The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 130: Morning Light

ERIS

The waterfall recognized me.

That was the first strange thing. Not that anything about this place qualified as normal, but the barrier that separated the cave from the outside world parted without resistance when I approached, like it had been waiting for me specifically, like the river’s magic had marked me as belonging here.

I stepped through.

The temperature shift was immediate. From cave-cold to morning-fresh. From enclosed darkness to open sky. From the sacred stillness of a place that existed outside normal reality to the ordinary sounds of wind through trees and water flowing over stone.

Sunlight hit my face.

Real sunlight. Not filtered through crystal or reflected off ice or dimmed by cave walls. Actual morning sun that was warm without being hot, that touched my skin with the kind of gentle heat I’d never properly appreciated when I was constantly burning from the inside out.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Just feeling it. The warmth on my face. The cold air in my lungs. The bizarre and wonderful contrast of being able to experience both at once without one overwhelming the other.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw her.

Solara.

My mare. Chestnut coat gleaming in morning light, standing about twenty feet away near a cluster of trees. Not tied. Not restrained. Just camping peacefully like she’d decided this spot was acceptable and had claimed it as temporary territory.

She wasn’t alone.

Floating around her head like a crown of stars were small creatures made of light and frost. Ethereal things barely larger than my hand, with wings like snowflakes and bodies that seemed more energy than matter. They drifted in lazy circles, occasionally landing on Solara’s mane before taking flight again.

The ice nymphs Soren had mentioned.

Guardians of the river. Ancient beings tasked with protecting this place from those who’d do harm.

Currently acting as babysitters for my horse, apparently.

Solara noticed me.

Her head came up immediately. Ears forward. Eyes finding me across the distance with the kind of recognition that came from years together, from countless rides and battles and quiet moments in stables when I’d needed something that wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t demand, wouldn’t expect anything except maybe an apple and some decent hay.

She moved.

Not walking. Galloping. Full speed across the grass separating us, hooves barely touching ground, mane streaming behind her like she’d been waiting for days and refused to waste another second.

I braced myself.

Habit from years of experience with a horse who’d never quite learned the concept of personal space. Who thought affection involved getting as close as physically possible and staying there until forcibly removed.

She reached me and didn’t stop.

Just pressed her massive head against my chest hard enough to make me stumble backward, snorting warm breath against my neck, making sounds that were probably meant to be scolding but came out more like relief.

I wrapped my arms around her neck.

Buried my face in her mane that smelled like horse and morning and freedom in ways that made my throat tight for reasons I didn’t want to examine.

"Did you behave?" I asked, knowing she couldn’t answer but needing to talk anyway. "Did you cause trouble for whoever was supposed to be watching you?"

She snorted again.

Louder this time. Definitely scolding.

I smiled despite myself.

"Of course you did. You’re my horse. Causing trouble is basically your primary skill."

Another snort. This one might have been agreement.

"Are you hurt?" I pulled back enough to look at her properly, running hands over her neck and shoulders checking for injuries. "Did they feed you? Did those glowing things bother you?"

She seemed fine.

Better than fine, actually. Well-groomed. Fed. Rested. Someone had clearly been taking care of her with the kind of attention that suggested either genuine affection for horses or fear of what would happen if they didn’t.

My money was on fear.

Solara had that effect on people.

I noticed the saddlebags still strapped to her back.

Heavy. Full. Bulging with contents that hadn’t been there when Soren and I had ridden off from the temple. Someone had packed supplies and sent her back.

Curiosity won over caution.

I moved to her side, fingers working the buckles holding the bags closed. They opened easily, revealing contents that made me pause.

Food.

Preserved meats wrapped in cloth. Dried fruits in small pouches. Fresh apples and pears that somehow hadn’t bruised during travel. Bread that smelled recently baked, wrapped in layers to keep it from going stale. Cheese sealed in wax. Waterskins filled to capacity.

Two sets of clothes.

One masculine cut. Simple traveling garb in dark colors that would suit Soren. The other feminine. A dress that was practical rather than ornate, designed for movement rather than court appearances. Undergarments. A thick travel cloak that would be warm without being cumbersome.

Medical supplies.

Bandages. Salves. Small vials of what looked like pain tonics and fever reducers. Things we probably didn’t need anymore but someone had packed anyway because thoroughness was apparently mandatory.

A thick blanket.

Travel-weight. Designed to insulate. Folded carefully at the bottom of one bag.

I stared at the contents.

Then laughed.

Quiet at first. Just a small sound that escaped before I could stop it. Then louder because the absurdity hit me all at once and I couldn’t contain it.

Of course this was Soren’s doing.

Of course the man who’d carried me through wilderness while I was dying, who’d found a mythical river to save my life, who’d held me like I was precious instead of poisonous, had also taken time to arrange for supplies to be delivered.

Ridiculously thorough even in crisis.

Planning for practical needs while simultaneously dealing with divine magic and life-threatening injuries and whatever other chaos we’d encountered.

I reached into the bag.

Pulled out an apple. Red and perfect and probably expensive given how late in the season it was. Bit into it without ceremony, tasting sweetness that was almost aggressive after days of barely eating.

The floating creatures had been watching.

Silently. Hovering near Solara’s head but clearly paying attention to me, to my movements, to everything I did with the kind of focus that suggested either curiosity or suspicion.

Probably both.

When my gaze shifted to them directly, they reacted.

Squealed.

High-pitched sounds like wind chimes being struck too hard. Then scattered in all directions, some diving behind Solara’s legs, others fleeing toward nearby trees, one particularly dramatic specimen actually phasing through solid rock to hide.

I watched them flee with the kind of detached amusement that came from spending years being feared.

It was second nature at this point.

People running when I looked at them. Avoiding eye contact. Crossing streets to stay away. Fearing what I might do if they displeased me.

These creatures were no different.

Just smaller. More magical. Potentially capable of being useful if they’d stop panicking long enough to have a conversation.

"What are you?" I asked.

Calm. Direct. No threat in my tone because there was no point threatening something that was already terrified. That just made them more useless.

Silence.

Just the sound of wind and water and Solara chomping grass like nothing interesting was happening.

Then one of them emerged.

Slowly. Cautiously. Peeking out from behind Solara’s front leg with eyes that glowed faint blue and an expression that somehow managed to convey both terror and bravery.

It spoke.

Not in any language I recognized. Words that sounded like music and wind and ice cracking. Ancient syllables that predated kingdoms and nations and the divisions that split the world into fire and ice.

"Kel’vara isen? Mora’kyn sul drae’tha?"

I understood it.

Somehow. The meaning translating itself in my mind without conscious effort, without needing to parse individual words or grammar structures.

*You can understand us? You hear the old tongue?*

"Somehow, yes." I took another bite of apple, chewing while I watched the creature process this information.

Its eyes went wider.

Then it chimed something rapidly to its companions. A signal. Permission. Whatever ice nymphs used to communicate that the scary fire lady wasn’t going to kill them immediately.

The rest emerged.

Tentatively at first. Then with growing confidence when I didn’t move, didn’t threaten, just stood there eating an apple and looking vaguely interested rather than homicidal.

They started talking amongst themselves.

Forgetting apparently that I’d just demonstrated the ability to understand them. Speaking in that musical ancient language like I wasn’t standing right there listening to every word.

"Impossible. Only those blessed by Aenithra can understand our words."

"But the river accepted her. We saw it. Welcomed her like kin."

"She’s the Witch of Solmire! Fire-blooded! How can she possibly bear Aenithra’s gift?"

"Maybe the blessing transferred through contact? Through the Emperor?"

"That’s not how blessings work—"

I cleared my throat.

All conversation stopped immediately. Multiple pairs of glowing eyes turned toward me with expressions that suggested they’d just remembered I existed and were now reconsidering their life choices.

"I can hear you, you know."

Silence.

Absolute. The kind that suggested they were hoping if they stayed very still I might forget they were there.

I studied them for a moment.

Small. Delicate. Probably magical in ways I couldn’t begin to understand. Made of frost and light and whatever divine essence Aenithra had left behind when she’d disappeared.

They looked like they’d be crunchy if fried.

"I wonder," I said thoughtfully, tapping my chin with the apple, "what you’d taste like in soup."

The reaction was immediate and visceral.

They shrieked.

Actually shrieked. High-pitched terror that probably scared birds in a three-mile radius. Then scattered again with even more panic than before, some fleeing into the forest, some diving into the waterfall, one actually trying to burrow into the ground despite being made of ice and light and having no logical reason to think that would work.

Laughter cut through the chaos.

Not mine.

Male. Amused. Coming from behind me where the waterfall entrance was.

I turned.

Soren stood there.

Awake. Dressed in the tattered remains of whatever he’d been wearing when he’d saved my life. Hair falling into his eyes. Expression caught between sleep and consciousness. Looking unfairly handsome in morning light that painted him in blues and golds.

And laughing at my threat to make soup out of sacred guardians.

Of course he was.