Chapter 9

Amriel rocked back on her heels, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. The events of the past few days tumbled through her mind.

First, the tomb—its secrets carved in a language dead for over five thousand years— suddenly revealing it's ancient prophecy.

Then, the Khasta Vhar. A plant she had only ever read about in timeworn texts. Black leaves veined in crimson, found only where angels fell. And now…

This.

A wounded stranger sleeping on her cottage floor.

A man who gave her no sense of magical presence, but had been shot with not one but two enchanted arrows and was now healing at an unnatural rate.

None of this made sense. Coincidence was a luxury she no longer believed in.

A chill crept up her spine, raising the fine hairs on her arms.

"What in all the hells," she whispered once more, her voice lost beneath the crackle of the fire.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Simon.

She needed Simon.

Amriel stood abruptly and shrugged on her light wool coat, cinching her belt tightly around her waist. Her fingers found the hilt of her blade, sliding it back into its sheath with a quiet rasp. One last glance at the stranger, then she turned and stepped into the dawn.

Meeko slinked ahead, his dark form disappearing into the mist-draped grass.

The path to Simon's house was well-worn, one she had taken more times than she could count. Even in the dim morning light, her feet knew every dip, every rise in the earth. The cold air bit at her skin as she moved, wind threading its fingers through her unbound hair, whipping strands against her cheeks.

Simon's home came into view, modest and sturdy, nestled against the field's edge in a small cluster of similar sized buildings. The scent of hearthfire drifted through the air.

Amriel rapped against the oaken door—perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"Simon, the door!" the sound of Niamh's voice carried through the walls followed by heavy footsteps, then the familiar creak of wood as the door swung open.

Simon blinked at her, his dark eyes sharp with curiosity, though the slight arch of his brows suggested she might look worse for wear.

"Ah, good morning," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. "To what do I owe the honor of your early morning disturbance?"

Simon's gaze flickered over her, taking in the disheveled hair, the tense set of her shoulders.

"How wild do I look?" she asked, running a self-conscious hand through her tangled locks. But even as the words left her lips, she realized she didn't actually care.

Simon chuckled, shaking his head as if reading her thoughts. "It's not the first time I've seen you like this, Riel. And I doubt it will be the last. What trouble have you stumbled into this time?"

Before she could answer, a familiar voice called from within.

"Simon, who is it?"

"It's just me, Niamh!" Amriel called back, craning her neck to peer around Simon's solid frame.

At the hearth, Niamh turned, her face breaking into a warm, easy smile. The glow of the fire made her dark red hair shimmer, and even from the doorway, Amriel could smell whatever she was stirring in the pot and it smelled absolutely delicious. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of its existence.

"Amriel!" Niamh's delight was unmistakable. "Good morning! Come in, you must be cold. Have you eaten? Stay for breakfast."

Simon sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance but stepped aside all the same and welcomed her inside their home.

Inside, the house was alive with quiet morning bustle. Three year old twins, Ave and Chloe, sat at the ash-wood table, dressed and ready for the day, their small faces alight with curiosity.

The scent of boiled oats and warm bread curled around Amriel, pulling at something deep and tired in her bones.

She wanted to say yes.

Instead, responsibility gnawed at her ribs.

"I'd love to stay, Niamh, but I have a bit of a situation back at the cottage." Amriel kept her voice light, but the words tasted uneasy in her mouth. "I need Simon's help for a moment. Can I borrow him?"

At the table, Ava and Chloe—tiny echoes of their father—burst into a fit of giggles. Their dark curls, neatly braided by their mother's patient hands, bounced around their cherubic faces with each delighted squeal. Big brown eyes, identical to Simon's, sparkled with mischief.

Niamh often joked that if she hadn't carried them herself, she might have wondered if she belonged in her own family. With her pale skin and dark red hair, she was as northern as the mountain winds that had shaped her childhood.

"Of course," Niamh said, already moving toward the hearth. "I'll pack his breakfast to go."

"I'm right here, you know," Simon drawled, pausing mid-boot tie. His dark eyes glinted with humor, but a flicker of curiosity crossed his face when Niamh's expression shifted.

"Are you alright, Riel?" she asked, brow knitting together. "You look a bit pale. Does this have to do with whatever was bothering you yesterday?"

Amriel hesitated.

Technically, yes. The tome, the prophecy, the Khasta Vhar—it all tangled together in the mess she hadn't yet sorted in her own mind. And now the man in her cottage, the way none of it made sense…

She wasn't ready to unravel that knot just yet.

"Yeah," she admitted, exhaling slowly. "A little."

Simon straightened, his boots forgotten. "What happened yesterday?"

There it was—the quiet concern in his voice, the same steady presence that had stood beside her since childhood. He would listen if she told him. He always had.

But the words felt too heavy to say out loud, not yet.

Niamh seemed to understand, reading the tension in Amriel's face the way only someone who had known her for years could. She nodded once.

"In that case, let me pack some food for you, too," she said simply.

"Thank you." The gratitude was genuine, even if the forced smile wasn't. "I'd really appreciate it. I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Simon scoffed, slipping his boots on properly this time. "And you wonder why you look pale."

Amriel ignored him. "I won't keep him long. Just need some brute force."

Simon let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm right here," he reminded them, though his smirk softened the complaint.

Niamh shot him a grin. "Ah, well, brute force he has plenty of. Just don't ask him to roast a chicken. That's where things fall apart."

Simon pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know, that damned chicken refused to cook properly. I was as much a victim as you."

Niamh laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the wooden bowls stacked neatly on the shelf. "Just promise me you'll get him to work on time." she said, ladling steaming oats into each dish. "I know how it can get when you two get into one of your projects."

The rich scent of honey and clotted cream filled the kitchen, and Amriel's stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.

She hadn't even realized how empty she felt until now.

Her thoughts had been too full.

"I promise," Amriel said, taking the food as Niamh passed it to her. "Shouldn't take long."

"Still here, ladies. Still here," Simon chuckled and shrugged on his coat.

He pressed a quick, loving kiss to the middle of Niamh's upturned brow before ruffling his daughters' hair. They squealed in protest, swatting at his hands, but their laughter followed him as he moved toward the door.

Amriel, food in hand, followed him to the door. When he pulled it open, a gust of fresh morning air rushed in.

Simon stepped aside, sweeping an arm toward the door with an exaggerated flourish. "After you."

She hesitated for half a second.

Then, with a deep breath, she stepped out into the cold.

"Alright, Riel," he said, voice low, steady, finally breaking the silence that hung in the air between them. "Who is he?"

The stanger continued to sleep as the two friends stood nearby and ate their breakfasts while it was still lukewarm. The wind had stolen much of its heat on the walk over.

Amriel swallowed a spoonful of oats and exhaled. "I don't know," she admitted finally, rolling her shoulders. "I was hoping you might recognize him."

"Nope, never seen him before," Simon said, taking a bite of his boiled oats and casting a glance at the man. "Looks like you really took in a stray this time."

The corner of her mouth lifted despite herself, though the tight knot of unease in her chest refused to loosen.

"He wasn't exactly part of the plan," she murmured, poking at the last bits of honey in her bowl. "But here we are."

"Do you think he's dangerous?" Simon asked, his expression turning serious. "Is he a magic wielder?"

She shook her head almost instantly. That much, at least, she was sure of. "No. Not a magic wielder." Her gaze drifted back to the stranger, to the steady rise and fall of his chest. "But beyond that? I don't know. I just know he needs help."

"Fair enough. Just keep your wits about you." Simon nodded, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

She smirked. "Do I ever do otherwise?"

He shot her a look.

With no siblings of her own, Amriel had always imagined this was what having an older brother might feel like—someone to challenge her, to tease her, but also to stand beside her when things got complicated.

Despite Amriel and Simon's presence in the cottage, the man continued to slumber undisturbed. Only twitching lightly in his dreams.

The two of them stood there for a while, eating in quiet companionship, eyes flicking now and then toward the man stretched out on the floor.

After several spoonfuls, Simon let out a sigh, setting his empty bowl on the nearby table with a soft thud. "So," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I take it this is the heavy thing you need moved?"

Amriel swallowed her last bite and wiped her hands on the front of her rough wool pants. "Yup," she said, nodding toward the small cot tucked into the far corner. "I just want to get him off the cold floor. I was thinking we could move that over here, in front of the fire, and lift him onto it."

Simon followed her gaze, frowning. "And where exactly will you be sleeping, Riel?"

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. "No, you know what? Don't even answer that, because the answer is at our house."

Amriel's lips pressed together. She understood Simon's perspective, but she couldn't leave her unconscious patient alone all night.

"No, I'm sorry Simon, but I'm not leaving him." Amriel said with a firm shake of her head, and her expression left no room to argue with. Her mind was made up.

He turned to face her fully now, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I'll help you move the cot and get him settled, but you are not spending another night here alone with him. I'm staying."

Amriel opened her mouth to half heartedly object, but her jaw snapped shut in defeat, "Fine." She agreed, if a little begrudgingly.

"Good," Simon said with a sharp nod. "Nimah will understand. But we will have dinner over there."

Amriel shook her head, but a small smile found its way onto her face.

"Thank you," she said quietly, meaning it.

He nodded once, then clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's get to it then. He's not going to lift himself."

With that, they got to work.