Free The Bowl of Souls: Book 01.5 - Hilt's Pride by Trevor H. Cooley Page B

that patient look she found so infuriating in men. “ It’s elf made. Despite how it looks, this blanket filters out the cold. Don’t ask me how it works, but it keeps you warm even when it’s wet. Here try it.”
     
    He handed it to her and as she wrapped it around herself, she got goose bumps. It was as if she had wrapped herself in a warm room. She could still feel the night breeze but for some reason when it passed through the fabric, all the cold was taken out of it. She looked closer at the fabric and switched to mage sight. Her vision shifted and she saw a deep black pattern of earth magic woven into the fibers of the blanket interspersed with tiny flecks of gold.
     
    “Yntri, did your people make this?” she asked.
     
    The elf clicked dismissively.
     
    “It doesn’t get cold in the Jharro groves,” Hilt explained. “No this was a gift from the Blotland elves. It was given to me the last time I went on one of the prophet’s errands.”
     
    “Why didn’t you just get this out in the first place instead of giving me your jacket? You have got to be freezing right now.” Beth scolded. She shrugged out of Hilt’s overcoat and handed it to him.
     
    Hilt just shrugged and put his coat back on. “That blanket is very valuable. I didn’t want it burnt by the fire.”
     
    He sounded sincere, but she knew it was more than that. After all, it was a more chivalrous gesture for a man to offer a lady his coat. Hilt couldn’t resist a bit of chivalry. It was a trait she found both charming and annoying in equal measure.
     
    “So why the pink?” she asked, holding the fabric out. It wasn’t exactly a color she imagined the swordsman picking out.
     
    Hilt gave her a flat look. “It was brown when the elves gave it to me, but it turned pink the first time I washed it. I think it was their idea of a joke. The Blotland Elves despise the other races, no matter how helpful we try to be.”
     
    Yntri laughed and nodded.
     
    “Well I think it’s quite pretty,” she teased.
     
    Hilt put one hand over his face. “Don’t you have a story to tell?”
     
    “Right,” Beth sat down with the blanket draped over her and began, “Well . . . I’m not really from Pinewood. I mean, I am. Just not originally. I’m from Dremald. My father was a merchant and though he and my mother had come from a poor family, father had a way with money. He became very wealthy, but not well respected. Father was obsessed with respect. His greatest dream was to become nobility. He tried every scheme he could think of: kissing up to the nobles, bribing officials, under the table deals, but there was no way they were letting him in.”
     
    “It would take an appointment by the king,” Hilt said. “Dremaldria hasn’t had a new noble family in centuries. Either that or-.”
     
    “Marry into one of the families, yes.” Beth finished. “When I was fifteen, my parents started bringing around suitors. They were minor sons of minor houses, mainly. Pale, stork necked boys, whose parents were running low on money. Marrying me wouldn’t bring noble families any prestige, but it would definitely bring a handsome dowry.
     
    “But I wanted nothing to do with that. I didn’t care about wealth or prestige. I didn’t want some noble boy. I was only interested in one boy. His name was Coulton and he was poorer than dirt. He’s the one who taught me the bow. Or at least he was the one that introduced me to it. I saw him shooting with some friends one day and he let me try. It came naturally to me. It was like the center of the target called out to my arrows. I bought some nice bows and whenever my parents weren’t looking, I’d sneak out and shoot with him.
     
    “I was able to keep it secret for a while, but then one day my mother was driving by in her carriage. She saw me with him shooting and got angry. I told her that he was only a friend and it was just about the bow. And it was! Or at least at first, it had been about the bow,