Page 35 of At the Mercy of Midnight
She shook her head. “Not very hungry.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it to her. Amelia caught it, the crinkle of a similar granola bar in her hand.
“You should eat,” he urged. “Riding for hours strains the muscles, and you’ll need fuel, even the less-nutritional kind.”
Amelia held up the bar and frowned before she looked at Silas, hands dropping to her sides, feeling oddly fed up. “Why are you being so nice?”
He sent her an amused look. “Sorry?”
She cocked her head. “Nice! You’ve never been nice to me.”
Silas shrugged a shoulder. “I thought we’d come to some sort of truce.”
“In a sort,” Amelia agreed with narrowed eyes, “but I didn’t expect your entire personality to change. It’s vexing and confusing.”
Silas sighed deeply and folded his arms. “You want me to stop being nice?”
“Yes! I mean…no, but—” She broke off, flustered. Amelia had already been thrown by the realisation that she found him attractive, even in some small way. Now he was being kind, leaving her oddly vulnerable and irritated.
He walked closer, his blue eyes focused on her. Silas stopped in front of Amelia and took the granola bar from her hand. She sucked in a tiny breath as his fingers brushed against hers, and Amelia wondered if he was going to take her outburst seriously and throw it away before her eyes, all false niceties gone.
He lifted the bar between them and started to peel open the wrapper. “You know,” Silas said softly, “you might consider that over the past nine years of rivalry, that perhaps I was following your lead.”
“My lead?” she breathed, watching his fingers moving between them.
“Mm-hm,” Silas said with a small nod as he handed the open bar back to her. She took it automatically before tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “You were so…delightfully combative when we first met,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Because of who your parents are, no one else seemed to want to stand with you and give it right back.” He shrugged a shoulder and smiled. “I had no qualms matching your energy. Now, eat.”
He nodded to the food and then he started to step away from her.
She frowned as he retreated. “Are you saying I’ve always been the problem in the way we’ve treated each other, because you were…copying me?”
Silas laughed properly this time, his hands grasping at the reins and placing his foot into the stirrup. He hoisted himself up on top of Ember and turned his horse to face her.
“You weren’talwaysthe problem,” he remarked with a sly grin. “I’m a self-proclaimed asshole. But you certainly made it easy to be one.”
They pushed their horses into the mountain ranges, following a path that climbed steadily in altitude, bringing with it a frigid wind that had Amelia curling in on herself.
Nestled between two jagged peaks, an outpost clung stubbornly to the mountainside, her eyes widening at the way it sagged away as though it would fall into the ravine below at any moment. It was a series of weather-worn structures built into the cliffside, roofs falling apart and wooden signs swinging lazily in the high-altitude wind. The sign told Amelia they had arrived at the Wayfarer’s Vault.
Silas had described the outpost as part trading post, part tavern and part general meeting place for traders and travellers moving throughout the Shadowlands. It was the closest outpost to the Rift selling Waystone chips.
They hitched their horses and moved towards the Wayfarer’s Vault. Amelia hesitated at the first icy-looking step, wondering at its sturdiness.
Silas looked back from the top step, smirking at her. “Come on, Winslow. This place has stood for hundreds of years.”
Amelia gave the steps a final questioning look before she stepped up and followed Silas inside. As the door opened, the thick scent of burning sage hit her. The walls were lined with glass vials and enchanted trinkets, each twinkling with their own magic. The merchant, a wizened man with a tangle of silver-streaked hair, sat behind a counter cluttered with magical oddities, but most importantly Waystone chips.
They moved towards the counter, Amelia spying the faded map pinned to the wall, showing jump points for Waystone travel.
Travel by Waystone was expensive, but it had also become increasingly unpredictable over the years with the unravelling magic. You could be accidentally transported anywhere or lose your belongings which the magic refused to pull along with you. But Amelia and Silas had both agreed, it was a risk worth taking to reduce their journey that they could not afford to lose.
Silas picked up a Waystone chip, rolling it between his fingers as he examined the thin veins of the glowing rune set into the stone. “How much?”
The merchant peered at him, then at Amelia. “Where you travelling to?”
“Lunarian,” Silas answered.
“Fifty,” the merchant said.
