32. Yera

Chapter thirty-two

Yera

H e knows her. He's seen her. Holy shit, I'm going to get some answers. It's been two weeks, maybe longer, and I will finally get some fucking answers.

This tavern is much nicer than the first one we encountered. The ceilings are high with brass and crystal light fixtures glowing with dim sprite light.

We gather around a large, glass table with wildflowers set in between the panels in a whimsical pattern. The chairs are rich, brown leather that molds to my body when we press our weight into them.

I tap the surface absently. A barrage of questions boils in my mind.

"Where have you seen her? You said you saw the tall, loud one, right?" I inwardly wince at my description of my dear friend, but that's how he identified her, so I guess I'm going with it.

He takes a deep breath, and I realize I didn't even ask Arrick what he is. His skin looks like it was once pale but has since worn to a ruddy red with time and use. Below his collar line, his ears hang low, pierced with a collection of gold, silver, and bronze hoops. His eyes are a crystalline blue that is luminous against the red of his skin.

"I have," he says, slinging off his oversized trench coat and wrapping it around the back of the chair before sitting. "She landed in my buggy late one night."

"What do you mean she…landed?"

"I was coming down from my farm one night, later than normal. With a wool delivery scheduled for the crack of dawn, I left with plenty of time to spare. I tend to be a night owl away. If you're not scared of the roads at night, it's a good time to travel." His rough voice occasionally cracked, as if this was the first time he had used it in length. "About two weeks ago, just before the storms started battering us into submission, I was working my way down my road, and she fell into my cart. Crashing into it from the sky like a hail. Came completely out of nowhere, and lucky for her, I was carrying burlap sacks full of wool, or she could have hurt herself."

A burly human-bear-wolf looking creature walks over with a full drink tray. He places a drink in front of each of us, and I move to protest, but Arrick winks at me. He already ordered—without words. I am still getting used to that. "What happened after that? Was she okay?"

"Once I got my head together and figured out what had happened, I went back there—checked her pulse and breathing. She seemed fine, just out like a light. I covered her with some of my scraps and a tarp in case it rained and went on my way. I thought it prudent to keep heading toward the town and my delivery. Figuring being alone in the woods with a stranger after falling out of the sky might be too much for her."

I drink the mystery beverage the barkeep set in front of me, letting the sweet brown drink warm my throat and calm my nerves. "What happened after that? Did she try to fight you?"

The fa?ade of his hard features cracks, and a light, warm smile breaks out on his face. "You do know her well." He takes a sip of his drink, fighting off the giggle building in his chest. "The moment her eyes opened, she had a piece of fabric slung around my neck and was threatening to ‘pop me like a zit.'"

There is no fear in his voice, no ire. He clearly found this exchange comical. That tidbit I'm going to keep to myself.

"She ran from me twice. The first time, she ended up stuck in a mud bog, and the second time, I'm not sure where she went, but she returned. She never spoke about what happened, but something in those woods convinced her I'm not the thing to be feared."

I know what he means. An image of the Alfnac pops into my mind, and a small shudder runs through my body. Arrick's hand quickly claps with mine, letting his warmth bleed into my skin.

"After that, we spoke a bit. A day or two passed by. Then the rains came. I had one more delivery at Soren's farm." He gestures to Arrick. "You know, the Visser family that owns all those homesteads—the textile producers." Arrick nods his agreement, and the image of a picturesque white farmhouse with a thatched roof covered in flowers and vegetable gardens pops into my head.

"There was word of a landslide in my area of the mountain. I had to get back to my farm and shore up the livestock. Soren agreed to house her at his farm, since it was much closer to, well, here, until the rain stopped, and he could take her to town."

"So, why are you back? By the look of things, this storm has no end in sight," Arrick asks.

"I had an emergency communication from the town elders. With the unseasonal weather, there is a massive demand for fabrics, so they will port me back and forth once a day until we meet the demand. I got here this morning."

"So she's at this guy Soren's house, and you trust him?" I ask.

"Ogre, actually," He corrects. Those striking creatures we saw on the street flashed in my mind.

Absolutely. The Vissar family is one of the area's most trustworthy families. Arrick speaks his agreement into my mind, and my rising anxiety instantly eases.

"Well, was Mariana okay with it?" I question, knowing my friend all too well.

He smiles again, no doubt recalling my strong-willed friend. "No, not really, and I can't imagine the hell she has given him over the past few weeks. She is as irritable as a drunk Pixie caught on a snare." I picture Mari in a Tinkerbell costume, drunk, and trapped in a snare. "He's strong and has lots of sisters—an extensive family in general—and I take him at his word. When the weather breaks, he will bring her here."

I look over at Arrick. "Can we port there? Can we go now?" The words come out of my mouth before I remember the horror that is porting.

"We can, but not today. Even those of us used to magic don't use it more than once daily if we can help it. For you, in particular, it could be dangerous. We can leave at first light tomorrow. "

One more night in Arrick's arms isn't the worst thing I've endured. It will also give us more time to figure out how we will see each other again. "Thank you," I say to Patti.. "For taking care of her, even if she was a bit prickly."

"You know better than I do that ‘prickly' is the understatement of the year."

"I do, and that's why I'm extra thankful." He smiles back at me, raising his glass like a toast, to me or Mariana, I'm not sure. I raise my glass to him and then tip it back, draining its contents. "Well, Patti, for that, I owe you lunch at least. Will you stay and eat with us?"

He looks at me with a smile on his face. "I'd thought you'd never ask."