Nicholas led her out of the blind, past the dead bodies littered
in the snow. Sera gagged and clutched at Wind Rider’s mane
like a novice rider. The snow fell faster, almost a blizzard against
a pewter sky. She followed Nicholas blindly, numb and cold in
spite of the protective cloaks.
***
Jacob Augustus stared at his grandfather across the swirling
surface of the scrying glass.
“They’re safe for now,” said Emmanuel. “The blizzard will
shield them from the remainder of those beasts.”
Jacob shook his head in frustration. “But she didn’t know
how to hide them forever. Untutored, she can’t hope to use her
power to its full extent.” He was sick with regret that he’d left
Sera alone to deal with all the changes inside her and all the
terror around her. “Changing the elements didn’t keep her safe
from killing, Grandfather. She’ll bear a heavy burden for that.
And now, he’ll get her lost in the snow.”
“Not Rostov. He’ll sniff his way to safety, even through a
blizzard.” Emmanuel lowered his head. “I had hoped that she
would find what she needed out there. But I refused to ponder
the horrors they work upon each other.”
Jacob took a deep breath and calmed his mind. He thought
past the last terrifying moments but came to the same conclusion
he always had. “By all that’s holy,” he said. “Let me go to her
now, before they destroy her entirely.”
***
Sera held on as Wind Rider followed Nicholas through the
blinding snow. The wind howled about her, sniggering and
pulling at the heavy folds of the cloaks. Nicholas said nothing.
Occasionally she heard him cough, a dry, hollow sound against
the wind and the blowing snow. She had no idea how long they
rode, only that she felt as though she were in Hades, wandering
forever in the dim half night, never to be allowed to reach the
isle of the blessed.
What have I done? If she shut her eyes, she could see that
boy’s face.
She was only half-aware when Nicholas halted his horse
and helped her down.
“Go inside. I’ll see to the horses. He gently pushed her
toward a door.
There was light beyond the door, and a dying warmth.
Nicholas would be cold when he returned, she realized dully.
There was a great deal of wood stacked by a large fireplace at
the end of the room. She piled logs upon the dying coals, glad
that someone had started this fire. The Gift had exhausted her
too much to start it as she had that day in her chamber.
Her cloaks grew heavy and sodden as the snow on them
melted. She hung them to dry on chairs before the fire.
He came into the room several moments later. “Are you all
right?” he asked, and then coughed again. “I’ll do,” she said,
rising from her knees slowly. Her limbs trembled from the strain.
“You’re shivering,” she said, coming close and laying a
hand on his forehead. “And hot. Is there a bedchamber in this
place?”
“Several.” He sounded slightly breathless. “Let’s get you
into the most comfortable one.”
She followed him up the stairs, grabbing hold of the banister,
like an old woman with arthritic legs. The gift had drained her,
taking her strength with it. He led her into a beautifully furnished
chamber where another fire was dying on the grate. As she added
wood from the basket beside the mantle, Sera heard a loud
thump.
Nicholas lay on the Turkish carpet, looking stunned.
“Damn,” he said hoarsely. “Damn, damn, damn.”
“What happened? What is it?” She moved to his side, using
her depleted strength to help him up.
“Oh, Christus,” he said with a weak laugh, “of all the
times….”
“Get out of these clothes,” she said. Fear spurred her as she
caught up a towel hung on a shaving stand and began rubbing
his wet hair. Nicholas sat slumped on the side of the bed
fumbling with the knot in his cravat. She lightly slapped his
hands away and slipped the knot loose. His jacket and shirt
were soaked through. So were his breeches from thigh to knee.
By the time she got his clothes off and began to rub him down,
he was shuddering.
“God, I’m cold,” he whispered through chattering teeth.
“You’ve caught a chill,” she said.
“Brandy.” He coughed again, a racking, loose sound that
seemed to tear at his insides.
“Absolutely not. Some soup, anything liquid. But no
spirits.”
“Damnit, woman, I’m cold. Get the brandy or I’ll get it
myself.” He struggled to his feet and stood swaying like a
drunkard. He seemed completely unaware that he was naked.
“The floor’s cold. Where are my boots?” Nicholas looked
down to find them and suddenly stumbled. “Oh, God,” he
groaned and sank back onto the bed. He struggled with the quilt.
Sera pulled it up to his chin and sat beside him on the bed.
“Go away,” he said.
“No. You have a nasty cough, and you’re warm. I think
you have a fever.”
Nicholas turned his head away. In the firelight, she could
still make out the pain on his face. “For God’s sake, go away,
Sera.”
“Why?”
A tremor wracked him. “I can’t bear for you to see me like
this.”
The shame in his voice made her want to take him in her
arms and tell him he was quite brave and strong enough, but he
would never believe her, not now. Instead, she busied herself
about the room, dipping a cloth into the bowl and bathing him
limb by limb, finding supplies in the kitchen and bringing tea
and soup, and making him drink.
But these were things any Outlander could do. If only she
could summon it, the Gift might heal him now. What if he got
worse? She couldn’t think about it. She sat in the wingback
chair beside the fire, watching him, and praying. Soon, she
couldn’t even do that. In spite of her will, her eyelids drooped,
and fell, and she slid into oblivion.
In the silent hour past midnight Nicholas slept fitfully. In
late morning, he woke again, his breath hitching. Sera, awake
for only a little time, brought him a posset she’d heated by the
fire.
“Drink,” she said.
He took a sip, then a long swallow. “That’s good on my
throat. What’s in it?”
“Tea with honey, brandy, and a bit of laudanum.”
“Drugging me, are you? Planning to have your way with
me?” His smile faded. “Sorry. I had no right, even joking. Not
now.”
She didn’t know what to do, what to say, when this black
mood came on him. She had barely the strength to hold the
drink. She had never felt this weary after using the Gift. When
would it return? she asked herself in desperation.
He looked at her through fever heavy eyes. “How long have
you been taking care of my needs?”
“Just through the one night
.” She had awakened several
times during the night and seen to him, then collapsed back
onto the chair, to sleep again.
“How much have you. . . had to do? Don’t tell me. All of it,
right?”
She knew he was thinking of the chamber pot. “You’d do
the same for me,” she said. “Stop being so silly. Even kings are
human.” She closed her eyes, felt for the power within her and
found nothing.
Nicholas woke four hours later, fitfully tossing and moaning.
Sera gave him more to drink and bathed his body again. He
muttered and groaned as she lifted him to bathe his chest. He
was barely able to lift his head. She sat down beside him and
took his hand. It was frightening to see he didn’t even have
energy for pride any more.
“Shh,” she said, smoothing his hair from his brow. She gave
him a bit of the drug-laced tea. “I’ll tell you a story from the
Hills if you’ll lie very still and try to sleep.”
“All right,” he rasped, tearing her heart.
“Once upon a time, a brave, handsome king rode into the
Hills in midwinter and got lost there. He wandered through snow
and sleet until he came to a waterfall that had frozen solid, a
filigree of spume and ice. He was too cold, too weary to go any
farther. He slipped from his horse, slapped it on the croup with
his last strength, and lay down to die.
“But luck was with him, for a beautiful woman, the princess
of a hidden world saw him through a magical glass in her study,
and she called her father to her side.
“‘See the Outlander, Father. He is a fine, handsome man,
and I pity him. Bring him inside. Make him warm.’
“So her father took pity on the Outlander, for his daughter’s
sake, and brought him into the hidden land, where it was warm
and the air smelled of blossoms, and they healed him. The first
thing the king saw when he awoke was the beautiful princess,
and he fell in love with her immediately.
“He began to court her, telling her of his fine palace and
the wonders of his country. She was wary, not of the king, but
of the Outlanders he ruled. But he spoke of his people with
such love that she knew she would rather risk the dangers of his
world to remain at his side than live in the safety of her home
without him. So when spring came to the world outside the
hidden kingdom, the king mounted a great stallion—a wedding
gift from the princess’s father. The princess mounted before
him and they traveled down the mountains into the king’s
country. And all the people rejoiced that their king, whom they
had thought dead, was home again.”
“Then what happened?” asked Nicholas.
“Reality,” said Sera. There was no need to tell him more.
“Now go to sleep.” She laid her head on the bed and closed her
eyes, trying to find the Gift. It hid still from her, somewhere so
deep within, she couldn’t reach it. The fear became a palpable
thing, clawing at her, mocking her impotence. She reached out
for Nicholas, as though touching him would keep him from
leaving her and crossing over to the Land of the Dead.
By midmorning the next day, Nicholas’s fever still raged.
Sera stared down at his face. There were gaunt hollows beneath
his eyes. His cheekbones showed prominently above the black
stubble of his beard. She put her ear to his chest and heard the
sounds she dreaded. His lungs made fine, crackling noises. When
she tapped his chest, it gave back dull thuds.
“Nicholas, it’s the pneumonia,” she said to him. Nicholas
didn’t answer. He was unconscious.
“What am I to do? What am I to do?” Sera whispered. Oh,
she couldn’t bear it if he died. She searched deep inside,
desperation adding some strength to that illusive essence men
call the soul.
Fear shook her. She wasn’t good at this yet. With great effort,
she could mend an artery and slashed skin. But to heal a man so
compromised!
She set her will and sent it deeper. The Gift responded, but
it was weakened still from the battle with the Brotherhood. She
wasn’t Grandfather. She didn’t have the power of all the elders
working in tandem. There was only her.
What would life be if Nicholas was gone from her? What
foolish fear held her back from giving everything to save him?
That she wouldn’t succeed? If it cost her own life, she couldn’t
give him up without a struggle.
“At least we’re alone,” she told him, listening to his harsh
breathing. “Nobody can accuse me of witchcraft here, can they?”
She disrobed until only her fine linen shift remained. The
fire would blaze for a long time, she thought. She did not know
how long it would take, or what the outcome would be. Her
heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt to swallow and to
breathe. It didn’t matter what happened. She couldn’t let him
die without a fight.
She slipped into bed beside Nicholas and took him into her
arms. Gathering him as close as she could, she shut her eyes
and put her arms around him. Downward she journeyed, through
the bronchial tubes, into the lungs themselves. The infection
pulsed and throbbed. Sera put her hands against his back, right
above it, and let the peace possess her, maybe for an instant,
maybe for an eternity.
The warmth welled up inside her, all golden and flowing
into her hands. She pressed gently and let the light flow from
her, along the path she directed past burning skin and lax muscle.
Into the virulent mass it speared. She held on, sending the light
sailing outward and into him on the current of her will, and saw
beneath her closed lids the last of the fluid drain and the lungs
heave and take their first easy breath.
After what seemed like eons, the glow dimmed and she felt
again, this time the cool skin, the quiet rise and fall of Nicholas’s
back. He was sleeping, a healthful, healing sleep. Her limbs
were heavy, almost paralyzed with the weariness of centuries.
Beneath her heavy lids, color played, light red reflecting the
fire. She snuggled closer to Nicholas. It took almost more energy
than she possessed just to smile.
“I love you,” she whispered and let the darkness take her.
***
Nicholas didn’t want to open his eyes. He was so
comfortable. There was only a bit of chill on the tip of his nose,
but everything else was deliciously warm. His lungs felt better
than they had these three weeks. He took a deep, satisfied breath
and buried his nose against warm, scented hair. Sera. He felt
Sera’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Even in her sleep, she
held him here with her.
He opened one eye. It was growing dark outside the window.
The blizzard still raged, thank God, sheltering them from the
Brotherhood fiends. The chill he felt on his nose was the room
cooling rapidly. He glanced at the fireplace; it held only dying
coals.
He slid from ben
eath the covers and threw on a robe hanging
in the armoire in the opposite corner. Hastily, he made up the
fire until it was a cheerful blaze, warming the room. Sera lay
still in the great bed, her breath the even inhalation of deep
sleep.
She must be exhausted after all she’d been through. . . when?
Yesterday? Whereas he felt fit enough to traipse through the
woods, hunting bear and pheasant to bring her for dinner. He
walked to the bed and stroked Sera’s shoulder through the thick,
warm fall of her hair.
“What the devil did you do to me?” he asked her dreaming
form, not really expecting an answer. Yet.
Nicholas bathed. He frowned at the sight he saw in the
mirror, all wild hair and long, dark stubble. Hastily, he got out
his razor. At least when Sera awoke she would see the old
Nicholas, clean and groomed. A little too late for all this now,
he thought, and cringed at the realization that she must have
nursed him and cleaned up after him when he lay helpless as a
babe.
Sera stirred in the big bed, rubbed her eyes and rolled over
on her side, promptly burrowing deeper to go to sleep again.
Nicholas wasn’t having any of it. He wanted answers, and he
wanted her too sleepy to be clever about the truth. He crawled
into bed and rolled her over to face him. Then he shook her
shoulder lightly.
“Wake up, Sera.”
“Mm-mm. Too tired.”
“Just a few questions and then you can sleep again.”
“What?” She opened her eyes and stared at him owlishly,
but the lids slipped shut again almost immediately.
He shook her shoulder again. “What did you do to me?”
“When you were sick?” she mumbled.
“Uh-huh. What did you do?”
She opened her eyes again, like a drunk trying to focus.
“Set you to rights.”
“What?” His bark of laughter seemed to jar her awake a
little more.
“I set you to rights, Nicholas. Now let me sleep.” She tried
to roll away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“How?”
“I put my hands on you.”
“You healed me with your hands,” he said flatly. He couldn’t
believe it.
“You were dying, Nicholas. I couldn’t have that, could I?”
She gave a yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“All right, love. Go back to sleep.”
Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Page 30