Page 34 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

I felt removed here, sent back in time, which was a very different feeling from being sent to a different world. And I should know.

Even with the small population and it being quite chilly outside, residents milled about going from store to store or stopping to gab with other residents. Everyone had ahellofor old Tom and a nod, smile or handshake for me and Steele. We still hadn’t had the opportunity to talk about how he planned to get word back to Korrigan of our suspicions about the Vráchos and Papyrus.

And then, it didn’t matter if we’d had the chance to discuss anything. Not when the wind picked up, funneling down the center of the street between all those milling bodies. As it funneled, the wind took on a female form, still transparent except for the outline. Her hair whipped the way wind would, behind her as she strutted up to us without touching the ground.

“Are you seeing this?” I stood, starstruck, whispering to Steele out of the corner of my mouth.

Slowly, and clearly with all the same awe I felt, he nodded his headyes.

“Is this one of your powers here in my world?” I asked.

“No… I believe this is all you, Mils.”

“But I thought I only had powers in your world.”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Unlike the wind that had spoken to me yesterday, this wind spoke soft and clear, feminine. “Millicent Merchant.” She acknowledged me.

Out of habitandself-preservation, I looked around to make sure no one else could hear her.

“You need not worry…” she continued. “Only you and the Forfex prince can see or hear me. You’ve made it so.”

“I made it so?”

The laugh she clearly laughedat metinkled like wind chimes. “Are you not the flesh?” she asked as her non-answer answer. “My cousin, the Roshambo wind, followed you through the skoulikotrypa. He came to warn me of your need for protection.”

“Is he still here now?”

“Yes.” Her airy words tickled my ears.

“Could you give him a message to take back to Roshambo?” The prince spoke up for the first time.

“Yes,” she responded.

But then I thought of something. “Would anyone understand him?”

“He will do his best to relay the information without words. I assure you.”

Well, it was all we had for now. Steele explained to her all we’d discussed and she promptly swept away. Her cool form lifting off higher into the air the same way an airplane lifted nose first.

A little of the tension I’d been holding on to eased as I watched the beautiful wind form ascend above the white, fluffy clouds, mixing with them until I lost her completely. We promised to stay put for a few days should she need to contact us again.

Steele took it upon himself to find us supplies such as clothing. It didn’t sit well with me, Steele pushing the ideas into the local business owners to offer us those goods. But even if I wanted to find a job, day laborer or whatever, the prince made a good point. We’d be more visible among the town residents, instead of travelers “passing through” therefore opening ourselves up to being noticed by the wrong sorts, maybe those who’d come through the skoulikotrypa to bring him home and kill me.

Though that didn’t mean we took advantage of Tom’s hospitality, even if pushed. When he finished with his business, Steele and I climbed in the bed of the pickup along with the bags of grain and potatoes, among his other purchases.

We helped him haul the grain to the barn, bag after large bag of feed. Thirty-five-pound bags, as the sheep were grass fed too, negating the need for the larger fifty- and one-hundred-pounders. Then we moved the other sundries into the house.

The prince seemed to enjoy working with his hands alongside our host. There was a great sense of pride one gets from making, building and adding to. Unlike life as a Forfex prince, Steele’s father would have never allowed his son to participate in such menial activities.

I worked away in the kitchen, measuring, mixing, sautéing and baking. Totally lost in what appeared to be my element. And before I knew it, two hours had lapsed with me pulling hot Yorkshire puddings from the oven to serve along with the English roast I had resting on the stovetop and the gravy I’d made from the roast pan drippings.

After setting the table in the kitchen, I called the men in to eat.

“Wash your hands,” I ordered them. Steele patted my hip as he passed while Tom patted my shoulder. The scent of hay and barn animals mixed with the kitchen aromas. I had no idea where Cynthia had kept me before moving us to Michigan, but I loved it here. Farm life suited me, surprisingly. I’d lived with Cynthia in the middle of nowhere in an old farmhouse, but nothing about the life we led said farmer. Tom really seemed to enjoy teaching us the ropes, too.

Aside from the beef and puddings, I served a fresh garden salad. A feast both men admired openly. And when we sat to eat, their cries of “mmm” and “delicious” made me feel proud, likeI’daccomplished something.

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