A Mischievous Tale of Magical Mayhem

2 | Misdirection and Dark Dreams

The party traveled for several hours into the night with no encounters—creatures, humanoids, or otherwise—but the fog grew denser as darkness encompassed everything. When the rain started and reduced visibility beyond two feet ahead of the horse, Tallon guided Starlight off the trail.

If there was a cave nearby or cover from the rocky overhangs, Tallon didn't find any. The best he could do was park the wagon close to a curve in the cliff to their right, which sheltered them from the icy wind.

Attaching a small bag of feed to Starlight's harness, Tallon tied her reins to the side of the cart closest to the cliff face before checking the canvas stretched over their vehicle. Leaks dripped mostly along the sides, so as long as the group slept in the middle, they wouldn't get too wet.

Maisie helped spread the bedrolls along the length of the wagon bed, but there was only room for two. Being the tallest of the trio, Tallon opted to rest outside, assuring Maisie and Ben he'd be fine with Starlight.

"I have warm travel gear," he explained, drawing his hood over his head. "I also have resistance to severe elements, so the rain is merely an inconvenience."

Maisie didn't appear convinced, and Ben frowned.

Tallon secretly worried his magic might fail—something about that malevolent presence hampered his ability to cast spells effectively—but when he removed Starlight's feed and constructed an elemental barrier, it held. He had to focus harder than usual, noting he felt more drained than he should, but the rain bounced harmlessly off the shield and wagon canvas.

Once again, exhaustion weighed him down. Likely, his condition had been brought on by days of uncomfortable travel at sea. A good night's sleep would make him right as rain.

When Starlight knelt onto the ground, Tallon took his time brushing her before placing a warm blanket over her back and leaning against her side. Slipping into his bedroll and using the cloak he'd given Ben that first night at the Tularul Inn, Tallon closed his eyes.

Ben's perfume still lingered in the fabric, making Tallon grin. Though the faeling couldn't understand his own appeal, the half-elf rested comfortably with fantasies of the man sleeping in the cart, wondering how it would feel to hold him as they drifted off together. Tallon couldn't fully comprehend Ben's reluctance to kiss him—especially after he'd obliged twice—and sighed. Ben had every right to change his mind, and given how he'd avoided Tallon lately, the latter could only speculate the reason was their last night in Grenlow Harbor.

Ben would be wise to steer clear; chaos followed Tallon everywhere he went. 'Twas best for Ben to settle down with a man who could stay out of trouble and not put his foot in his mouth every two seconds.

Shelving the pleasant fantasies, Tallon hugged himself as he tried not to inhale Ben's scent.

Beneath the wagon's canvas roof, Ben lay awake, listening to the drumming rain. Tallon had said he was fine, and Ben had no reason to doubt him, but he couldn't help wondering if the elf was warm—or comfortable at all out there in the cold.

He was snug enough, himself, with Maisie tucked against his side, snoring softly, and Scamp curled up like a little puffball in the crook between his shoulder and jaw. He wasn't sure if Sprout slept, precisely, but the strange creature had wrapped itself in his curls like a grub in a cocoon and gone still.

While his companions slumbered, though, sleep eluded Ben. Thoughts circled his mind like the flocks of seagulls he'd seen the few times he'd ventured above deck during their voyage, wheeling constantly in search of any scrap of food.

He thought of the Tularul, and of Brixby and Nessa, who were the closest things to parents he'd known. He thought of his birth mother, whose brooch he carried in his pack, and whose name he would likely never know. He thought of Tallon, and of the way the elf made his heart flutter like a bird every time he got close.