Page 97 of The Last Storm
I snapped my mouth closed, my eyes wide as she strolled along, reaching a hand down to run it through the blooms.
This woman…
“You coming?”
“Yep. Right behind you.”
We entered the treeline along the stepping stones when she spoke again.
“So you’ll know where I am for the rest of my life?”
“Uh—” The question caught me off guard, snapping me back from my thoughts. “Yes.”
“So what does that mean exactly?” She paused and before I could answer, she continued, “If I were to take off right now, would you know where I was as I ran, or would it just be easier to track me?”
I stifled a smile.
“Up for a game of cat and mouse, little storm?”
“No,” she replied quickly and I laughed.
“No, I wouldn’t know exactly where you were per se. It would be more like… a beacon calling me to it. I can feel you in relation to me,” I described. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Oh,” she breathed.
We were about halfway back to the cohort when we made it to the dirt footpath and the trees became dense again. Something flickered in my peripheral vision, but when I turned to look, I didn’t see anything. Nothing unwelcome ever happened in these woods, but an uneasiness still settled in my gut.
I turned forward, keeping my eyes on Ara and our surroundings when another flicker caught my attention. I stopped this time, studying the forest, but again, saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Just as Ara turned to face me, thousands of butterflies released from the trees and she froze. Her eyes followed as they fluttered about, blurring the forest in a brilliance of orange, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her. Her face lit with awe and she gasped as a butterfly landed on her cheek, slowly opening and closing its wings.
She brought her gaze to me, smiling faintly, and returned her eyes to the butterfly as it fluttered away.
The sight sucked the breath from my chest and I took a half step back, needing something. Space. Air. Something.
Thirty-nine years. Thirty-nine years of darkness and rage and hurt. I didn’t know what this was, but it wasn’t that.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes following their movement.
“Yes, quite beautiful,” I whispered back, my eyes never leaving her.
Once most of them had settled or fled, we returned to our men in silence. It wasn’t long before we exited the forest and Nautia came into view from atop the hill.
“Wow.”
“I know,” I replied, trotting forward.
From this view, we could see the entire town and its surrounding sea. The buildings were varying shades of blue, green, and white. The worn, cobblestone streets were lined with lampposts lit with the same never-ending fire as Blackburn, except these lights were hung by strands, leading from one post to the next, welcoming its guests.
The sun was setting now, the air was warm and humid with the smell of sea salt drifting on the breeze. The sound of children laughing, faint music, and waves lapping at a distant shore filled the streets, creating the melody of Nautia.
This town was happy. Safe. Untouched by humankind.
I hid my wings behind glamour as we entered the town, but people still stopped to stare and whisper, children grinning before they ran back to their parents with the news of new arrivals. I led us to the tavern and we dismounted, tying our horses to the posts. I hadn’t brought many men—around ten—but even the sight of that many newcomers ceased the chatter as we entered.
“Welcome to the Sopping Sailor,” the bartender said, glancing up from the several drinks he was pouring. With that, the rest of the customers relaxed and the hum of chatter resumed.
“Come on, let’s go in the back and just settle in first,” I whispered, leading us to the back. “No need to rile anyone up just yet.”
