Luci rolled her eyes. “I just don’t want to have to listen to you sneeze for the entire day.”
Ira clicked his tongue. “So stubborn.”
There was nothing to say back because, unfortunately, he was right. She did care, and she was stubborn. The problem with those two facts was that there was nothing to be done about them. She couldn’t make herself care less, and her stubbornness was the only thing keeping her afloat. If she relented even an inch, she would drown.
The next few hours were a mixture of Ira telling embarrassing childhood stories, humming songs, and wondering how Cochran and Calcifer were getting on. Luci didn’t have to say much, but truthfully, that was what she liked about it. Being around people who weren’t Brielle was often exhausting. She was constantly wondering what the right thing to say was and if she was embarrassing herself. Always trying too hard to the point that when it was over, she was exhausted.
Ira didn’t make her feel like that. He didn’t judge her when she didn’t say the right thing, and he carried the conversation when she was buried in her mind. Four hours drifted by without notice except for the muscle aches in her thighs from riding. Every now and then, she’d think she couldn’t keep going, Ira would hand her a snack, and she’d find herself settling back in, and another hour would pass.
Which was why, when a field of red came into view, Luci found herself bringing Cinnamon to a halt, and before she could think better of it, she dismounted and knelt before the first row ofpoppies. Running her hand over the first, it was like silk mixed with fresh dew despite how high the sun was in the sky. Before them, the field stretched for miles, settling at the base of the Blue Mountain.
It was right out of a storybook. Even though Luci knew the stories were often wrapped around anomalies in the real world to give them a hint of truth, it was still unsettling.
“Let’s hope there isn’t a wicked witch out to curse us,” Ira said, coming to kneel beside her.
“Just a story,” Luci whispered.
Ira shook his head and plucked one of the poppies from the ground and tucked it behind her ear, brushing stray strands of black away. Luci forgot how to breathe as his fingers brushed absently against her skin like it was a small thing. Like it didn’t demolish every wall she’d ever crafted.
When he was satisfied, he pulled his hand away, but his eyes remained locked on hers.
“So stubborn,” he whispered.
She was. The field in front of her was exactly the same as the one she’d seen in the room of mirrors. A vision she’d experienced and couldn’t deny. Yet she couldn’t make herself admit that maybe this was all real. Maybe magic existed, and maybe the stories lived amongst grains of truth. If she admitted it, then the rest she was running from would be too hard to ignore, and she wasn’t willing to do that.
So instead of admitting anything, Lucinda stood and mounted Cinnamon, groaning at the ache in her legs. She’d never ridden this long, and it was taking its toll. She didn’t take out the flower even though she knew she should have. It felt right there, and with the unease that was crawling over her skin, she wasn’t willing to sacrifice that.
The horses gently tracked over the poppies, and a lingering guilt over each crushed one followed their tracks. However, a field of poppies was not more important than Brielle.
It was an hour into the endless poppies when Ira finally spoke.
“Why are you so afraid the stories are real?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she lied.
The least she could do was not pretend she wasn’t afraid. It would have been insulting to his intelligence. The truth was that Luci’s swirling stomach and racing brain felt an awful lot like standing on the edge of the cliff, preparing to leap. It hadn’t been a thought she nurtured until she touched the first poppy. Now she was forced to consider that everything she’d seen in her vision was real.
On the one hand, there was a new sense of hope in her chest that this insane plan would work to save Brielle. On the other hand, well, there was too much on the other hand.
Flashes of Ira’s smiling face in the cave, of him holding out his hand, the words he spoke ringing in her ears.
You are everything.
She must have been seeing through Brielle’s eyes. There was genuine love and adoration in the words and his eyes that said everything words couldn’t. A good friend would have been happy for her best friend, but there was a crack in Luci that made her question who she was.
“Would it be so terrible if they were real?” he asked.
“Yes,” Luci said without hesitation. “A world with magic is an unknown, and terrible things happened to the people in those stories.”
“But it always ends up better in the end,” he said.
“All's well that ends well, even if the suffering is great,” she mused.
“Magic has the power to change lives,” he countered.
“Youhave the power to change lives. Look at what you did with Cochran. Agnes told me what you are paying him. What you did for him is better than magic.”
Ira’s lips thinned, and a muscle in his neck tightened, tension hiding amidst his normally carefree demeanor.