Page 39 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

With a belly full of steamed fish and the strength of my familiar, I was able to navigate us through the marsh even after sundown.

Fireflies as big as my thumbs rose from reeds with meteor-like flashes of yellow-green light, and the night was suddenly not so dark.

There were smaller woolly aphids that glowed white and the palest blue, wafting on the wind like dandelion fluff.

As the night deepened, the others readied themselves for sleep.

Shari had proven apt at keeping the little fire alive that I’d conjured in the skillet to cook our fish, seemingly through a series of encouraging coos and dried twigs.

Without her to tend it, the fire had snuffed out immediately.

The Crafting Circle ladies now spooned together for warmth at the bottom of the boat and Kian slept upright on his bench with Fiachna hidden in his overcoat.

I’d released him from his bonds after Thistle had verbally promised not to harass him, but the vines had returned now to keep him from slumping overboard as he slept.

Tha Dòchas Ann glided through the water as soundlessly as a leaf.

We passed browsing deer and night herons, drowsy ducks and blue-spotted salamanders as large as alligators.

Perched on Violet’s figurehead, Thistle oftentimes turned her luminous gaze to the water beside us and snarled.

Whatever lurked in the dark water left us alone, and the shiver in my spine told me not to investigate further with my sparkle vision.

All the while, Sawyer reclined in my lap and fed me his magic while he chatted a mile a minute through our bond so as not to disturb our sleeping friends.

I’d managed to squeeze in a quick explanation about the whereabouts of Emmett and Cody, as well as what had happened at The Happy Hound, but that was it.

Afterwards it was all “Thistle this” and “Thistle that” and “Did you know…?” The tabby tomcat droned on and on like an audiobook caught on a loop.

If it weren’t for the sparkle in Sawyer’s eyes, I would’ve thought him just rattling off a report.

Thistle had indeed been stalking us since the Court of Beasts—she’d thought him a rare breed of faelene who’d been taken captive.

An incredibly rare and bold breed, because no one had ever dared eat draigflies before.

Did I know insects made up the majority of a faelene’s diet, not small mammals and fish?

And that faelene were not-so-distant relatives of felines?

The legends conflicted whether it was a feline who’d slipped through a rift between the realms and had adapted to Elfame, or the other way around.

There was also another less popular theory that Elfame and Earth were once whole and an ancient magic had ripped them apart, which explained why fae and humans had similar (and compatible) anatomy, as well as faelenes and felines and many other creatures.

While faelenes would never humble themselves to worship anything, the closest thing they had to a deity was Pangur Bán, the Hunter.

He was a flawless white faelene, the only one of his kind, and said to be the goddess Eru’s best friend.

Faelenes possessed no magic other than what was necessary to absorb their wings, as Thistle did, or become massive shadowcats, as Onyx did.

“He’s an absolute butthead, Meadow. Worse than Grumpy ever was.”

And that was saying something. Sawyer hadn’t liked the werewolf one bit initially, mainly because he was a canine. Though, Lewellyn Chase’s personality had left something to be desired, hence his nickname.

“Is it true what Callan and Kian think about the faelene? That Thistle could help us with the Blight?” I asked.

Sawyer lashed his tail from side to side; apparently this was a sore subject between him and Thistle. “She won’t say either way. Not even if she’s actually capable of helping.”

“How very much like a cat, keeping all the secret tidbits to herself.”

That earned me a flat look and a prick of Sawyer’s claws.

“Does she at least know where the Court of Shoals is? Kian’s been stingy with the details.”

“ Every faelene knows.” Sawyer shuddered. “Meadow, the things they told me about the Blight… Are you sure there’s no other way?”

“There’s no other way now,” was the only reply I could give him.

Sawyer minced in place, all four paws kneading my lap as if he was trying to memorize the feel of me. In case, in the very near future, he wouldn’t be able to.

Trepidation sprouted in my stomach like horse nettle, full of thorns and spines. And like horse nettle, it was tough to eradicate. Holding the tiller with one hand, I dropped the other to Sawyer’s side and found comfort stroking him.

Thistle’s ears twitched, catching the sound of cuddles that did not involve her.

In the few hours of joining our party, she’d become quite insistent Sawyer share Cuddle Time with Meadow.

She would hear nothing about receiving cuddles from Shari or anyone else, for that matter.

Sawyer had apparently hyped up Cuddle Time with Meadow as the best of the best and anyone else was (by default) subpar, if not downright abysmal.

You could not convince her otherwise, and no one tried after that first time when her wings had erupted from her body in a fearsome black halo and her fangs had doubled in size.

“I’ll allow it this time,” she hissed at us, suspecting a secret cuddle alliance that excluded her, “since you, Sawyer, are incapable of deterring merrow on your own.”

Thistle thorns! That’s what was hiding in the water below us? Merrow weren’t the peaceful merfolk of most modern tales. They were all sleek, seductive predator.

Sawyer’s ears flattened.

“That didn’t seem very nice,” I said, keeping even my bond voice low just in case she could hear it. Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past her. “Do I need to step in?”

“She can be prickly. But only when she suspects offense is being given. She doesn’t understand our bond yet. They don’t have that with the fae. It makes me sad for her.”

Said the cat who had resisted bonding me for months. I didn’t say anything. I smiled instead.

Sawyer’s magic supply wasn’t endless, and neither was the steamed fish dinner, but I managed to find the energy to keep going through the night.

Thistle was the only one who managed to maintain vigil with me, protecting us from unseen threats by her mere presence.

In the morning, the rest of our party woke as the gliding boat came to a gentle stop at the birthplace of the tributary.

Free of the Marsh Court, the wind that greeted us was spiced lightly with the scents of rugosa roses and salt from the ocean. Before us stretched an endless, gently undulating track of yellow bird’s-foot trefoil and the dawn of the seventh day.

Seven days. How were we ever going to get back to the portal in time?

I shoved the debilitating thought from my head. I did not have time to waste on such crippling worries. Time was literally of the essence.

“And for your next magical trick,” Flora said, “can you turn this boat into a carriage? There’s no way you’re walking to the Court of Shoals with you swaying that badly on your feet, Misty.”

“I am not,” I protested, doing exactly that. By the Green Mother, I could sleep for a week.

Inside, the brilliance of my magic oak tree had dimmed quite a bit.

It was steadily recharging, though I couldn’t say the same about my body.

My endurance had increased, true, but even I had to sleep sometime.

Preferably without all those nightmares.

In my arms, Sawyer was limp and snoring lightly after a night of supplementing my magic with his own.

“But what would pull it?” Kian asked. “More of those grassland creations you made in the Summerland Prairies?”

“They’re helpers, not haulers,” I murmured. “I don’t think I have the strength to make them strong enough to pull a carriage.”

“What about them?” With one hand shading her eyes, Daphne raised her other to point into the rays of the dawn light.

White horses with silken manes that flowed nearly to their hooves had appeared over the rise, cropping trefoil flowers.

“Those are Manann mares,” Kian breathed, fumbling for his notebook and a quill.

“Like all horses, they’ve never been tamed or ridden.

They’re said to have been birthed from sea-foam and can run across water as easily as they can land.

The herds are sacred to Elfame, and to the Court of Tides especially. ”

“They sound extraordinary. Yoo-hoo!” Daphne walked off towards the white horses.

Each horse jerked up from their browsing, flowers disappearing past velvety lips as ears pricked forward.

“How perfectly stupid of her,” Thistle commented. “Though I suppose you don’t have fairy horses in your realm.”

“I swear, she tames one baby dragonet and a flock of hummingbirds and now she thinks she’s Saint Francis,” Flora grumbled.

“She was turned into a white mare,” Shari pointed out. “Maybe she has more in common with them than you think.”

“What I think that she’s gonna get herself trampled.” Flora cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Back off while you still have a chance!”

“The tiny one understands,” the faelene said with a nod.

Daphne flapped her hand behind her, shushing the garden gnome, and we watched tensely as the older woman approached the wild horses. I felt Flora’s magic rise and did the same, preparing for the worse. Not that I had much juice left in me for anything but a weak hit.

“Mare,” I called warningly. “Just leave them alone.”

“The leader says her name is Enbarra. She’d like to see you. Come on!”

“I don’t believe it,” Kian muttered. Shaking his head, he put ink to parchment and captured this exchange in his notebook.