9. Soren

Chapter nine

Soren

S o I teased her, and then she caught me staring. Great first impression, Soren, top-notch.

I don't know why I called her that. She is small compared to me, but something in her is also intriguingly formidable.

The fire I saw glazing over her eyes had me enthralled. She looked like a goddess conjuring the power of elements. She looked as though she could level the heavens and the earth with her stare if desired. It was, for lack of a better word, magnificent.

The heavy waves of rain washing over the thatched roof shake me out of my stupor. I find Patti looking at me, head tilted to the side as if he is trying to decide if my spirit has left my body entirely .

"Oh, sorry, I must have zoned out for a moment." I straighten, trying to recover some dignity.

"Right," he says, drawing out the syllables with a hint of skepticism. It's remarkable how a word, uttered in just the proper manner, can leave you feeling exposed.

I grab a handful of wool sacks, using the action of working and moving as a distraction from my unusual thoughts.

An unrelenting pull has me looking in Mariana's direction. Her long black hair is in a worn, unkempt braid. Wafts of midnight tresses fall loose over her face, clinging to her sweaty skin.

I glance down at my tidy braids, embellished with hoops and gleaming with scented oils. My fingers tingle at the thought of running my hand through her hair.At the thought of braiding it for her.

Stop it; this doesn't make any sense. You barely know this person, my mind screams at me. Like a spectator, like there is a more reasonable Soren sitting on my shoulder, ready to strike me if my thoughts drift too much. I scowl. And I'm unsure if it's at this hazy, daydreaming Soren or the rational one.

With all of us working together, the cart gets unloaded quickly. The room warms almost immediately, and condensation builds on the windows. Mariana's brows start to sheen with sweat, and I can't turn my head from the glow she gets.

When we've finished, I open the barn door, letting the cool from the rain fill the muggy room. The air is heavy, but I suck it into my lungs like my first breath. There is something about the air filtering through rain that feels cleaner.

Patti joins me, letting the other two close up the wagon.

"This isn't good," he says, shaking his head at the pools of water building up on the cobblestone pathway .

"It's only rain, my friend. We're not made of sugar," I say, gripping his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.

He takes a long, steadying breath out before turning to me with a smirk.

"Well, one of us is, at least half." He nudges me with his elbow, and I laugh.

"Right you are, old man, right you are."

I look down the road through the sheets of water. Wait. Something blue catches my eye like a wisp or a firefly darting up the laneway. The orb flashes in and out, moving down my fence line.

We straighten, watching the creature grow bigger on the approach. He looks over at me before the water sprite reaches us—a look of confusion on his face.

"Patti Erie." The creature dances before us, blazing like neon against the gray day.

Patti nods, awaiting whatever news this creature has to give.

"Patti Erie, there has been a mudslide near your farm. We are trying to head the waters off, but it has been difficult with the rain." The sprite seems panicked. Rarely do they lose control of their element. "Others from the area are assisting, but it is getting dire. I can port you back, but we must leave soon, for your farm, and my extended magic, won't last long."

The russet color of Patti's face drains.

"You have to go?" Mariana's usually firm voice sounds shaken from behind us. I turn, and her face is set in a grimace. But her eyes, her dark eyes, are screaming with fear and vulnerability—an emotion I imagine she doesn't like expressing.

"We must go, Patti Erie," the sprite interrupts. "The situation grows more dire by the minute. "

He looks at Mariana, pleading in his stare. "I'm sorry, I have to go. This is my life, my home."

"Then what happens to me?" Her voice is edged with spite. It doesn't take much to bring out her anger. But then I see it. The rush of panic, of fear. She's a stranger to this land and is now losing the one person who agreed to help her.

Patti moves to comfort her, but I step forward into the onslaught of water, bridging the gap between the two.

"She can stay here," I say, not truly understanding where the words came from, only knowing that they feel right.

They both gaze at me as if there should be more to say. My brother comes up to meet us, ever the people pleaser. "Yes, of course she can stay. Sorren's house has three extra rooms, and when the rain stops, we can take her to the village." He slaps me on the back. I get the aching suspicion this is fun for him.

I've never shared my home with anyone other than family, choosing to keep my private life private. This is an opportunity for all of them to rib me endlessly.

Mariana still looks terrified. The protest builds in her throat, but what choice does she have?

"Can I keep your knife?" she asks Patti.

Well, I wasn't expecting that. I look at both of them, hoping they don't notice my jaw dropping to the floor.

"Yes, of course," Patti replies. "I was planning on giving it to you, anyway. You can trust these two and this family. I wouldn't leave you here if there were any questions about that."

Something gives in her expression, a breaking of sorts. She understands this, at least, and that she can trust us. Or maybe she trusts Patti enough. His word .

She nods her thanks, and before I can detect the movement, she holds her hand out to Patti. "Thank you for taking me this far." Her hand outstretched between the two, her black hair sodden with rain water, sticking to the side of her face.

Patti moves to shake it, but instead, he holds tight and pulls her in for a soft hug.

I was not expecting that either.

They embrace, and he holds her at arm's length before hugging her again. "I'm going to have Winnie come check on you, alright?"

She nods, and I see the slight glint of tears pooling in her eyes. She wasn't expecting that either. Her posture softens.

Another moment passes, and he lets go, stepping toward the sprite, still gleaming like a blue beacon. Then, in a flash, they both vanish.

We stand there, unmoving, silent. Rain beats hard on the ground, thudding loudly in my ears. Or maybe that's my heart.A lot ofdecisions were made in a short time, and Ididn't havetime to process them.

"We should get out of the rain," I tell Aaron and Mariana.

"What are we going to do with his wagon?" Aaron asks, as if that is the most important thing we must deal with now.

"We hold onto it until Patti comes back." The solution is so obvious I'm surprised he asked the question.

Mariana is watching us, wordless. I want to offer comforting words, but she strikes me as someone who would find that insulting rather than soothing.

"Let's go back to the house; we're all soaked," I say, gesturing down the road to the cottage.

Her face still looks stricken, and water pours over her dark features in rivulets .

Maybe she likes sweets. There hasn't been a tragedy in my life that a good piece of cake or pastry couldn't solve.

We all pile in the house, weather-worn and drained from our strange afternoon. My home has a radiant warmth that only a well-lit fire can provide. It sinks into my bones and warms my cheeks.

I should say something. Maybe show her a room and get her some clothes.

"I have rooms upstairs. If you want to come choose one." I gesture at the banister. And her dark eyes follow.

The significance of letting her choose isn't lost on me, especially when most of her other options are non-existent. She's stuck here with me, alone. The only comfort I can offer is choice, so I'll give her as much as possible.

She follows me up the stairs, and we both leave a water trail in our wake. Nothing I can't mop up later. Aaron stays in the kitchen, throwing together some hot drinks and food while I get her settled.

She eyes each of my guest roomsdiscerningly, her dark brows knit together, makingme question how I styled the spaces.

That's odd. She chooses the room in the center of the house with only one small window toward the ceiling to let in the light.

Curious.

It has its own restroom attached. That could be it.

"I have a chest of clothes if you would like to find something dry to wear until we can get you something more suited to your size," I say to her while she paces her new space.

She looks at me and shrugs her compliance, following me to my room and my chest of winter clothes.

"Here, um, I might have some smaller things toward the bottom. Things I've kept from my youth. "

She finds a dark green, knit, long-sleeve shirt and some drawstring, gray linen pants that she is absolutely going to swim in.

"Aaron has some food and drinks downstairs, if you want to come down after you're changed," I say, leading her back to the room she chose. "But do what you want," I correct. "I understand if you need some space right now."

That is as far as I'll go in offering sympathy. When she returns to the person I met this morning, I imagine she'll give me hell for being soft.

"Do you think she'll come down?" Aaron asks, sipping a spiced tea.

"I don't know. I imagine she'll need to eat at some point."

I eye the stairs, willing her to come down. Hoping to hear the familiar thud of footsteps on the wood floors. But there is nothing.

She must have fallen asleep.

Aaron eats, then braves the weather to shore up things left unchecked at his house.

I'm left alone with her. Well, not exactly. Hours tick on as the gray day gets swallowed by the stormy black of night. Still, she doesn't stir. I make another meal, filling my cast-iron pot with meats, vegetables, and any spice that might entice her downstairs. But the quiet remains.

I don't know what to do. My intent was to show her around and make her feel comfortable in this space.

Will she think I've abandoned her if I go to sleep? If I'm not down here when she decides to venture into the space, will she try to run?

No, I think not.

She isn't only a stranger to the Flatlands; she isa stranger to this world.I need to remember that. Everything will be new. It's no surprise she was so defensive when we met.

I'll stay down here for a bit longer.

I settle into my armchair, which looks out the window. The curtains are down, and I don't bother opening them. I know what I'll find. The rain beats on the glass, an endless, unrelenting reminder of this situation I've gotten myself into.

It's cold and dark—so out of character for the season. A frisson of concern shakes down my core.

I pull a crochet hat I've been working on out of the chest that sits next to my chair.

The yarn is soft as it twines between my fingers, starkly contrasting with the cold metal hook. I've been working on this hat for a few days now, and the pattern never comes out like I had envisioned.

After a few more double stitches, motions so familiar to my motor skills, my eyes droop. I open them back up wide, focusing on the dark red yarn. My head drops in sleep, and I bring it back up with a snap.

Just go to bed. Your room is just down the hall from hers. If she wakes, you ' ll hear it.

That decides me. I take my heavy limbs and aching body up the stairs.Herdoor's shut, and no sound is coming from behind it.

I pass by slowly, watching the copper handle, willing it to move, to turn and click, and for her face to pop out. But nothing happens. I pass by the space, eyeing the heavy oak door one more time before resolve takes over, and I give up for the night.