Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(26)
Iris watched the city fade as the roadster devoured kilometers, defying her own orders to keep her eyes ahead. She watched until the cathedral steeples, the shiny high rises, and the old castle towers were nothing but a haze in the distance, and she thought how odd it was. To see something that felt strong and vast slowly become small and quiet. A mere ink blot on the horizon.
“What’s a post runner, exactly?” Attie asked over the hum of the motor.
Iris turned her attention back to Tobias Bexley, who hadn’t said a word since he cranked the motor.
“It’s exactly how it sounds,” he replied. “I drive people’s post and deliveries to and from Oath.”
Attie leaned forward, resting her arms on the driver’s seat. “And how does one get into such a business?”
“I suppose it’s similar to how you got into reporting.”
“To prove a point to a narrow-minded professor?”
Tobias was quiet for a beat. “Then no. I became a runner because I liked racing fast motorcars and needed income to pay for my hobby. Might as well do what I love for a living.”
“You race motorcars?” Iris asked.
“I do,” he said. “My mum is always relieved when I take time off for post assignments, although she and my father never miss a race of mine. Granted, these days even the post is dangerous and unpredictable.”
“How many races have you won?” Attie said, settling in for a nice, long story.
Tobias countered, “You assume I’ve won?”
“Well … yes,” she said with a wave of her hand, indicating the pastures that bordered the road. The landscape continued to roll by them with an exhilarating speed. “You’re quite fast, in case you didn’t notice.”
He laughed. “That’s what your boss is paying me to do. I’m to transport you as well as your articles from one place to the next, as quickly and safely as possible.”
“I didn’t even know roadsters could go so fast,” said Iris, squinting against the wind. She had yet to put her goggles on, waiting for Tobias to tell her when to do so. But she loved the sting of fresh air on her face. The way the breeze drew through her hair like fingers.
“They normally can’t accommodate this gear,” Tobias said.
“Then you’re saying this is no normal motorcar,” Attie was swift to surmise.
“I might be saying that.”
“Why the vague answers, Bexley?” Attie nudged him in the shoulder. “Are you worried we’ll write an article about you and your magical roadster?”
“I worry about one thing only,” he answered.
Iris and Attie both waited, hanging upon the suspense. When the silence continued, filled only with the roar of the wind and the comforting purr of the engine, Attie leaned even closer to him.
“I imagine you worry about flat tires, or running out of petrol, or getting lost.”
“I worry about rain,” he said, but he finally turned his head, meeting Attie’s gaze for a split second. “Rain makes the roads muddy and treacherous.”
Iris looked up at the clouds. They were white and fluffy, but a few on the western horizon were building into tall thunderheads.
“You know what they say about springtime in Cambria,” Attie drawled, also taking note of the clouds.
“I know it better than most.” Tobias pushed the clutch and moved the gearstick. It was such a smooth transition Iris hardly felt the car shift. “Which means we only have a few hours to get to River Down before that storm breaks. Goggles will come in handy right about now. Secure anything you don’t want to fly away.” He removed his hat, tucking it safely in a glove compartment. “Also, there’s rope attached to the seat in front of you, in case you need to hold on to something.”
Iris and Attie dutifully donned their goggles. As the roadster drove even faster, all hopes of conversation died in the howling air and speed. But Iris could feel the thrill of it through the soles of her boots. She could feel it hum in her bones, and she reveled in watching the land blur as they raced westward.
* * *
The clouds hung low and dark by the time Tobias drove them into River Down.
It was a small, sleepy town, tucked away in the rolling hills of the countryside. A babbling, shallow river cut through its heart, and a stone bridge connected the two halves of town: the east side that was a patchwork of markets, a library, a communal garden, a school, a small church with stained glass windows; and the west side, which brimmed with thatched cottages laced together with winding, cobbled roads.
Iris removed her goggles, taking it in. A few people were walking the streets with baskets, and they watched with bright curiosity as Tobias drove carefully down one road, then another.
“Are we almost there?” Iris asked, breathless.
“Yes, that’s it up ahead on the left, with the yellow door,” Attie said.
Iris spotted it—a two-story cottage with a stone chimney and blue shutters, nearly devoured by ivy—and as Tobias shifted the roadster down to a crawl, she noticed someone was waiting for them in the front yard. Someone with long black hair and a smile that crinkled her eyes, her red dress striking against her light brown skin.
“Marisol!” Iris cried, standing up in the cab to wave.
Marisol waved back and threw open the yard gate, standing in the street with a grin. As soon as Tobias cut the engine, Iris launched herself from the car. She raced the short distance to Marisol’s welcoming embrace. It almost felt like everything—the sky, the ground, the daily routine—was about to crumble again, and Iris needed something steady to hold on to.