Nick took her hand. He said nothing when she gripped him with such strength she felt certain she had crushed his bones. He only held her as she cried.
Neiszhe’s hands moved from Meaghan’s ankle to her pant leg. Lifting it, she frowned at the bandage underneath.
“You did this?” she accused Cal.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did my best, love. The bone broke the skin and I had to move her. I reset it, but I can’t sense the injury like you can.”
“The reset is fine. You did a good job. It’s your bandaging that needs practice.” She unraveled the gauze. Dirt fell to the floor with each layer. “Something got into the wound. She has an infection. It isn’t bad yet, but it’s there. How long has her leg been broken?”
“Since early afternoon,” Nick answered. “She saved Cal’s life by tackling a monster in the caves. Both she and the beast went into the water.”
Neiszhe’s head snapped up. Panic froze her eyes wide as she tore them from Nick to Cal.
“I’m okay,” he assured her. “I have cuts and maybe a bruised rib or two. It can wait.”
She nodded and returned her focus to Meaghan. “What color was the water?”
“Black,” Meaghan muttered. She struggled to sit up, losing the will when Nick pushed on her shoulders to keep her down. “Black. The monster, it,” she hissed a breath of pain. “It bit my leg.”
“The water may have had something in it,” Neiszhe said. “Though it’s usually green we have to worry about. More likely, the creature’s mouth caused the infection.” She found the stick Cal had used as a brace and sighed. “Or this might have.”
Cal shrugged. “It’s the best I could do, given the circumstances. We had to get her out of the cave somehow.”
“It’s all right. It just doesn’t make it easier for her.” Neiszhe removed the last of the bandage, and then looked up at Nick. “Be sure to hold her still and keep a hand in contact with her skin. Healing her ankle was painful enough. Fusing bone is worse, and the infection complicates things. Speeding up her healing will cause it to speed up, too. If her fever gets too high, we’ll need to take a break.”
Nick raised Meaghan’s shoulders and slid her onto his lap. Then he pinned her with his elbows and placed his hands on her forehead.
Neiszhe interlaced her fingers and rested them over the wound, closing her eyes to focus. Beads of sweat began rolling down her face. Meaghan’s skin tingled. She squirmed and Nick tightened his hold moments before the pain resumed.
It did not take long before Meaghan’s mind burned with the heat building within her. They stopped for ten minutes and then began again. The process repeated a dozen times during the night until both Neiszhe and Meaghan’s clothes were soaked in sweat. When Meaghan became too tired, she slipped in and out of awareness.
Finally, when the sun danced its first tendrils of color over the horizon, Neiszhe lifted her hands and smiled. The small effort chased the lines from her face.
“It is done,” she said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS not the first time Nick had experienced the healing process. Several times, injuries and broken bones had placed him on the receiving end of that pain. He had also witnessed it many times before in his mother’s house, and had assisted her in her duties once he had grown strong enough to keep her patients steady. He thought he had built an emotional callous to it, but tonight had taught him otherwise.
Perhaps his ability to sense Meaghan had made it worse. The intensity of her pain had washed through him, a steady ache he could not relieve or abolish. Or perhaps it had more to do with how he felt about her. Whatever reason, he had despised the process by the time it had finished. As Meaghan lay unconscious in his arms, he fought to control the anger surging through him.
Despite how he felt and despite his desire to find someone to blame for Meaghan’s suffering, he could not fault Neiszhe for the necessary evil. Meaghan’s injuries had been severe. The power needed to heal them drained extensive energy from its host and Neiszhe bore the signs of that labor. Her movements were slow and stiff. Her eyes looked tired and dull. And her cheeks appeared flush beneath a thin layer of sweat.
Cal helped her to bed, and then returned to the living room where he sat on the floor next to Meaghan. He laid a palm on her forehead.
“Her fever’s gone,” he said.
Nick nodded, but he kept his arms locked tight around Meaghan’s body.
“I see the look in your eyes,” Cal continued, “and I know it well. The first time I had to watch Alisen go through this, I wanted to kill the Healer for it.” He squeezed Nick’s shoulder, a gesture born more from camaraderie than comfort. “That time, she had broken her hand in a sparring match in school. The second time, she broke her arm falling off the vines on the side of the castle. My fault,” he said, chuckling when Nick raised an eyebrow at him. “I dared her to climb them. It’s not something you’d expect for the maturity level of a couple of twenty-something Guardians, but in my defense, the King was the one taking bets on the endeavor.” He shrugged, turning serious again. “I’d like to say going through this gets easier, but it doesn’t. Focus on the fact Meaghan is healed and remember to thank Neiszhe when she wakes this afternoon.”
“I will,” Nick promised. “She’s talented. This should have taken longer.”
“Yes it should have,” Cal agreed. “You should get some sleep.”
Nick made no effort to move. He studied Meaghan’s face then lifted a hand to her cheek. It remained pale, but Cal was right, her skin no longer burned. “Do the villagers know who she is?”
“None of them know her by sight, only by name, and Neiszhe will keep Meaghan’s identity a secret. Still, I recommend staying hidden until dark and then you can start travelling again. You have two days of open fields to go through before the next protected area, so night travel will work best for a while.” He stood, casting a glance down at Nick. “You know you need to tell her soon. She should hear it from you, but she’ll hear it from someone else if you’re not careful.”
Nick sighed. “It’s not an easy thing to explain.”
“It won’t get easier so you might as well get it over with.” Cal bent down to slide his arms under Meaghan’s body. Nick released his grip and Cal lifted her. “I’ll take her to the village’s guest house. She’ll be safe there. For you,” he nodded toward the sofa and grinned. “Sweet dreams.”
§
SLEEP STOLE Nick from the world before he could consider the worry and exhaustion knotting his muscles. It settled him into a dreamless void, tantalizing him with peaceful silence, and then before no more than two hours had passed, it threw him back with the same haste.
Agony charged through him. His muscles coiled, and he bolted upright with the instinct to flee. He controlled the urge and took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus on the emotion. It dissipated before he could determine its source. He lay back down and wondered if his body still reacted to Meaghan’s ordeal from last night, but when it surged again, he knew better. The pain came from Meaghan. Without a second thought, he jumped from the couch and dashed out the front door.
Bright sunlight burned his eyes. He cupped his hand over his brow and scanned the street for any indication of the guesthouse. Neiszhe’s house stood near the end of the road, but several houses remained to the left and another dozen greeted him from the right. The street teemed with people. Some hurried past, busy in their errands, but others took slower steps, eyeing him with curiosity. Meaghan’s pain tugged at him again and he turned to his right to follow it, walking with a nonchalance that belied his desire to run. He feared for her safety, but leading people to her identity would only bring Mardróch if traitors resided in the village.
The pain grew stronger, guiding him down a side street to a thatched roof cottage. He opened the house’s picket gate, closing it behind him before strolling down the pebble walkway. When he reached the door, he turned the handle, tensing as he sensed for danger, and then entered
when he felt nothing more than Meaghan’s presence.
Daylight streamed through pale blue curtains, revealing only a single bed and a fireplace. No enemies waited to attack. Instead, Meaghan sat on the floor in the far corner of the room, her feet crossed at her ankles, her knees tucked under her chin. She rocked back and forth, pressing her hands to her ears. A low moan escaped her as he dropped down next to her.
“Meg,” he whispered, taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?”
She clutched at him instead of answering, pressing her tear soaked face into his shoulder.
“Meg,” he tried again and then remained quiet when her pain dissolved. He lifted a hand to her head, drawing it down her hair and then her back, repeating the movement until her tight muscles relaxed under his touch. Her sobs subsided, but she remained in his arms for a few minutes longer.
She lifted her head and he thought she would pull back from him, but she pressed her lips into his neck instead. Electricity bulleted through his system. His mind screamed at him to hold back, but he ignored it. Burying his hands in her hair, he drew her closer. She moved her lips along his skin until they tickled his jaw, then she drew them up to graze his lips. Her pressure remained light and he closed his eyes, lost to the warmth she brought him. She placed delicate kisses on each of his eyelids, and then dropped her attention back to his lips. Her pressure turned firmer and he responded, taking her mouth on a sigh.
His heart jolted. His mind panicked. Then he prayed for strength. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her back. “Meg,” he said, opening his eyes, “we can’t do this. You know we can’t.”
“Do I?” She rose to her feet, and then walked across the room to sit on the bed. “You say I do, but you’ve never told me why. I’m tired of you putting me off, Nick. When will you tell me what I need to know?”
He frowned. “When the time is right.”
“When will that be?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “When someone else makes a slip like Neiszhe did? Why did she curtsy anyway? You said you’d explain.”
“I will, but not now.” He stood and walked to the window. Lifting a curtain, he peered outside. The villagers still scurried about their business, oblivious to Nick and Meaghan’s presence. Grateful his foray outside had not drawn attention to the small cottage, he faced Meaghan again. Her eyes held his with a familiar anger and he knew he had pushed her patience too far. Cal’s advice echoed through his head, but he ignored it. “I didn’t come here to argue. I came because your pain woke me. What happened?”
She lifted her chin, a stubborn gesture he also knew well and he understood she would not answer his question until he answered hers.
“Fine,” he said. He turned toward the door. “You need to stay inside until nightfall, so get some sleep. The next few days will be strenuous at best.”
He opened the door, took a step outside, and then paused when he heard a noise behind him. It took him a moment to recognize the sound as a single word, “Wait.”
He turned back around. Meaghan stood in the center of the room, her hands folded together in front of her. Her anger had disappeared, lost to wide-eyed terror. She tightened her fingers, twisting them around each other. “Don’t go.”
Closing the door, he shut the village out. Meaghan backed against the bed and sat down again. Her cheeks took on a red tinge. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s all right,” he said. He sat down beside her. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t control it,” she whispered. “I feel like I should be able to by now and I tried, but there are too many people. Some pare mad, others are happy. Some are confused and in pain and sad, or worried and stressed. There are dozens of emotions, Nick. Too many of them. They hurt and you weren’t close enough for me to focus.”
He drew her against him, understanding. He should have realized that would happen. Her mind could not process so many emotions and without the ability to shut them out, they overwhelmed her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Please don’t leave,” she begged. “I won’t ask any questions. Just don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” he promised. He ran a hand down her bare arm, felt goose bumps and let her go. He stood, and then crossed to the fireplace. Removing small pieces of kindling from the wood box, he tossed them into the hearth.
“You should have told me why you were in pain,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at her, not expecting a verbal answer and she did not disappoint him. Guilt caused her to cast her eyes to her hands, but anger also stiffened her shoulders. “Our travels are dangerous, Meg, and if we expect to live through them, we have to communicate.” He turned back to the fireplace and added two small logs, then struck a match and threw it on top. A fire took hold. He waited until it grew strong enough to sustain itself before returning to his seat on the bed.
“Communication starts with me,” he said and took her hands in his. “I’ve built distrust in you since we arrived here and I apologize. You need to ask questions, and I need to keep a promise I made our first night here. I need to answer those questions.” He took a deep breath. “What do you want to know first?”
Meaghan sat back. Wrinkles formed between her eyebrows as she pulled them together. “I’m not certain where to start.”
“If you don’t feel ready, we can wait.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m not sure if I am or not, but you’ve been avoiding this conversation for a reason. Why don’t you think I’m ready for the answers?”
“It’s not you,” he confessed, then sighed. “It’s me who isn’t ready. I want to protect you.”
“That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Physically, but not in the way I am. You know I care about you. I won’t deny it. And the answers I have for you will make your life difficult. The responsibility you’ve been given, that I have to give to you, is a lot to bear. I wanted to keep you free of that for as long as possible.”
She inclined her head. “You think I can’t handle it?”
“Not at all. It’s…” he shook his head. Standing, he walked to the fireplace, and then leaned a hand against the mantel as he studied the flames. “It will change things for you,” he turned to face her, “and for us.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I know,” he said. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he stared toward the window, his eyes unseeing as his mind worked to tell her the truth he wished more than anything was not true. “Cal told you he guarded the King,” he started and forced his eyes to hers. She nodded. “My mother guarded the Queen. They were both at the castle the day Garon’s rebellion took place. Neither of them likes to talk about what happened, but I’ve heard enough. Garon formed an army of Guardians bent on taking control, Guardians who’d been banished for their crimes. They were thieves, murderers, even people who’d tried to overthrow the monarchy in the past. Garon had a Spellmaster design a spell to convert his army’s powers into something stronger, something he felt would be unstoppable, and then he killed the Spellmaster to ensure a counter spell couldn’t be written.”
“The Mardróch,” Meaghan realized.
“They weren’t his intent, but their powers are unnatural. Since powers are part of a person, the spell not only twisted their magic, but it also twisted what was left of their humanity.”
“Couldn’t someone else write a spell to stop them?” she asked.
“Only a Spellmaster can give words the power to work as a spell. Garon killed the last known Spellmaster. If a new one has been born, he or she hasn’t exhibited the ability yet.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t people born with their powers?”
“They are, but powers lie dormant until children can handle them. Active powers, those that can be used as weapons, usually don’t show up until children are at least eight. A six-month-old Firestarter would be a disaster, for instance, so that power doesn’t usually appear until children can understand the damage they cause when
they set fires. Powers like yours and mine show up earlier. They’re considered passive. They can’t cause any physical damage and having them at an early age helps us adapt to them.”
“Does it?” she asked, a wry smile crinkling the corners of her lips.
He chuckled. “You’re not used to having your full power, but yes, it does. If you hadn’t been able to use your power on Earth, you would’ve had more trouble understanding what you’re sensing now. You wouldn’t be able to translate other people’s feelings or separate them from your own. As far as controlling your power, you’ll learn in time.”
“Let’s hope so,” she said. “I have more questions about powers, but I think I’ll reserve those for another day. For now, I’d like to hear more about Garon’s attack, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” A log popped in the fireplace, scattering sparks over the floor, and Nick turned to draw a screen across the hearth. “The Mardróch used lightning to breach the castle walls,” he said, facing Meaghan again. “The stone bricks were thick, and their collapse killed many, including the Queen. She died in her living quarters. The King died in the throne room, by Garon’s hand.”
Meaghan paled. “The walls fell in first,” she said. “Then the smoke came, and the lightning.”
“It would appear that way from inside the castle. That’s from one of your dreams, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “The one with the fire, right before the man rescued me.”
“Miles,” Nick told her. “He protected the Queen’s sister. He’s one of the Elders now.”
“I remember the woman saying his name. The woman,” Meaghan closed her eyes, holding back tears, “with the red hair. That was Mom. Vivian,” she corrected.
“Yes, it was.” He crossed the room. Pulling her to her feet, he drew her into his arms.
“You knew. Every time I told you about my nightmare. Every time I wondered why it kept coming back to me, you knew the reason.” She pushed away from him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
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