Stella
Eric sipped from the flask, then held it out to me. I accepted it and drank the tepid liquid, grimacing inwardly as I recalled how cool and fresh the water tasted at home.
I stumbled over my thoughts and pulled the bag from my lips before I choked. The Astralini villa was not my home. It was a prison.
My companion took the flagon back and corked it before reattaching it to his belt. He carried the heavy items, but the clothes and lighter foods in my pack still pressed uncomfortably into my shoulders.
We’d already traveled at least five miles, and my feet, accustomed to slippers and too much rest, screamed in protest. These new leather boots with the protective wooden sole rubbed against my toes in a torturous way. Pity the pretty footwear would fall apart if worn outside.
“Wait,” I said, bending and pulling the horrible things off.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked.
“These.” I hissed between my teeth when I stripped the boots and thin stockings. Cool air hit my tender skin, making it sting. Large blisters marred my two smallest toes on both feet, and blood stained my heels. This was worse than I expected.
“Shit,” he murmured.
I nodded with a humorless laugh, then moved to the side of the road. These stockings weren’t enough protection from the wood and rough cowskin.
“Maybe we should have borrowed the horses,” I mused.
“Do you want to go back?” His tone hinted that he did not wish to do that. At all.
Instead of answering, I rummaged through my pack for the thick socks I liked to wear at night. Perhaps those would be more comfortable.
“How far is Damai?” I asked, still nose deep in my bag.
Eric twisted his foot on some loose gravel. “I told you it’ll take us a couple weeks of walking to get there if we average twenty miles a day.”
I sighed. “Is it two or three hundred?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. The maps don’t list exact distances, and in our original times, few merchants or travelers go there.”
I jerked up from my search. “Why?”
“War.”
I resumed my clothing hunt. “How are we supposed to execute this plan, Eric? We have no expertise in politics. Why would the kings and lords listen to our suggestions?” I held my doubts about the goddess sending us. It made little sense.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll pretend to have seer magic and convince them to abandon the conflict in favor of peace.”
I froze. “But you don’t.”
“No. I’m a timekeeper and can reset the hour however many times necessary.” He stepped closer. “I’ll replay meetings over and over until we hit the variation we need. The only difference between me and a seer is that I live the scenarios, while they only perceive them.”
I glanced up at him, my heart racing even as my limbs remained immobile. “There must be a better plan. One that doesn’t involve lies and deceit. We’re supposed to navigate political systems this way? We’ll be caught! Any sensor, like Dario, will discover you.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve seen what’s coming, Natalie. The Damaian capital has no sensors.”
How did he know that? Did the deity reveal the entire future? Even if she did, remembering every tiny detail seemed impossible.
I finally found the cursed socks wedged in the bottom right corner of the sack. The fluffy knit calmed my senses as I thought through the situation.
“Take me to where we emerged into this timeline,” I demanded in a soft tone. “I’m not throwing my life away on plans I’ve not examined for myself.”
He swore under his breath. “When are you going to trust me?”
“When I regain my memories.”
Because from the months since falling from the sky, the key lesson I’d learned was to trust no one. Failing to discuss our plans in depth before leaving was foolish.
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