The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Thirty-Six

When it began to grow dark, we set up camp for the night. The rain had not stopped, but it had lessened to a gentle drizzle, so we picked a nice, large tree to stay beneath, and the leaves mostly sheltered us from drops of water.

Dren and Ista gathered wood, and Cass provided fire. Brinley and Jaret cooked a warm dinner of melted cheese on toasted bread and skewered mushrooms. It wasn't much. It certainly wasn't anything special. Yet the warmth of the food in my belly and the warmth of the laughter and conversation around me soaked into my skin. Orange firelight flickered on the faces of my companions.

The woodsmoke smelled wonderful, cozy, reminding me of the bonfires the town built in the middle of the winter, on the turning of the year. We'd all huddle outside in the cold, scorched on one side and frozen on the other. Warm drinks would be served: spiced wine for the adults, and cinnamon-laced cider for the children. We'd all stand there, suffering on the outside, but warm on the inside—reveling in the moments spent in fellowship with the other villagers.

This felt similar. We were all soaked to the skin. We would have all been shivering in the cold that followed the disappearance of the last bit of sunlight that filtered through the thick clouds, but Cass's fire burned with an unnatural, all-encompassing warmth—so hot that steam lifted from our clothes as we sat there.

Most importantly, we were together. We were happy. We were companions.

A flicker of emotion appeared within me—the ever-elusive hope, there and gone in an instant, leaving nothing but an empty, colorless ghost behind it. I smiled. It was something. And I couldn't pretend I wasn't enjoying this journey.

"You look like you're deep in thought."

I shook myself out of my thoughts and looked up to see Bran lowering himself to sit in front of me, a smile on his face, a skewer with three mushrooms in his hand.

He offered them to me and Lark with a proud smile. "I cooked these myself, and I think I did pretty well."

Lark took one and bit into it, nodding happily.

Bran turned to me. "Your turn, Fyra."

I reached out and pulled off a mushroom, quickly popping it into my mouth before it could burn my fingers. It scorched my tongue, and I quickly bit into it, smiling as delicious, smoky-flavored juice flooded my mouth.

"Well?" said Bran.

"I like it."

He sat a little straighter as he bit into the third mushroom and handed the skewer to Jaret, who loaded it with mushrooms and held it over the fire.

"So," said Bran, "are you liking the journey so far?"

"I think so," I said.

Lark nodded.

Bran grinned. "Me too. I was worried that it wouldn't be good for us... but I think it's just what we needed." He leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. "I'm glad you wanted to come, Fyra. You made a good choice. I don't think I'd have been brave enough to do this if you hadn't said you wanted to."

Lark nudged me, and mouthed, "Me either."

"I'm glad I made the right choice," I said. "I hoped this wasn't a mistake. It still might be."

"You think we'll crash and burn?" Ista sat next to us, juggling a steaming bit of cheese-covered toast between their hands. "Nah. Cass'll lead us right. She always gets us out—no matter what happens, or goes wrong. You can trust her. You can trust us."

I winced. "I don't distrust any of you. It's the villagers I don't trust."

"If it makes you feel any better," said Ista, "we don't trust them either. There are contingency plans in place, for if things go wrong." They shot me a wink. "And, anyway, if anything goes wrong, Fyra can fly us out on her deathbirds, right?"