished to admit.
Just get home.
“Do you have nothing else to ask me?” he demanded, getting worked up again.
“Well, yes,” she said, testing the waters. If he was amenable, she’d asked him a non-personal question.
His breath hitched. With eagerness? “Ask, Chantel.”
“If the fae are immortal, how did Lulundria die from her wounds? I mean, my powers came from her, and I healed a broken bone in minutes.”
He grated, “Immortality doesn’t mean we live forever. It just means our bodies generally regenerate faster than they die. However, some injuries are too severe and heal too slowly.”
He ducked under a long branch without a hitch in his stride, keeping her secure in his arms. As he straightened, the temperature dropped. Noises changed, too. Rushing water drowned out chirps, croaks and buzzes, though she saw no sign of a river. Even the atmosphere changed, the air electric, as if another storm brewed.
“What is this place?” she asked. No flowers grew, yet the bushes were seemingly placed by intelligent design, strategically creating a pathway to lead to a tree dripping with blue fruit.
“There’s nothing we need here,” he responded, his voice tight and his posture stiffer than before.
Not really an answer, but okay. She surveyed the tree. Pink bark, purple leaves. Those fist-size sapphire fruits. Her mouth watered, heart rate increasing. In the center of the trunk was a swirling symbol—one she recognized.
Chantel barely contained a squeal. Rhoswyn was inspired by Astaria. Any remaining doubts dissolved, a torrent of excitement ripping her next words from her. “This is an outpost.”
Her companion cursed and hurried on. “So? We need no goods.”
Cookie squirmed from his arms, her feet dying a thousand deaths as she backtracked to examine the area. Oh, yes. Definitely an outpost. The sapphire fruit acted as an edible key, but you couldn’t pluck one until you’d issued payment.
A muscle jumped beneath Kaysar’s eye as he joined her. “Did you recall another of Lulundria’s memories?”
She’d tell him about her job later. A fae who’d never encountered a computer might not be able to comprehend her meaning. For now, she shrugged away the question. “I’m entering the outpost, one way or another.” In Rhoswyn, outposts allowed players to recharge, eat—food!—pick up cool weapons and switch paths, if they so desired. Well, Cookie so desired, please and thank you. “A doormaker might be inside.”
“And I haven’t heard rumors about him?” He scoffed, then beckoned her closer. “Come. Soon we reach the waterfall. The entrance to the Dusklands, where rumors suggest the doormaker resides,” he explained.
“What’s the rush? I’m starved.” She ran her hands over the tree’s shockingly velvet-soft bark. “Why do you always get to make the calls, anyway? We’re a team. Technically, I’m paying you. You insisted on a price, and I’m delivering. Look at me, staying by your side. That makes you my employee. Guess what? At my company, we have a saying. ‘The boss is always right.’”
He made a little noise of annoyance. “I should have charged more.”
“Well, it’s too late now. We already agreed. The only remaining question is whether you’re going in with me or waiting out here.”