Page 111 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Landing roughly, Silas lost his footing, using her to remain upright with a hissed swearword.
Amelia staggered, boot catching on an uneven cobblestone, the rush of magic fading from her limbs like a receding tide. The air was sharper where they had landed, filling her nostrils with the scent of chimney smoke. Not to mention the familiar bite of the Rift’s not-so-distant influence, closer than ever. It was much warmer here than where they had come from, but the late-night wind was still brisk as it whipped down the narrow streets.
Silas exhaled hard, one hand braced on his knee before straightening. He was pale, still recovering from what they had just escaped, but his eyes were alert, sweeping their surroundings.
East Town was little more than a cluster of stone and wooden buildings, huddled together against the changing weather patterns near the Rift. Lanterns hung from iron hooks outside doorways, their soft glow cutting through the darkness. The village was quiet at the late hour, though Amelia could still hear the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer and the occasional murmur of townsfolk as they wandered up the cobbled road. A marketplace that would be bustling in the daytime, was dark and empty, stretched along the main street. The stalls were closed and quiet, wooden signs swinging in the heavy breeze. She knew that when they came alive, the streets would be teeming with buyers at stalls that sold preserved meats, dried herbs, and crude rune-crystals that flickered weakly with stored magic.
Beyond the village, the land sloped downwards towards the Rift’s border, a jagged, dark line against the horizon, an ever-present reminder of the magic that had fractured the world.
Amelia turned to Silas with an amused expression. “Subtle landing,” she murmured, brushing dust from the oversized sleeve of the cloak she had stolen. “And you give me grief about my Waystone travel. You sure you didn’t twist an ankle?”
Silas huffed a laugh, rolling his shoulders. “You cushioned my landing well enough.” His blue eyes shone in the golden lamplight as he winked. Then he sighed, losing the easy expression quickly, glancing around before focusing back on her. “You alright?”
She was still panting, heart still beating quickly as the magic she had finally begun to tap into faded from her blood.She was exhausted, body begging for rest, but the night was not over.
Amelia nodded. “I think so. Are you?”
“I’m fine.” She heard it in his voice, felt it in her chest. The weariness, the pain, the subtle layer of anger. He was not fine, but he would act as though he were.
“Who were they?” Amelia asked, wrapping her arms around herself, gripping at her elbows. “Why did they take you?”
He lowered his voice as he spoke to her. “We should walk and talk. We need to find an inn. Lay low.”
Amelia shivered against another gust of wind, biting at her lip. “I actually have a place in mind we can go. Someone I think we can stay with.”
Silas’ expression turned dubious. “Someone we can trust?”
She nodded. “Someone I trust with my life.”
He searched Amelia’s face before he agreed with a small nod of his own. “Well, I trustyou. Lead the way, Winslow.”
Something warmed in her chest.
She didn’t know why the words had such a profound effect, but she felt something that had long since shattered within begin to piece itself together. It wasn’t much, yet it was also everything.
Amelia ducked her head, cheeks reddening. “This way,” she murmured.
They set off down the main street, the crunch of dirt and shifting cobblestones beneath their boots the only sound between them. The weight of what had just happened, what they had barely escaped, settled heavily around them. But for now, they were safe.
For now.
The cottage sat on the outskirts of East Town, tucked between a cluster of bare-looking trees. A stone chimney puffed out thick curls of smoke, the scent of burning wood inviting. The shutters were painted a familiar deep blue, weathered by the years, a soft glow emanating from behind them. A small garden, abandoned to the colder months of winter, merely held dark patches of soil with a few feeble weeds poking through. Despite the season’s chill, the place felt warm, inviting. A sanctuary.
At least, it had been a sanctuary once, for Amelia.
She hesitated for a moment, before stepping up to the door and rapping her knuckles against the wood.
Silas stood beside her, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “Who is this again?”
“A friend,” she said vaguely.
The door swung open a heartbeat later, revealing a tall man with tousled brown hair and a thick knit sweater, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms. His sharp hazel eyes flicked over Amelia, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Lia,” he breathed, and before she could even utter a simple ‘hello’, the man she knew as Brinkley hauled her into a crushing embrace, lifting her off the ground.
She let out a startled laugh, returning the hug before smacking Brinkley’s arm. “Okay, okay, put me down, Brink.”
Her feet hit the stone step as he set her down, and she looked over to Silas. His arms were folded across his chest while he stared at Brinkley with what she could only describe as dagger-eyes.
