Page 68 of Homeward for a Spell

Sage wishes she didn’t have to extinguish the flame of hope in her question, but the bard deserves to hear the truth. “It would take some time to hike out of the Northlands on this knee, I’m afraid. Too much time. And even if we took the blankets and stripped this cabin of every scrap of food we could find—which wouldn’t last us more than a few days even carefully rationed, from what I’ve seen—we don’t have proper equipment to shelter in the cold along the way. There’s no wood besides what’s stacked inside the hearth, and that’s more charred than not. I’d wager this cabin’s magic lasts just long enough to have a meal and a fire ready. But magic can’t sustain itself out of nothing forever; even I know that.”

“So we shouldn’t expect breakfast tomorrow?” Araphi asks grimly. “You might have told me sooner.”

“It’s only a theory, and I thought it might be easier to hear once our stomachs were full.”

At the crestfallen look on the bard’s face, Sage leans as far as she can with her leg propped up to take Araphi’s hand between their soup bowls. “Do you regret leaving Ashaway? You could be safe on your family estate right now instead of in a hunting shack in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yes. I could be trying on wedding gowns,” Araphi says dryly. “You know, I was pretty good at being an heir. Better than Yael ever was, though that’s nothing worth boasting about. If I hadn’t mistaken your adventuring party for a festival—”

“Aha, you admit it!” Sage crows in triumph. “You did mistake it for a party.”

“Yes, Ranger.” Araphi smiles at her. “You win. Point being, if I hadn’t eavesdropped on those bards in the Rookery, I might be listening to my parents prattle on about my duty to the family right now, all while knowing that my mother is slowly withering without the life she could have had if she’d kept performing. I’d never have played campfire songs in the woods, or charmed an entire village with my lute, or convinced a dragon god to let me pull its tooth from the depths of a deadly river. And I wouldn’t be here, in this hunting shack, with you.” Her eyes are soft as butter, warm in the firelight, and she’s looking at Sage as though she’s the moon.

When they fall into bed again—rather, when Araphi eases them down onto the mattress and helps Sage “relax” with her capable fingers, then her tongue, and, after Sage has begged sufficiently, both at once—Sage lies awake for a long time after. Araphi’s leg is hooked over her good one, and her arm is draped across Sage’s waist, her fingertips idly tracing the long scar on Sage’s belly. Her face is nestled into the top of Sage’s spine, breathing warm puffs of breath against Sage’s skin. Sage is entirely trapped by the bard.

But for the first time in longer than she can remember, and despite their admittedly dire circumstances, no part of her itches to be any place but where she is right now. She feels quiet. Perhaps it’s the magic of the cabin; perhaps it’s Araphi’s own magic.

Or perhaps it is something else entirely.

26

Araphi

The next morning, a loud knocking wakes Araphi. She struggles out from the nest they’ve made of the blankets to peer around the cabin. “What’s that?”

“Perhaps the wind,” Sage answers groggily. Still half asleep, she runs a hand up Araphi’s naked back, sending a shiver across Araphi’s skin. Sage’s voice is loose, relaxed. Gone is the deadly ranger who always has her blades at hand (even if her remaining dagger rests right beside the mattress). She’s been entirely replaced by the snuggly, content creature who held Araphi close through the night, and who now touches her tenderly, her fingers coiling through the ends of Araphi’s loose hair. Something in last night’s revelation has worn away Sage’s usual edges.

Araphi loves her in this mood.

She loves her in any mood, really. But this one is more charming than she thought possible. If this easy intimacy is what it feels like to be trusted with someone else’s secrets as well as their body, Araphi never wants a casual partner again. This feels so right. So secure. So achingly full of potential. If only she could—

“Come back under these blankets,” Sage murmurs. “I need you to keep me warm.”

Araphi grins and pulls the quilt to her chin. The cabin is decidedly colder than last night. Ashes fill the hearth, and pools of cooled wax line the mantel where the candles had blazed. In the early morning light filtering through the cracks in the rough curtains, the cabin seems so ordinary. So much smaller than it did last night. Certainly, less magical. The homecoming spell that kept them cozy and fed seems to have come to an end, as Sage predicted.

Well, that’s a predicament.

Another knocking at the door, louder this time and more insistent, unmistakable for the weather. Could it be Remy and the rest of the party? Have they found them already?

Sage is already struggling upward and out of the sheets. “Stay behind me, Bard.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re injured!”

The ranger groans as she swings her bad leg off the bed, proving Araphi’s case.

“At least wait a moment while I find our clothing,” Araphi insists. Cold stabs at her bare feet as soon as they hit the stone floor. Where are their clothes anyhow? By the bathtub? Near the fireplace? Gods, she can’t even find the robes they wore last night while they ate soup and spoke of Sage’s death…which she hardly has time to think of now.

Where are her socks? Her pants? Her chemise? Anything really would do.

“Open up now, or I’ll blast this door with a spell!” calls a voice from outside.

Somehow, Sage has slipped into her breeches and shirt already. Araphi swears and grabs the first piece of clothing she can find—Sage’s wool coat, dried by the fire overnight. It barely comes down to the middle of her thighs, but it’s better than naked.

Araphi hurries over to Sage as she stands, all of the softness gone from her. “You stubborn thing. At least let me help you.”

Sage concedes, letting Araphi slide under her arm to support her. She points to the kitchen table and their dishes from last night. “Get that knife.”

“The butter knife?”