Page 95 of Poison Sun

Finally, I break the silence.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” His gaze goes over my shoulder, to the cottage behind us. “Should we just knock?”

I turn around, finally focusing on the cottage now that we’re out of the garden.

Snug and secluded, it looks like it jumped out of a storybook. Its stone walls are covered with ivy, and tufts of grass and wildflowers are growing at the edges of the roof. Smoke curls from a stone chimney, and I swear I can smell a home cooked meal coming from inside.

My stomach growls.

The pre-packaged meals have been keeping us alive, but they’re not especially substantial, especially given how much magic—and therefore how much energy—we’ve been using to survive in this place.

“Sure.” I shrug. “Knocking seems like a better approach than breaking through a window or sliding down the chimney.”

Blaze cracks a smile at that one, although it vanishes a second later.

“Want to do the honors?” He motions to the door—a solid, dark wood with iron hinges and a knocker that looks like it was forged by faeries—and motions for me to go ahead.

Lifting the knocker, I let it fall against the door three times.

The silence afterward is unnerving, and I hold my breath, debating whether to knock again.

I almost ask Blaze what our next course of action should be, but the door swings open before I can.

A woman who I know in my heart is Langwerda stands in the doorway, and she’s not at all what I expected. She’s neither old nor bent by age. Her hair, a cascade of silver, frames a face marked by wisdom and strength, and her green eyes hold the depths of someone who’s lived for far longer than I could ever imagine.

Witches on Earth aren’t immortal. But the rules of Earth were tossed out the window the moment Blaze and I crossed that bridge and entered this mystical realm.

“Come in, young travelers,” she says, and her voice is hypnotizing, drawing us closer. “You’ve journeyed far and hard, and the night grows colder.”

“Thank you.” I smile at her, since given that we’re going to be asking her for the quill, I can’t afford to do even a tiny thing that might get me on her bad side.

As we step inside, the interior of the cottage envelops us in its warmth. It’s cozy, filled with the glow of firelight and the scent of pine. Jars of herbs and roots line the shelves on the walls, and three boxes that look like treasure chests sit on the floor beneath them. The wooden table in the center is already set for three, and a cauldron bubbles over the hearth nearby.

“You knew we were coming,” I say simply.

“Please, sit.” She gestures to the table, where two bowls filled with steaming stew await us. “A hot meal after your journey will do you well.”

I hesitate and look to Blaze.

He shrugs, goes to the table, places his pack on the floor, and sits. However, he makes no move to dig into the stew.

I also put my pack on the floor and sit next to him, prepared for him to pull away, and relieved when he doesn’t.

Maybe he doesn’t hate me so much, after all.

Or maybe he’s as wary about this whole thing as I am.

The stew smells delicious, but like Blaze, I don’t dig in. I know better. Especially given the jugs of unidentified herbs lining the shelves.

Who knows what she could have put in the food?

“I knew you were coming.” The witch pours a dark, rich ale into our mugs, either not noticing or not caring that we haven't tried the stew. “The winds speak, and the earth whispers. Your quest is bold, and your hearts are true.”

The winds speak.

Does she know about the wind talking to me? Does she hear it, too?

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