Page 135 of At the Mercy of Midnight
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The morning dawned bright and cold, though Amelia woke with feelings of warmth and safety, nestled against Silas’ lap as he slept soundly above her.
The words exchanged were few as they redressed in their dried clothing, neither bringing up what they had discussed, or what they had done the night before. She had a sense that to Silas, intimacy was something profound, something so unutterably meaningful, that the looming full moon dampened those feelings for him. It meant something to her, too. Something incredible and unknown. To trust someone with her body, with her heart, was no small thing after what she had endured. And the echoes of his touch, his kiss, had her bodyprickling with heat, her core trembling from the memory of it. She had wanted more, so much more, if he had wanted that, too. But she understood. To him, it would be an ending, a goodbye, rather than the beginning of something.
It set a deep ache in her heart as they left the solace that the broken-down cottage had offered them and began walking the moors.
Fog blanketed the ground, the cold wind whipping against their clothing.
She huddled in her cloak as they walked, picking a northern direction in the hope that Ivory City wasn’t too far from where they had been dumped.
They trekked in silence for a long while before Silas finally spoke.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” he said, his own arms tucked around him to stave off the chill. “Yesterday. It could have been dangerous.”
She didn’t look at him, focusing down to where she placed her feet on the rolling mounds of grass. “I know, but you said you wouldn’t go.”
“No,” he disagreed. “I said we shouldn’t go.”
“Same thing.”
“Not in the slightest,” he argued. “If I’d known you were resolute in going with or without me, I would never have let you go alone.”
She glanced at him, expecting to see anger on his features. But his eyes were soft as they regarded her. “I know that,” Amelia said, before adding a sheepish, “now.”
He smiled, rolling his eyes, and turning away.
They walked for another forty-five minutes before they came across it.
The Waystone for Ivory City, the far-off buildings rising into sight.
As they approached, Silas slowed his pace. “Hoods up, Winslow,” he said, pulling his own up and tugging it down to shield his face. “We don’t know who’s here and who might be on the lookout for us.”
A pit of fear gaped in her chest, hands shifting her hood into place, eyes kept low. “We head straight for the Spire,” she said in a hushed voice as they passed a couple walking together just outside the city walls. “We get what we need and leave.”
“Agreed.”
Their only stop was to an artefact vendor on their way through the sprawling city. Silas purchased more Waystone chips in case of a hasty retreat.
Then before she knew it, they stood before the rune-locked doors that hid the restricted archives. She had only ever tried the handle once in her life when curiosity had overtaken common sense. Amelia had never tried again. The current that had passed through her body when the handle rejected her touch had been lesson enough. She was rarely stupid twice.
Silas handed her the ring he had taken from her father’s finger, and she slipped it onto her thumb.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the handle, bracing for the shock to ripple through her body. But she grasped at the cold, golden metal of the door handle and nothing happened. No shock. No rejection. Just a plain, cool feeling beneath her fingers.
She smiled triumphantly at Silas with a wiggle of her eyebrows before she pushed the handle down and opened the door.
“Yes, yes,” Silas muttered with humoured exasperation, “you’re a very clever girl. Now, let’s find this journal and get out of here.”
“Hm,” Amelia said, pulling the door shut behind them and sending him a coy smile, “I do like it when you call me a clever girl.”
His blue eyes snapped to her, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
She bit at her lip and lifted a shoulder. Silas’ gaze turned heated, and he took one single step towards her that had her heart-rate spiking, a jolt sparking through her body. Then he shook his head and stepped away, giving her a more reproachful look. “Damn it, Winslow. No distractions, we have important things to be getting on with, yeah?”
She sighed. He was more than right. “Yeah.”
She turned away and went to move, but his hand whipped out, taking her waist to pull her backwards into him firmly. She hit his chest with a startled gasp before she felt him dip his head low to her ear.
