Monthly Archives: December 2024

December 10, 2024

This entry is part 1 of 9 in the Dear Reader

Set in current GH. No major changes to canvas.

Written in 60 minutes.

This will be the “Dear Reader” entry for my Taylor Swift collection. One of my favorite songs from Midnights.

Dear reader
If it feels like a trap, you’re already in one

November 2024

It was an unseasonably warm day in upstate New York with temperatures nearing the upper fifties, and most of the crowd milling around the Quartermaine family estate had spilled outside the great house onto the back patio and could be found winding in and around the sprawl of gardens that lined the back of the estate.

Lila Quartermaine had been famous for her rose gardens, and her daughter Tracy had terrorized more than one gardener for not perfectly maintaining the prize-winning flowers. Wandering the gardens had always brought Elizabeth Webber a great deal of comfort, even now, twenty years after the matriarch had passed away.

She’d been coming to the Quartermaine estate since she’d moved here as a teenager. First as Emily’s best friend, and then as the mother of a Quartermaine grandchild. Today, however, she’d returned not as friend or family, but —

Well, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing here.

Once, she would have danced with joy over the grave of Sam McCall, the architect of so many of Elizabeth’s misery as a younger woman. Elizabeth hadn’t started the war between them but it had certainly continued too long. Sam wasn’t quite the woman she’d been then — but neither was Elizabeth. They were reluctant co-parents, raising a pair of boys who adored each other.  And while Elizabeth and Sam had never quite managed to become friends, they were mothers first.

She emerged from the gardens, wondering if she’d stayed long enough, and if it was time to grab Aiden and go home. She searched the crowd for her youngest son, her eyes stopping when she saw Drew turn away from whomever he’d been speaking with, the fading afternoon light catching the edge of the cut beneath his eye, highlighting the bruise on his cheek.

She made a face, wondering who Drew had made angry enough to punch, but then caught sight of another familiar face glaring malevolently in Drew’s direction — Jason. He was standing by the back door, a bottle of beer in his hand, Carly by his side, and glaring at his brother with a look she’d only seen reflected back at men he truly loathed.

Elizabeth chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity warring with better sense. It was none of her business, she reminded herself. Drew was a ghost in the past, one who hardly seemed like the man she’d known once, and Jason was a friend who had his own life and didn’t need one more person charging in and demanding answers. He already had Carly filling that role.

Just as she’d convinced herself to mind her own business, Michael passed her, trudging towards the front of the house. “Hey. Hey.” He drew up, frowning slightly. “I didn’t know you came back to the house. I’m sorry. I usually—” He pulled a hand through his blonde hair. “How are you? How’s Jake? I haven’t…I’m sorry, I haven’t caught up with anyone in a while.”

“You have two kids and a full-time job,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Jake’s good. He was hoping to get back here for this—” She winced. “That sounds strange. Not that he wanted to be here, but he—for Danny and for Scout.”

“Yeah, sure. I get you. Couldn’t he get a flight? You should have said something.” He fell into step with her and they started to walk up towards the house. “You know I could have made arrangements.”

“No, it’s —”

“I mean that. No point in having power and money if you can’t use it. I can make a call, have a jet there tonight—” Michael reached inside his pocket. “Let me set it up—”

Elizabeth stopped him. “No, it’s—I appreciate that. He had a project he needed to be on campus. He caught a flight this morning. He won’t be here long, but he couldn’t stand being away. But I appreciate that.” She squeezed his hand. “How are you? I know you and Sam were close.”

“Not as close as we used to be.” Something flitted across his expression, a twist of bitterness. “It feels like I’ve lost touch with so many people. You, Jake, Sam, Danny, even my own sister.”

“Two young children, a wife who was ill, a demanding job—” She squeezed his shoulder. “Give yourself a break, okay? I remember when Cam and Jake were young, and I wasn’t sure what my own name was half the time. How are the kids?”

The first genuine smile spread across Michael’s face. “Amazing. Amelia’s getting so big, and Wiley—he’s just incredible. He’s so smart and he’s doing great at school. You should come to dinner. You and Aiden. We should have you over.”

“Sure. Maybe while Jake’s in town.” Elizabeth caught sight of Jason out of the corner of her eye again — and she wasn’t imagining it. He and Carly passed Drew and the men exchanged glances of loathing. At Drew’s side, Nina sent Jason her own fulminating stare, then made a show of pulling Drew away to face her. “Okay, I can’t stop myself. What’s going on with Jason and Drew? Is it something I can help with or—”

“It’s nothing—well, it’s not nothing. I don’t want to lie to you, so don’t ask me,” Michael told her, and she sighed. “They got into a fight. Jason probably shouldn’t have done it, but Drew deserved it. I wish it had been me—” he stopped. “Never mind. Listen, call me when Jake gets into town. We should do something. I mean that. All of us. Family’s important, and I need to remember who’s always been there for me.” He squeezed her hand, then disappeared into the crowd.

Elizabeth watched him troubled, then looked back at the brothers. “None of your business,” she muttered. “None of your business. Just stay out of it.”

—

Jason hated people. Individually, collectively, and whole-heartedly. The only time he ever wanted to be surrounded by people was in a bar and when he was looking for a fight.

But he’d already started one fight on the Quartermaine estate this month, and he wasn’t about to make another scene even when Nina Reeves was sending him dirty looks as if Jason had decked her and not the giant asshole next to her—

“If you keep glaring at him that way,” Carly hissed from his side, “it’s going to be impossible to have any plausible deniability. Everyone is going to know you put those bruises on his face—”

“Let them.” Jason brought the bottle of beer to his lips, took a long pull. “He deserved every mark.” More.

Carly narrowed her eyes. “You really think he won’t press charges—”

“I know he won’t.” He took a deep breath. “Carly—”

“No, don’t keep telling me to stay out of it. I’m right in the middle, okay? Because Drew is my ex whatever and you’re my best friend, and—”

“Carly—” Jason set the bottle of beer down, and took her by the shoulder. “The last time you tried to get in the middle of things, what happened?”

She glowered. “Are you going to throw that in my face for the rest of my life? Because it’s not fair. I didn’t ask you to cover for me, and I got myself out of that without your help—”

“You got out of that because Jack Brennan decided he wanted leverage over you. He made that recording disappear, it could come back. So you stay out of trouble and stay out of this with Drew—”

“I just want to know what he did that made you pound him into the ground at the Quartermaines of all places! With the kids just upstairs—”

Jason winced, then rubbed his forehead. “Carly.” The last thing he wanted to think about was Danny and Scout being upstairs while he’d beat the living shit out of Drew. Because then he’d think about where Danny and Scout had been the night Drew had slept with Michael’s wife, and he’d get furious all over again.  At Drew for being such a scumbag, at Willow for doing it, at Michael for involving him —

And at himself for not following his number one rule — the one rule he’d tried to implement since returning to Port Charles six months earlier.

To mind his business and stay out of everyone else’s.

“I’m done having this conversation, Carly,” Jason told Carly, interrupting whatever she’d been saying that he hadn’t been listening to in the first place. He picked up his beer, and walked away, leaving her in mid-rant.

—

Danny Morgan didn’t much care for people either, especially ones that he didn’t know coming up to him and telling him how sorry they were for him.

What a tragedy.

How lucky your little sister is to have her big brother to take care of her.

At least your mother died doing something heroic.

You should be so proud of her.

If one more person told him to be grateful for his mother’s last act of sacrifice, Danny was going to lose his freaking mind.

And because he figured if he started punching people, he might not stop, he left the house and went down to the boat house where it would be quiet.

He hopped onto the mossy stone ledge overlooking the pier and dangled his legs over the side,  digging his hands into the rock beneath his palms. Things would be better if his mom had been a raging bitch who’d refuse to help anyone, because then she’d be alive.

Instead, Sam had donated a piece of her liver, and was now lying in a box six feet beneath the ground, and the woman who she’d saved was still unconscious in a coma. What was the point of any of it?

He heard shoes squeaking, then thudding on the wooden planks behind him. If it was Rocco or Aiden trying to cheer him up, he might actually throw himself into the water, Danny thought, then looked back.

When he realized who was approaching, Danny scrambled to get back over the ledge. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, the tone almost harsh, the edges ragged.

His brother hesitated a few feet away. “I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I caught the first flight I could, but it’s okay if you’re pissed I didn’t get here earlier.”

“Not pissed—” Danny swallowed hard. “Not pissed. Just, um—” Had given up hoping. “I know you’re doing something important and you can’t just hop on a plane. But you’re here.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, man. I should have been here sooner. I’m sorry,” Jake said again, and came forward. He put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “But I caught an earlier flight. My mom doesn’t even know I’m here yet.”

“How’d you find me down here?”

“It’s where we always go when we don’t want to be around people. It’s either that or punch them.”

Danny grinned for the first time since Halloween, then the corners of his smile trembled slightly. “I don’t know how to do this. It’s…it’s not like Dad. Not just because he’s back, but—”

“It’s your mom,” Jake said. “You don’t have to explain, Danny. You don’t have to be anything. ” He drew his brother into a half-hearted hug. “Come on. Let’s go up to the house, and get something to eat. I’m starving. You can catch me up on what I’ve missed. Why does Uncle Drew have those bruises?”

—

Jason saw Elizabeth by the gardens, and started towards her, wondering if she had a few minutes. He wanted to talk to her about Danny, about what he wanted, and maybe she’d have a better suggestion to keep the kids together other than moving into the Quartermaines because that had to be the last resort, right?

Jason wouldn’t live here when his sister and grandmother was alive, now he was supposed to do it when the house was filled with Tracy and Drew?

No, there had to be a better way.

Before he could reach Elizabeth, Molly stepped into his view, and he paused. Sam’s youngest sister pale, her eyes rimmed with red, but her expression steady. “Hey. How are you?”

Her lips trembled, and she bit down, took a deep breath. “Thank you. For, um, asking. I’m okay—I—my mother was hoping to talk to you. If you didn’t mind.”

“Sure. Sure.” Jason wasn’t about to do anything that made this day harder for Alexis or Sam’s sisters. They’d been through enough, he thought, remembering that Molly and Kristina had buried a child only a few months earlier. Maybe Alexis had some ideas about how to handle things with Danny. Jason just really wanted to do what was best for his son —

He just didn’t know what that was — or trust that he could deliver it. What did he know about being a father?

Molly led him towards the house and the kitchen entrance. Jason grimaced when he realized that Alexis didn’t just want to speak to him—

Drew was already in the kitchen, his bruises even harsher under the bright kitchen light. “What are you doing here?” he wanted to know with a sour expression.

“I asked you both here,” Alexis said, and Jason ignored Drew, focused on his former mother-in-law. “I’m sorry to do this here, today. But we have to be practical. Some things can’t wait.”

“If this is about Sam’s will—”

“It is. Diane will be contacting you to do an official reading, but I’m the executor and I know the contacts.” Alexis folded her arms, lifted her chin. “Sam left custody of the children to you. Both of you,” she added. “Separately and jointly. If you hadn’t come home,” she told Jason, “Drew would get custody of both.”

Drew nodded. “I assumed it would be like that. I’ll do what I can to make this transition easy for everyone. Scout can wait to start school in DC until next year—”

“I’m hoping we can settle this out of court,” Alexis interrupted. “I think we should keep the arrangement the way it is now. Neither of you have primary custody, and Danny and Scout should stay together. So I’ll take them with me. Nothing will change for either of you, you’ll just visit them at a different house.”

December 5, 2024

Update Link: Masquerade – Part 10

Writing this post before I start the timer at 7, and I gotta tell you, I am running on fumes today. Just pure exhaustion. The only bright spot is that tomorrow is Friday, and I do everything in my power to make Fridays low-key for me and the students — catch up days, media days, etc. I really just need to sleep, and my humidifier kicked out on me last weekend so I have to get a new one for the bedroom. I have to shop around and get a good one — the one in my office is kind of crappy but I can live with it.

I did some housekeeping — the Flash Fiction & Recent Updates page are up to date, and I also cleaned up the Flash Fic widgets.

See you next Tuesday 🙂

This entry is part 48 of 48 in the Flash Fiction: Chain Reaction

Written in 60 minutes.

Rivulets of water streamed down his arms, his wrists, hitting the floor beneath his boots, and the wind still swirled at his back, flashes and rumbles illuminating the dark sky. For one long ridiculous minute, he stood in the open doorway, staring stupidly at Elizabeth in front of the fire.

Of course she’d want to be dry. Of course she’d shed the soggy, water laden garments until the final layer of thin white cloth was all that was left. It fell down in a straight line just below her knees, leaving her arm and upper chest mostly bare. Her hair was still soaked, laying in wet ropes on her shoulders.

She shifted, a bit uncomfortably, looked down at the fire, then back at him, and the small movement broke the moment. Jason shoved the door closed and tossed the saddle bags to the ground. He dragged his own soaked hair from his forehead, kept his eyes averted so that he wouldn’t accidentally focus on the way the illumination from the fire revealed the long lines of her legs beneath the thin fabric. “The horses are settled. You should—” He cleared his throat. “You should look in the other room. It’s probably the—there might be some—” He gestured, words failing him.

“If it’s a bedchamber, there might be some linens or extra blankets. I’m cold, too,” Elizabeth offered. She raised her arms to gather her hair at her nape, and twist it into one long mass that laid against her left shoulder. “I’ll go look. You should get dry—”

She hurried past him, the shift fluttering as she moved, and he exhaled slowly, reminding himself that she’d spent the majority of her time isolated on the Cassadine estate and in Shadwell. She’d likely never spent any length of time with a man, and wouldn’t think of what she looked like standing in front of a fireplace wearing next to nothing.

He only hoped he’d be able to forget.

Jason dug through his saddle bag for dry clothes, and mercifully when Elizabeth returned a few moments later, she had some blankets in her arms.

“We don’t have a great selection — I think some of these are musty, and —” She made a face, dropping them in front of the fire. “Moth eaten,” she finished, holding one up to the light. “But I think this one might do.”

“Here.” Jason shoved one of his dry shirts at her. “You, uh, look cold,” he muttered, when she blinked at him. “I’ll go change.”

—

Elizabeth watched Jason head for the other room, a bit mystified, but then looked at the fabric in her hands. It was a bit rough, and clearly mended in several places, but it had been well-made once, she thought, running her fingers over the fine stitching around the hem of the collar.

She slid her arms through the sleeves, and wrapped both ends around herself rather than buttoning it. Then she went to investigate the status of her saddlebags. It would probably be better to wear one of her dry gowns, but she was more concerned for the status of her herbs and candles. She slid their container from the bottom of her bag, exhaling with some relief that all had survived the storm intact.

“You travel with your own candles?”

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of his voice, and turned, pressing the candles against her chest. He’d changed into a dry shirt and pants, his wet garments in a pile by the doorway to the bed chamber. “You should hang those up to dry,” she said. She laid the candles down and hurried over to get his things.

When she returned to the table, laying out his wet clothes, she found him studying the candles. “They’re not for light,” she told him.

“I realize that now. The colors,” he added, setting them back down. He shoved the wool stockings she’d packed. “You ought to put these on before you lose a toe to frostbite.”

Elizabeth made a face, but realized he was probably right. Her feet had dried and were now quite chilled. She pulled out one of the remaining chairs, perched on the edge and slid the stockings on, one at a time, tugging until they were snug at mid-calf. She glanced up to find Jason watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rolled the green candle across the table. “What were you planning to do with this one?” he asked. “The only charms I know for green are curses.” He studied her with curiosity. “For Valentin?”

“For anyone who stood in my way.” She lifted her chin. “If you’d proved to be a problem, I’d have used it on you.” She snatched it away from him. “Is that something else your father told you about my family? Did he have nothing else better to do than to gossip and spread half-truths?”

Jason frowned, then cocked his head to the side. “Of course my father told me about the House of Nevoie. If you trained with him, you should have known, too. Why would your mother not tell you?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it, confused. “What does that mean?” There was a large clap of thunder, closer than the last rumble, and she jolted. “The storm is only getting worse,” she murmured. “Do you think it will pass soon?”

Jason went to the window, peered out, at what she couldn’t have guessed. It was nearly pitch dark, and all sense of time had been lost. Was it night or simply the darkness of the season?  “I don’t know.”

“How far are we from Wymoor? You’d wanted to travel through the night. Is it just a day away?”

“We’re at least three days out. If we’d traveled tonight, we could have cut some of that time.” Jason exhaled slowly. “If we’re delayed too long, Valentin will grow suspicious.”

She pressed her lips together, repacked her candles and herbs, offering nothing in comment. If he wanted to worry about disappointing the man who had kidnapped her, she wasn’t about to challenge him.

“He targets family, you said so yourself,” Jason said. Elizabeth looked up, found him studying her. “If he thinks I’ve betrayed him—and I have—he won’t hurt me. Not right away.”

“Your father—”

“He’s not my family,” Jason cut in. “I’m not going to turn you over to him, but it’s foolish to think we can both disappear without consequences.”

“You needn’t have come with me. You could have told him I escaped—”

“It’s what I’ll have to do. I have a job to complete,” Jason said. He returned to the window, peered through the glass panes. “Your would-be sister contracted me to kill Valentin. I don’t intend to change that now.”

“You said that before,” Elizabeth said. She twisted the fabric of her borrowed shirt between her fingers. “You also said that you’d already planned to kill him before my sister asked you to. Is that what you—what you do? Are you an assassin? A m-murderer for hire?”

“No.” Jason came away from the window, then went to the fire. He found the woodstack next to the mantel, tossed a log onto the flames. “And she’s not paying me. She came to me for the same reason I’m helping you.”

Bewildered, Elizabeth rose to her feet, pulling the ends of the shirt more tightly around her torso. “I don’t understand. Why would you help strangers? Why would you agree to kill for strangers?”

Jason watched the fire for a moment, not answering immediately. The flickering lights cast his face partially in shadow, then he looked at her. “You really don’t know anything about your family, do you?”

“I was eleven when I lost them. Do you remember everything from your childhood?” Elizabeth challenged. “Why do you always answer with a question instead of the truth? Why would you help me when it could put you and people you care about in danger? Why do you think I should already know that answer?”

Jason dragged a hand down his face, then sighed. He returned to the table, to the saddlebags and drew out two lumpy rolls. He brought them back to the fire, released a string on both, and she realized they were bedrolls, laid flat on the floor. “It’ll warmer down by the fire, and your hair will dry faster,” he told her. He sat down, folding his legs.

Warily, Elizabeth dropped down to the fabric, tucking her legs beneath her. “Are you going to answer my question?’

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to. You know that most of the families, the oldest ones, they were once self-governing?” Jason asked. “Some of the old alliances were passed down the generations. Nevoie and Quartermaine — they’re borderlands.”

“I know that. I’ve visited the estate. And I know that my family were once more than just nobles. My mother’s title is old, and our religion goes back to the ancient ways. The Lady of Nevoie was a title on its own.” Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “It’s why Valentin targeted her, isn’t it? He wanted to eliminate powerful families.”

“Not just powerful. Rivals to the throne. The Lady of Nevoie was a queen once. Or had the power of one without the official title. The Quartermaines weren’t equal then, or now. They swore fealty to the Lady and that oath has been passed from father to son for generations. It’s why—” Jason looked away, then shook his head. “My father thought he was the last of his kind. The last protector to the Lady of Nevoie. When he taught me about your family, it was a history lesson. If he knew you’d survived, he’d have found you.”

“So you agreed to kill Valentin because of a generational oath?” Elizabeth asked dubiously.

“I would have helped your sister because of that oath, yes. To protect her, to see her safe. I’ll do the same for you. But killing Valentin? No, that’s not why.”

“Then—”

“My sister.” The words were low, and painful. Jason looked up, found her gaze. “Valentin murdered her so I intend to return the favor.”

December 3, 2024

Update Link: Masquerade – Part 9

By the end of Tuesday, I always end up feeling like it should be Thursday. I can’t believe I have to go to work three more times with these little gremlins. Whom I love, but mostly want to yeet into the sun by this time of the year.

The other flash fiction series I was planning needs a bit more work (and for me to catch up on current GH) so Masquerade will slot in for Tues/Thurs, with some hopes to increase posting during the my winter break. Thanks to the way Christmas and December 23 falls on the calendar, I’m basically off from December 21 – Jan 5 (we come in on Dec 23 for like 4 hours and have ONE full day on Friday, Jan 3.)

These Small Hours, Book 2 is going to miss that first December 17 deadline. I had some hopes that I might still make it but that was only if I finished the beta draft by Nov 3 and the draft only needed light editing. I had to rework Act 3 and add two more chapters (which I’m happy with) so right now, I’m hoping for Dec 30.

See you on Thursday!

This entry is part 9 of 11 in the Flash Fiction: Masquerade

Written in 59 minutes.

Clarity had struck him perhaps twenty minutes after they resumed their travel — he’d handled the situation poorly. Disastrously if he were being truthful with himself, and now the woman trusted him even less that she had at the start of this mess.

He’d agreed to Valentin’s task hoping to pry loose enough secrets that could be used against his foe, but every step that took Jason away from Tonderah and towards Wymoor risked all the progress he’d made in the last five years. It wasn’t enough to simply kill Valentin Cassadine — it would never be enough to exterminate the vermin from the living. Jason intended to do whatever he could to dismantle the power structure that had allowed Valentin to survive, to thrive, to steal the mantle of a noble house through murder and deceit—

And it seemed Valentin’s desire for power had curled out past his own home, striking out at the women of Nevoie. It was too terrible to believe Valentin had nearly destroyed an ancient line of magic, and had imprisoned the only survivor for years and years.

And despite knowing very little about him other than his willingness to take Valentine’s coin, Elizabeth had given him her trust and risked her own life to save his.

He’d returned that kindness with anger and derision. If Mary Mae ever found out how he’d treated Elizabeth, noble lineage or no, she’d skin him alive.

Jason tugged up on the reins slightly so that his stallion fell back until his horse drew abreast of Elizabeth, her mare just a few steps behind. “I offer my apologies,” he said shortly, then glanced at her when she said nothing. “Did you hear me?”

“For which offense are you asking my pardon?” she asked sweetly, but the quick flash of blue eyes left no doubt that her temper was still high. “The list has grown so long I can’t begin to guess.”

He tightened his grip on the leather rein, reminding himself that he was the one in the wrong here. “For ingratitude. I could have handled it myself, but you could not have known that. In the future—” Jason hesitated, listening again to the road.

“Oh, if you tell me the future is already at hand,” Elizabeth complained, drawing her horse to a slow walk, “I will be so irritated. I have not the energy for more villains—”

“Thunder,” Jason said, as the rumbling in the distance grew louder, and the clouds above them drifted to cover the sun, leaving the road lit with weak light. “The storm should have turned towards the east coast, but it’s chasing us.” He hesitated, then looked at her, remembering the night before. “Unless this is your doing—”

“I suppose I should be flattered you think I have such power. We do not direct the weather, nor do we increase it. I can no more pull a storm to me than you can draw down the moon. What I can guarantee, Master Morgan, is if there’s any chill in the air—”

“My apologies for not having a thorough understanding of every power of the House of Nevoie,” Jason muttered. His father had told him many things, but by the time Jason had trained at the Quartermaine estate, the line of Nevoie was thought defunct and much of what Alan had shared had been rooted in story not practical knowledge.

“You hoped for us to travel through the night, but if the storm is close—” Elizabeth hesitated. “Are there any villages near that we might find shelter? Or—” There was a loud crack and roll of thunder. “Any shelter will do.”

Jason glanced above them, taking in the location of the sign before the cloud cover could completely take over, then glanced around the forest and the road, trying to calculate everything he knew about this part of the route.

“We might be able to beat the worst of it, but only if we—” The lightning flashed and the first droplets of rain began to fall. “Hurry,” he finished, then kicked his horse into a canter, pushing it into a gallop when he knew Elizabeth had fallen in with him.

They would never make the next village or even the next farm owned by a friendly face, but if there was any luck to be had, they might reach the only other source of shelter outside a handful of caves or smuggler’s cellars dug into the open ground.

The skies opened up ten minutes later, but it was another thirty of steady travelling, alternating speeds to spare the horses before Jason slowed and went off the road, appearing to travel randomly between trees with no sense of direction of purpose.

Her lips were chattering, her skin soaked and chilled from the layers of wet dress, her tangled hair plastered and soaked against her cheeks, Elizabeth had to physically bite her tongue to prevent complaints from spilling free. What looked like a zig zag maze of steps to her eye must make sense to Jason.

Or she would simply drown from the rain pouring down around them, soaking down through the forest floor. It had threatened snow on the eastern coast of the island, but Wymoor lay more towards the south, and the air had just enough chill for the drops to be freezing rain rather than icy snow.

She wasn’t sure which challenge she’d prefer, but it would likely take longer to drown in snow. If she didn’t freeze to death first.

Just when Elizabeth was giving serious consideration to drowning  Jason herself, the trees opened up into a small clear, where a tiny, snug cottage was nestled, with a small lean-to with enough space for at least three horses. There were no lamps lit behind the windows, no smoke rising from the chimney—

But there were four walls and a roof. Nothing had ever looked more like a castle.

Jason drew his horse to a stop, dismounted with his boots splashing up water where they hit the earth. He slicked his hair out of his eyes, then came towards her. Elizabeth wanted to dismount herself, but her fingers felt frozen to the reigns, her waterlogged skirts pinning her in place.

Jason reached up, wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged her down. Elizabeth tried to assist him but couldn’t get her balance back, nearly falling off the horse and, quite humiliatingly, directly onto Jason, who caught her with a grunt, his hands tightening at her waist, her nose bumping into his chin. She lifted her head and caught his eye for just a moment, finding herself strangely aware of him in a way that she hadn’t been before.

Other than the night before, when he’d trapped her against the tree in an effort to disarm her of the daggers.

“Where are we?” Elizabeth managed. She planted both hands against his chest and pushed back, allowing for some separation. It would have been a half-decent move that could have restored some of her dignity, but her boots failed her and she nearly slipped in the mud. Jason caught her elbow, and she muttered beneath her breath. Why had she not known it would be a talent to be able to function in the pouring, freezing rain? And where did one acquire this knowledge?

“Smuggler’s den. Not in use currently. Front door’s open. Go inside and I’ll see to the horses.”

“Can I—”

“You can start a fire and see what supplies have been left behind.” He released her, then reached behind her for the reigns of her mare. “Go!” he said, raising his tone as more space between them made it difficult to hear one another.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, wishing she could argue but she was also desperate for some warmth and dry. With any luck, there would be dry clothing inside, or hopefully Jason would bring in the saddle bags. Their tough, leather exterior ought to have protected her cloth bag inside.

She’d never traveled in the rain, not outside of a carriage. Not where she was responsible for her own welfare. And already resented that she’d have to lean on Jason to survive for now.

Elizabeth slogged towards the small front entrance of the cottage which was only one story, and was, at best, two rooms inside. She twisted the knob, then had to push at the door with her shoulder until it finally gave way and she was able to get inside.

It was pitch dark inside the room, and Elizabeth stumbled, a bit unsure of herself, droplets sliding from the hem of her dress to the rough-hewn wood beneath her sodden boots.

At home, she’d know precisely what to do. She knew how to keep her woodbox stocked, how to start a fire in the hearth—

But in the dark room she could scarcely determine where to find the hearth, much less the woodbox or instruments to strike flames. For all the independence she’d enjoyed in her years in Shadwell, she really did not know what to do if the necessary materials were not right in front of her.

Perhaps Jason had a point earlier, she thought ruefully. Though she’d been held captive all these years, there had been some protection in knowing where she’d lay her head, and having her own home where everything had its place.

She swallowed hard, her body beginning to shiver. Any moment now, Jason would come in having already tended to both their horses and she’d still be standing here, a soggy mess that he had to take care of.

No.

She felt for the wall of the cottage, determined the location of the front door and remembered which side had the chimney. She felt her way over towards that location, stumbling around a table and some chairs, then felt the cool stone of the hearth.

Elizabeth dropped to her knees, continuing to feel with her fingers until she felt the logs already in place. She wanted to weep with relief. She could light a fire, couldn’t she?

She reached inside her cloak for one of her daggers, pressed her lips to the bottom of the jeweled hilt, then laid it against on the logs. “Incendié!”

The flames burst into life, sending Elizabeth sprawling backwards, nearly singed. She fell back on her hands, then laughed with delight. Her first real test, and she’d more than proved her worth.

The room was lit, though the fire only offered the barest glimpse of the room around her, most of the corners still shrouded in shadow. Elizabeth did not care what anything else looked like. She was frozen to the bone and desperately wanted to be dry.

She clumsily unlaced her boots, and tugged them from her feet, setting them near the heart to dry. Then she rose to her feet, dragged one of the chairs she’d stumbled over towards the fire. Quickly she shed her coat and stockings, draping them over pieces of the chair. Though she felt lighter and a bit less like a drowned rat, her skin still shivered from the two layers of dress.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her dress, and she shimmied out of it, draping it over a second chair. Finally, with only her thin shift between her body and the dry air, there was some relief, and Elizabeth no longer feared drowning in her own clothing. She rested both hands on the mantel above the fire, letting the heat absorb into her skin, the front of her shift drying rapidly.

Behind her, the wind and rain roared when the small door burst open again. “I don’t know how long this storm will last,” Jason began, before stopping to stare at her with a strange expression.

Perhaps he was bewildered or stunned speechless that she, a useless noble girl, could have found a way to light the fire on her own. Elizabeth smiled a bit nervously. “There’s room for you to dry yourself as well.”