Page 214 of The Edge of Darkness

“You all right?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. We should probably get out of this rain.”

“Probably,” she echoed.

Neither of us moved.

The pattering of the heavy raindrops drowned out the pounding in my chest and that deep thrum that I was almost certain she would have been able to hear, had it not been for the storm.

I searched her eyes again, hoping I could get a glimpse of whatever she was thinking. The only thing I could tell was that our dynamic had shifted, and she acted like she felt something too.

Whatever that something was, it seemed to be in my favor.

To my surprise, the hand that rested on my chest tightened, gripping my leathers as she said, “Port us to my cottage.”

Had I heard her right? Her cottage?

The forest lit with lightning as thunder clapped overhead, and Nivelle leaned further into me. I didn’t wait for her to change her mind. I wrapped my arms around her and we ported.

The cottage was certainly dry, but I couldn’t say it was very warm. Nivelle had been away for weeks, leaving the place unattended, and a chill had set in without the constant movement or fires in the hearth. Even with it being mid-spring, the climate on the isles didn’t seem like it got warm enough to go without at least a small fire every day.

The usual gloom over Neveshir had darkened even further with the ensuing storm, leaving the cottage doused in shadows. A few wights sprung to their feet when we entered. Some scampered over to Nivelle, brushing up against her ankles before slinking back into the recesses of the main room. Others climbed to perch on the wood rafters above, keen to keep a close watch on the stranger she’d brought home.

“You can leave your weapons on the table in the kitchen,” Nivelle said before she disappeared into the room on the right.

I ignored her command and followed her, stopping and leaning against the doorframe of what looked to be her bedchamber.

Her bed was centered directly across from the door. On the wall to its right was a rounded, curtainless window from which a flash of lightning lit the room. To the left, a small hearth and mantel took up most of the wall, decorated with a garland of dried flowers. A leather armchair sat nearby.

Nivelle went straight to the hearth and laid a few logs on the ashes. After performing some sort of brief spell, the timber sparked, and a gentle flame consumed it. She stood, turning to meet my stare.

“My sheath and scabbard need to dry out before morning,” I said as I crossed the threshold. “I’ll leave them by the fire, if you don’t mind.”

“All right,” she said, stepping around me. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

I unstrapped both holsters and propped them near the fire, then crouched before it, stoking the flames with the metal poker. The warmth was nice, but I was in no hurry to dry off. Being water-logged from training in the rain never bothered me. In fact, the rain and the chill that came with it was practically instilled in my blood, thanks to my heritage. I could certainly endure soggy clothes and boots until we returned to Calledan. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain, now that it seemed like I was making some sort of progress with Nivelle.

The front door opened, followed by the sound of tiny paws scampering across the wood floor. Thunder filled the interim moments until a clatter sounded from the porch. I leaned over to get a better view out the bedroom door and found Nivelle stumbling back inside, shooing the wights away from her feet and hissing something under her breath. She set a small basket on the counter, then stood on her tiptoes to reach a plate above the kitchen sink. After arranging a few items that she pulled from the basket, she unrolled something from a cloth, whispering as she placed it in the center of the plate.

I couldn’t help but grin at seeing her doing something so normal as preparing food. Just before she turned around, I quickly faced the fire again, poking at it with the rod, too enthusiastically.

She re-entered the room and knelt to set the plate of green apples, figs, and a loaf of dark bread in front of the fire.

“It’s all I have at the moment,” she said as I examined the food.

“Fresh bread?” I raised a suspicious brow.

“A simple spell keeps it fresh for quite some time. Another spell re-heats it.” She tucked her feet underneath her and tore into the loaf, releasing steam into the air.

“That’s handy,” I said, taking the piece she offered me, along with an apple. “Not much to hunt here, is there?”

“Some witches keep small livestock, but they don’t mature like they would in your realm—nothing to feed them with. That’s why most of us keep gardens.”

“Did you grow the apples?”

“Yes, and the figs.”