Chapter 70: Tempest

Chapter 70: Tempest

The world was cold and gray when I woke the following morning. Maria had once again rolled into me while we slept, and despite the blankets separating us, her slender form radiated a welcome warmth.

I yawned as I took a moment to reflect on my gratitude for her companionship. Then, with no small amount of reluctance, I carefully extracted myself from the tangle of blankets, intent on waking her with breakfast and the blessed taste of coffee.

Just as I snuck from the shelter, a powerful gust slammed into me, sending the surrounding trees’ leaves into a frenzy. I glanced up as my eyes cleared, seeing a sea of gray beyond the frenetically shifting canopy above.

“Of all the times for a rainy day . . .”

I stretched, unleashing a mighty yawn. “Oh well, at least it won’t be hot, I guess.”

A soft yawn from behind me ended in a cute sigh, and I turned, seeing Maria glancing from the tent.

“Sorry,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

She smiled at me with sleepy eyes then glared at the surrounding trees.

“Not unless you control the wind. I was having such a pleasant dream, too.”

“Oh? What about?”

“I can’t tell you that—it might not come true.”

I raised an eyebrow but lacking the requisite caffeine to fuel early morning banter, I just smiled at her.

“I’ll get the fire going—you can stay comfy in the blankets if you like.”

Seeing the offer as a challenge, she threw the blankets aside and emerged from the tent.

“Many hands make light work.”

She cut off as another breeze kicked up, immediately sending her body into a full shiver.

I smirked at her. “Maybe those ‘many hands’ should wear a blanket while collecting wood?”

She glared at me, but the curl of her lips betrayed her intent. She bent and snatched a blanket, then, cocking her head, bent and grabbed another.

She held it out to me, and I raised an eyebrow. not sure I need it.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving it in my face. “If my servant catches a cold, how will he be able to serve me? I demand that you stay warm.”

A laugh shot from my throat at the look on her face; it was full of petulance, the perfect approximation of entitlement.

I grabbed the offered blanket. “You know, your acting is a little too good . . .”

“That’s the secret, Fischer.” She gave me a haughty expression, but the corner of her lip tugged up, threatening to shatter the facade. “It’s not acting.”

She whirled, hiding her face and striding into the forest. “Follow me, manservant! Your liege demands kindling!”

The steam wafting from the pot hit my face as I poured our coffee. Its heat joined the warmth radiating from the campfire, and I closed my eyes as I poured the last drop into Maria’s cup, bathing in the moment.

She cleared her throat. “Faster, servant. This lady requires her morning coffee.”

“Of course, my liege.”

I held the cup out, bowing as low as I could without spilling the drink. She accepted it with both hands, her lilting laugh joining the passing currents of air.

“Thank you, Fischer.”

I beamed. “You’re most welcome, my lady!”

She took a sip of the coffee, letting out a satisfied sigh. I held my cup to my lips and drank. The hot liquid warmed my mouth, and as I swallowed, I felt its passage down my throat, a welcome heat traveling to my core.

After a bite of a croissant, I smiled at the world. “I could eat this every morning without getting sick of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Maria responded, a similarly content smile on her face.

I took in our surroundings, seeing the clouds above getting darker, not lighter.

“Are you sure you don’t want to turn back?”

“You good?” he yelled over the rain.

Maria nodded.

He nodded back. “Let’s go!”

They took off again, both lost in introspection.

She must be freezing, I thought, glancing at Maria through the torrential downpour. She looked shocked after I caught her the second time, her body stiff.

“We’re almost there!” I called over the storm, trying to reassure her.

She nodded at me with a smile; it looked forced. I returned my eyes to the surrounding forest and the creek we followed. It all looked the same.

I hope we reach the pond and shelter soon . . . I’d feel terrible if she got sick on what’s supposed to be a relaxing trip . . .

By the time we reached our destination, the pelting rain and winds had receded into a calm sprinkle. I guessed that Maria was feeling better, because as the storm diminished and we could hear each other speak again, we intermittently talked and joked about small things.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning from my still-standing shelter to look at Maria.

She smiled at me. “Other than being drenched?” She wrung the bottom of her top for emphasis. “I’m good otherwise.”

“You’re not too cold?”

“No. I wouldn’t complain if we got a fire going, though.”

“I’m glad I decided to pack some kindling and sticks in my bag. I hope they stayed dry.”

I took the packs off and walked over to the shelter, opening up mine as I handed Maria’s to her.

Please don’t be soaked . . .

To my joy and surprise, only the outer blankets were a little wet—everything else within managed to stay dry.

Maria let out a long-suffering sigh and started emptying her bag. Her pack was completely soaked through. Blankets, clothes, food—everything was wet.

As if to rub it in, the rain had stopped falling, and the clouds above seemed a little lighter. Maria’s body shivered, the cold overcoming her now that we’d stopped running. I dipped my hand into my pack, removing a shirt, pants, and a towel.

“Here,” I said, holding it out to her.

She took them, then cast around, looking for somewhere to change. I wiggled the shelter’s sticks from their holes in the earth and tipped it up on one side, making a screen.

“Get changed out of those wet clothes and I’ll start a fire. We can dry all your wet stuff afterward.”

She smiled up at me, an unreadable mix of emotions crossing her face.

“Thank you, Fischer.”

“No worries!”

I winked. “What are servants for?”

Leroy felt numb as they walked through the tempest—it had nothing to do with the temperature. As the rains grew even steadier, they crested the top of a hill; they were greeted by a stunning vista.

A bay stretched out between two headlands, one of which had a river on the other side connecting with the ocean. A village sat right at the center of the cove, a sprawling mess of houses, buildings, and crops that stretched out into the surrounding lands.

A gust picked up, hitting the crown prince’s parasol. It turned it inside out, and as he wrestled to get it back under control, the rain splattered into him, making dark spots appear on his royal clothing.

“By Poseidon’s soaked beard—one of you help me!”

The long-haired cultivator let out a snort of amusement, one of the rare sounds he’d made since they started traveling. Leroy looked at him, noting the look of joy at their handler’s discomfort. Unlike his long-haired acquaintance, he was unable to feel any mirth. All he felt was a murky mix of hope and dread.

With each stretch of road they crossed, and each step further east, his suspicions at their destination grew. Now, both his fear and hope were confirmed.

He’d arrived back in Tropica, his home, and the rogue cultivator that the artifact sensed was one of the villagers—perhaps even a member of his family.

He clenched his jaw, not hearing the expletives pouring from Trent’s mouth.

What twisted working of fate is this?