Page 11 of The Iron Hex

Eira’s stomach growled.

“Eat,” Hugo said, “before it gets cold. We’ll talk in our room, ouroneroom, where I can keep you safe.”

Begrudgingly, Eira took a bite... and then another. It was delicious, and she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. The Iron Retinue had broken down the Honeyed Horn’s door before she’d had a chance to get the creamy potato soup that she always ordered for dinner at the tavern. She hoped everyone was okay in Cilirien. What town was she even in? Why was the Iron Retinue looking for this strange man she’d somehow shackled herself to by simply showing him a safe escape route? Were they looking for her now too? Was she a fugitive now too?She had to stop spiraling. There could be a perfectly good explanation for all of this and then she could be back home, snug in her own bed, this time tomorrow.

Eira looked at Hugo, her eyes washing over his face and truly taking it in. His hazel eyes were tired, and she noticed a scar through one of his brows, silvered and old. The fresher scar was on his chin, still a little bit pink as it healed. Whowasthis man?

Hugo looked up from his breakfast as Eira watched him, his brow furrowing and then quickly turning into a scowl. “Eat your damned food,” he said, before looking away again.

Who was this man... and why did he dislike her so much?

She begrudgingly ate the rest of her breakfast before the two of them headed up to their... shared room. It was a bare-bones space with a bed that could fit two people comfortably, a few lumpy pillows at the head and a handmade quilt laid across the top. A trunk stood at the foot of the bed, and there was little else in the room aside from a chair and a small table with a candlestick on it. The fire was already burning and keeping the room comfortable, which was nice because Eira still hadn’t fully warmed up from their long journey through the night.

She silently watched as Hugo set their bags down and sat in the chair, unlacing his boots and softly sighing as he slid them off. Eira watched his body move, clearly exhausted but still unbelievably lithe. His hair fell in front of his face and he took off his vest to expose a thin shirt underneath that barely concealed the ample muscles underneath.

“You can stop staring at any point,” he said as he pulled his other boot off, not looking up,

“I’m not staring,” Eira said, quickly looking down and opening her bag to let Pennyroyal out.

Hugo just looked at her.

“I’m not!” she said. She had been staring, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“If talking about whatever is on your mind will stop you from staring a hole into my skull, then let’s talk,” he finally said.

“Great,” Eira said. “Why didn’t you let me go back to my house last night?”

He scoffed.

“Ask better questions,” he grumbled before looking up at her, their eyes connecting. “The Iron Retinue would have caught us if we’d stopped off to get you so much as a change of clothing... Why is that even a questionyou’reasking me?”

Eira glared daggers at him, her limbs buzzing with electric anger. Her irritation only grew the longer she was in this man’s presence. “You are unbelievably frustrating,” she said through gritted teeth.

Hugo stood, tilting his head and looking at her. “You sure you’re just a potions witch?” he said, taking a step to her and pointing at her fingers. Eira’s heart picked up pace in a split second of fear—insinuating someone did more than just potions magic was the most dangerous way you could speak to a witch. “Seems like you’ve got something else going on.”

“Certain of it, actually,” Eira answered, her mind flicking to Beatrice, the conjured hand in her house. That was just one spell, one harmless spell.

“I’ve seen my fair share of witches, and I’ve never met a potions witch whose power I can see,” Hugo said. “Actually, the one time I did, it was a witch who had been hiding her magic, keeping it from being used... and she didn’t do alchemy.”

“What do you mean?” Eira asked.

“I can literally see the magic around you, like you’re summoning something without realizing it,” Hugo said.

Eira looked down to where Hugo’s gaze rested. A soft, barely perceptible iridescent shimmer was emanating from, and flowing around, her hands. She flexed her fingers, the magic rippling around them like waves. Sure, her magic was visible sometimes,but that was normal—it didn’t mean she could cast magic that wasn’t her alchemy. She was just a potions witch.

“Why pretend?” Hugo said softly, so close to her she could feel his breath on her skin.

Eira wasn’t pretending anything. She was proficient in potions and poultices and always had been; that’s why she’d opened the Potions Patisserie.

“You don’t know me,” Eira said. “And I don’t know you. But I know me, and I know I’m an alchemical witch.”

Hugo watched her, eyes squinting ever so slightly as he evaluated how to respond. He shook his head as a frustrated sigh slipped past his lips. “I don’t like these games.”

“Good thing I’m not playing any,” Eira retorted, sitting on the bed to get away from Hugo, who was now pacing and running his fingers through his hair.

“We’re not going to be here long, then we’re going to go to another town, figure out what we need to, and hopefully the Iron Retinue will forget about both of us and then you can go back to playing house in Cilirien. Okay?” Hugo stood in front of her. “I think I want to be around you as much as you clearly want to be around me.”

“Then why bring me along? You could have pretended you hadn’t met me in my shop, fled the Honeyed Horn, and left me there,” Eira answered.