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Cressida woke up to the sounds of a crackling fire, shifting cooking stones, and clang of utensils. She snuggled farther under the blankets and cracked one eye open.
The abandoned cabin she, Morven, and Happen had found was, to put it nicely, rustic, cramped, and dingy. It would have fit in her sitting room back home twice over. It was entirely one room with a rudimentary kitchen and hearth on one side, one bed on top of a frame and two smaller ones on the floor on the other, and a rickety table with four chairs in the middle. A worn rocking chair was against the wall near the fire. A chest with only scraps and junk left behind was at the foot of the large bed.
The mattresses were little more than sacks stuffed with straw and feathers and accompanied by ragged blankets. It had taken more than a few castings of Prestidigitation to make the largest bed habitable by Cressida’s standard. Happen took one of the floor beds, praising Cadence as he went to sleep. Morven had proclaimed she did not need a bed as she would take watch all night.
Morven’s attempt at staving off sleep for yet another night was clearly a failure.
The sorceress never cooked by a fire, unless it was to boil caffeinated leaves into a mediocre tea. No, the blond/brunet figure by the fire using the cast iron skillet was Robin.
The smells from the fire slowly convinced her to sit up.
Robin looked back at her with a smile, “Good morning, Cress.” His eyes were so much brighter when he was in control.
“Good morning to you, too, Robin.” She walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. She grinned and hummed as a slight blush crept up his cheeks. “What are you making?”
“Omelets! The previous folks left a couple of chickens behind,” he said, gesturing outside, “And then I found their garden with lots of nice vegetables and herbs. Too nice to just leave to the rabbits and chickens, you know? They don’t appreciate it like we do.”
She chuckled at his tangent. “That’s certainly true.”
“Figured if we got to wait here for the others, we might as well have a nice breakfast.”
Cressida glanced at the empty beds. She raised an eyebrow. “And where exactly has Happen gone off to?”
Robin expertly flipped both omelets. His talents had been wasted on a spit-turn. “T’ look for Willowfine and Lug. He figured they must’ve followed the river north after we got separated.” After another moment, he slid them each easily into waiting plates. “He didn’t even want to wait for breakfast. Said Cadence would provide him food if she blessed him today.”
“More for us then, Robin,” Cressida said, her place at the table where two place settings were made up in Gallayafalt fashion.
Breakfast passed easily. The omelets were denser than she would like, given the lack of butter or milk, but still leagues better than most food she had had since leaving her city. Carrots and onion had been lightly roasted and basil and spring onion sprinkled on top. Robin must have made use of the salt and pepper he kept in his bag.
It was almost like being back home, but the water still warm from being boiled for safety instead of freshly squeezed juice brought her back to the present.
After breakfast, Robin decided to make use of local resources and collect the rest of the ripe vegetables from the garden. Cressida made herself comfortable in the rocking chair between the fire and window with her spellbook for some light reading.
The light from the window slowly became dimmer as the overcast sky darkened.
A few minutes later, Robin returned with a basket of produce and a pained look on his face.
Cressida frowned. “Are you alright, Robin?”
“It feels like it’s going to rain,” he said. He spoke like it hurt his rib bones to move.
Not a moment later, raindrops began to echo on the roof.
Cressida grimaced. She’d seen Robin twice before when it rained. A deep pain settled into his bones and didn’t let up until the rain ended. Willowfine said there was nothing to be done about it. It was incurable as her ram horns and scarred hand.
“You should lie down,” she said. “You can have my bed. The other two surely have bedbugs.”
Robin gave her a bright smile. His eyes lit up with genuine warmth. Her heart quickened at the sight. “Thank you, Cress.”
He curled the bed, pulling the threadbare blankets tightly around him.
Cressida tried her hardest to focus on her spellbook. She had several spells she wanted to familiarize herself with and she finally had the downtime to focus. But it was hard to focus with her friend suffering next to her and knowing any healing spell she tried was pointless. She absentmindedly traced the scar on the back of her hand.
Thunder crashed in the distance and the rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour. She pulled her cloak tighter around her as the wind rattled the walls.
Robin curled up tighter in a fetal position, a groan escaping his lips.
Cressida ran her fingers along the clasp of her cloak. Inspiration struck her.
She stood up in one fluid moment and pulled off her cloak. Bundling it up, she casted Prestidigitation on it. The fur-lined cloak began to give off a gentle warmth.
Robin had eyes shut and his face turned to the pillow. A shaky breath rattled his chest.
She draped the warming cloak over Robin.
Robin cracked an eye open, “…Cress?”
“My father’s hands would hurt when it rained. He told me once that heat helped to soothe his aches,” Cressida said quietly, tucking it around him. “The effect should last for an hour. The rain should stop by then.”
Robin grinned as the warmth enveloped him. “Hmm, it feels nice.”
Cressida turned back to her chair. Robin called out, “Do… do you want to join me?”
She turned on her heel and looked at him.
“It’s plenty warm. There’s room for both of us?”
Both of his eyes were open, but he was staring at his hands grasping the cloak. ”Unless you don’t want t’. That’s fine, too. I, I just thought I’d offer… or we can forget said that. That’s fine too.”
Cressida hesitated for a moment.
Robin was not her type. Her type was rich, sophisticated, and well-educated. Her type was introduced to her by her parents with joint accounts already made that Cressida never paid into. Her type was snooty, sneaky, and dishonest. Her type was the kind that would probably murder her in her sleep to take control of Blackwater Banking. Her type would have likely died trying to make their way on foot to the Folkmoot alone.
Robin was not her type. Robin was a poor peasant with a rudimentary education that unlikely consisted of much beyond basic literacy and arithmetic. He was the kind of person not even her servants would be seen with. He was kind, genuine, and honest. He wouldn’t dream of trying to take Blackwater Banking from her because he had no desire nor the knowledge to run a bank. He had the knowledge, skills, and perseverance to travel all the way from his home village in Wenlocke to the Folkmoot alone.
Maybe… maybe Robin was better than her old type. Maybe. Just a little.
Cressida bit her lip and then ordered, “Move over.”
With a groan, Robin managed to scooch over to one side of the bed. Cressida climbed in next to him and situated the warming cloak over them both.
Cressida fluffed and pushed on her pillow until she would lay comfortably without her horns in the way. They laid face to face.
“Hi, Cress.”
“Hello, Robin.”
“Thank you for the cloak.”
“Thank you for inviting me to join you.”
Lightning lit up the room. Long shadows covered the floor for only a moment. Robin closed his eyes.
“It’s unfortunate more can’t be done,” Cressida whispered.
“It’s more than most have done for me,” whispered back Robin.
They laid in silence with only their breaths, the hearth, and the storm to listen to.
“Cress?”
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me what your home is like? Mettonglay?”
“Well,” she started, “It’s… it’s beautiful. Mettonglay is built on the side of a waterfall. At the bottom is the harbor and at the top are the wealthiest residents of the city and the aristocracy. The lord governor lives at the highest point, of course.”
Robin nodded sleepily.
Cressida studied the lines in his face. He had a boyish charm to him. There was a faint scar on his cheekbone. His eyes were dark from his body’s lack of sleep. She hummed, “There’s a bakery down the street from my family home. They make the most exquisite pastries. You have not lived until you have tried one of their croissants with a latte, Robin.”
“Hmm… I don’t know what a latte is, but one time, when I was a boy, the head baker let me have an extra brioche roll. A croissant sounds really nice.”
Cressida nodded. “They are divine. Though when I was a girl, my favorite thing to get was a honey bun. Now they are too sweet for me to eat alone.” She swallowed. “Maybe, once the magic is fixed, you can come with me.”
Robin opened his eyes. “You mean that, Cress?”
“I do.” Cressida nodded.
He laid his head back down and closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. “I’d like that, Cress. Very much.”
Cressida closed her own eyes. “It’s a plan then. When I’ve gotten rid of these horns and my hand mark, you've healed your bone pain, and Morven has a new body, we'll get croissants and honey buns.”
—
The light of a sunny evening was cascading through the window when Cressida woke up from her nap to see Morven staring back at her.
She sighed. “Hello, Morven.”
Cressida did not give her a moment to say anything before she got out of bed.
She smoothed her dress and checked her hair in the dusty mirror by the door. Her hair was a mess from their midday nap. She retrieved her jeweled hairbrush from her satchel.
The sorceress raised an eyebrow. “You and him? Really?”
Cressida shot her a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Morven gestured to her body and then at Cressida’s. She had already clasped the top buttons. “I don’t see what has to be said. You’re a Blackwater and he’s a commoner.”
“Yes, Morven, those are both facts. Did you only learn those recently or were you stating the obvious?”
“What I mean is,” she shrugged, leaning against the wall, “he is beneath you. We both know it.”
Cressida put her brush down and considered tying her hair in a braid. If Robin hadn’t fallen asleep, he would have happily done it for her.
“By social and economic standards, yes,” Cressida agreed with a hum. “But I am above most people in that regard. I am above you, too, Morven.“ She watched in the mirror as the sorceress became more agitated.
Morven held up her hands in a placating way. “I am merely trying to say that you do not have to humor him. Surely one of your spells is strongest to knock him out so I can take control,” Morven said.
Deciding on a crown braid, Cressida said, “I rather enjoy having him around. His genuine nature is refreshing. He even makes you seem more tolerable, Morven. You would be absolutely insufferable without Robin to give us all a break.”
Morven rolled her eyes. “You are seriously considering it, aren’t you?”
Cressida didn’t hesitate. “I am. Once I know what I want, I go and get it. Do you know what you want, Morven?”
“I want my own body,” she answered. “Not that I don’t enjoy having a front-row seat to this budding romance, but a second or third row would be better.”
“There are several archmages in Mettongsay as well as the spare necromancer. Surely one of them will be able to help fix your issue once this has all been resolved.” Cressida tied her braid securely with a piece of ribbon.
Morven hummed. “You can tell him to go away at any time and he’ll do it, you know.”
“I could do anything at any time.” Cressida raised an eyebrow. “So could you.”
Morven glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said, taking a seat on the table and picking up her book. “Just that if I have to watch you make doe eyes at Willowfine for much longer I will vomit.”
“I do no such thing,” she pouted. “Any notion that I have feelings for Willowfine is absurd.”
Cressida laughed. “Ha! I am not blind, Morven. I am not saying you should do as Happen and Lug do and go on a ‘hunt’ with her before breakfast” - a blush rapidly spread over Morven’s face and up her ears -“but something would be better than this nothing you have going on.”
The sorceress turned away. She tossed her legs off the bed and stood up in one swift motion. “I am going to collect some water,” she said tensely.
Cressida smiled like a Cheshire cat, knowing she had won, as Morven left. She leaned back in her chair and flipped to where she left on in her book.