Page 143 of Frost and Death
I’m not upset about Jerrick using his magic on me. In fact, I find a small bit of gratitude through my panic, embarrassment weighing heavily over how close I was to an anxiety attack in front of Jerrick and the stable boys.
Jerrick’s magic courses through me, quieting my own and granting me a chance to even my breathing without the stress of calming my gifts. When his power pulls away, I can’t help but find relief in his aid.
“Th-Thank you. I just—I need a few minutes,” I force out through shallow breaths, addressing the boots touching the hem of my dress.
The boots move from my vision, Jerrick’s pant leg brushing along my dress as he sits next to me. He cups my chin, pulling it to meet his gaze.
“Would riding with me be better?”
I bite my lip, nodding quietly and knowing that helps solve part of my fear.
He relaxes, smiling softly and releasing my chin to stand. Jerrick eases me up from the bench, and I quickly lace my fingers through his. He rubs the same numbing circles as we walk back to the stables.
I keep my head down, studying my own feet. Other footsteps recede as we approach the saddled horses.
“May I?” Jerrick asks, offering to help me on to the black steed.
I look to the familiar horse, a tremor rushing through me. “Not that one,” I blurt, averting my gaze.
Jerrick glances back and forth, a silent understanding shared between us before he guides me to the other horse.
The weight in my chest lightens, and I squeeze his hand in gratitude.
He places his hands on my hips, carefully lifting me into the saddle. When he mounts, his warmth cocoons me, and his arms flex when one wraps around my stomach.
I grab the pommel and rest my other hand atop his, the thought of his fingers trailing downward sends a wave of arousal down to my core.
Jerrick’s lingering whisper prickles my skin. “I’ve got you. Just hang on.”
His lips tickle my earlobe, more desire feeding my thoughts and settling between my legs.
30
The Sights, The Sounds, The Smells
The air is humid, and the summer heat has sweat dripping down the sides of my dress, only soothed by the swift wind.
Our horse trots toward the northeastern village, Yadir. It is small and quaint, with cobblestones lining a few streets and others only having dirt and grimy mud.
Homes of the citizens are built with stone and metal, their roofs varying with metal, stone, and thatch. Each wooden door is accented differently, and some have intricate carvings, metalwork, or colorful wreaths.
Nearing the center of the village, it is easy to see the merchant sections of town versus the market side. The voices of the merchants boom down the street, selling fabrics, metals, tools,spices, and more, as they try to barter and negotiate the right price for every customer.
The market area teems with citizens, traders, and children, and I can’t help following the path each child takes, noting how some are laughing, playing, or hurrying toward their families.
Jerrick tightens his hold around my waist as families lower into bows or curtsies as we pass and providing a steady comfort.
Internally, I am pleading to the Makers I am well received, but the churning in my stomach only amplifies.
Many observe us, but I keep my head forward, smiling politely at those making eye contact and glancing away from others who are grimacing.
I acknowledge them, unsure of the relations Jerrick has toward his people as we reach a hitching post.
Jerrick dismounts and ties off the reins around the post. When he offers to help me down, I drift to meet his touch.
I land hard in the mud, my slippers sinking into it, ruining the hem of my gown. A grimace instantly appears as I fight the thick grime, hoping to push through the mud’s resistance.
Jerrick holds my waist, providing support as I pull my feet from the sludge.
