“So you're saying I might die?”
“Not in my hands,” May said and her voice held an authority that rivaled Adelina's on her best days. He nodded, accepting the decree. “Have you ever been healed by magic before?”
“Only the natural way. I broke my arm once.”
“And it probably took weeks to heal, right?”
Ed nodded. “Seven weeks, if I recall.”
“I could have healed your arm in only a couple of hours,” May told him. “But the aches you felt when your arm healed over those seven weeks would have been compounded into the same two hours. And the healing power itself burns in the process.”
“How long does it take to heal an injury like mine?”
“In an ideal situation, four to five hours, but your wound is less than ideal. You'll bleed to death if I don't heal you faster.”
“How fast?”
“The majority of your healing will take half an hour. The rest I can finish in an hour.”
Ed swallowed hard over the understanding. Four hours of already intense pain condensed into thirty minutes, plus an hour for good measure—excruciating would not begin to describe it. He tried to focus on something more pleasant. His mind circled to Adelina, to the touch of her skin against his, and he intertwined his fingers with hers.
“If you feel the need to pass out,” May continued, “don't fight it. Are you ready?”
He nodded, though he did not feel at all prepared. May glanced up at Cal and the man gripped the end of the spear once more.
“Now,” May said and with the single word, she introduced him to a new form of punishment. He could manage the pain when the spear tore from his body. A scream escaped him, and then it was over. But he had no breath left for screaming once the true agony began. Her power pulsed through him. He felt certain she had figured out a way to rip his muscles from his bones using fire, and then he drowned in darkness.
§
HE AWOKE twice. The first time, a wash of hot pain rolled through him. Compared to before, he found it tolerable, and guessed May now used her normal power. He let it overtake him, lost still to some of the black waves that had removed him from the world when the first round of healing had started. He remained half-trapped within it, and welcomed the serenity. He could see nothing, but soon the voices floated past. Adelina's entered the abyss first. It resonated stiff and angry. The second voice he also recognized well. It held calm against Adelina's emotion, logic against her fear. It belonged to their advisor, Garon.
“My lady,” he said. “Please understand. You have meetings. The Elders have an issue they need to discuss, and you have disputes to settle.”
“I already told you,” she responded. “I'm not leaving his side.”
“I know this isn't easy, but he's in good hands. May said he's healing well. He probably won't even be awake before you return from your duties.”
“I've made my decision,” she insisted. Ed smiled, recognizing the ice in her voice. If he had money to bet right now, he would lay it all down on the wager that she crossed her arms in front of her. He would also bet that Garon had already begun to squirm under the intensity of her glare. “Give my apologies to the Elders and the villagers,” she continued. “I'm not budging.”
Garon sighed. “I don't think apologies will do. The Elders are already mad enough, after what Ed did to Malven.”
“What do you mean?” May asked.
“From what I hear, Ed made Malven bet his guardianship away to Cal in a card game.”
“He did what?”
“It was a joke,” Cal said. “And it's not like I could've kept my so-called winnings. Only the Elders can transfer a guardianship.”
“A joke or not, it was irresponsible,” Garon snapped. “And it put Ed in this situation. Malven's a capable Guardian. More so than you, it appears.”
“Ed's injury wasn't my fault,” Cal said, his voice rising with his anger. “Malven's the one who put him in danger. If he hadn't teleported back here to whine to the Elders—”
“Enough, both of you,” May commanded. “You can argue about this later.”
Cal grunted, and then silence filled the room. A few minutes later, Garon spoke again, the animosity gone from his voice. “What exactly happened to him, anyway? I thought the outlaws had been defeated.”
“For the most part,” Cal responded. “But there are still a few to round up. Ed chased a couple of them into a trap this morning. I doubt they would've gotten the best of him, but these guys are different.”
“How so?” Garon asked.
“I don't know. It's hard to explain. They seem stronger and faster than a man ought to be. And they don't look right. Their skin is the color of ash.”
“Red eyes,” Ed thought, although when the room grew quiet, he wondered if he had actually spoken.
“You need to leave,” May said. “You've woken him.”
“What's he talking about?” Garon asked, and the panic in his voice surprised Ed. “There's no such thing as a man with red eyes.”
“There is now,” Cal responded. “They look like dranx.” The heat stopped coursing through Ed and Cal spoke again, “Come on, we'd better leave. The last time I saw May with that look on her face, she took after me with a knife.”
“I didn't,” May muttered. “But I will if you don't stop agitating my patient. His heart is racing.”
The heat started again and Ed lost awareness once more.
The second time he woke, night had blanketed the room in darkness. He felt a pressure on his chest, another on his left shoulder, and no pain in his right. He rolled the shoulder, smiled when it responded without protest, and reached across his chest to determine what had caused the pressure. His hand found skin, then fingers. He traced them and the pressure on his shoulder stirred.
“Adelina,” he whispered. “Is that you?”
“You're awake,” she responded.
Her voice trembled and he reached for her cheek, frowning when she captured his hand and pulled it away.
“Adelina,” he said, tightening his hand around hers. “If we can't share our feelings, how can we expect to share anything else?”
She took in a surprised breath, and then she nodded against his chest. He released her hand to seek her cheek once more. When he found the wetness he had expected, he followed his fingers with his lips.
“It's okay,” he told her. “I promised I'd come back.”
A sob escaped her throat. She clutched her fists against his skin, and then cried until her tears had dried. When silence enveloped the room again, he grazed a kiss across her temple.
“Why do you shut me out?” he asked. “Why won't you lean on me when you need someone?”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head.
“Adelina, please. Tell me.”
“Because,” she hesitated. Her voice softened, and he had had to strain to hear her. “Because this isn't your home. You've made it clear you want to return to the mountains and I know it's only a matter of time before you do.”
The truth sliced through him, as swift and painful as the spear that had pierced his body. He had longed for the freedom he had known with his tribe, and he thought he had hid that longing from her. He thought he had accepted his new home, his new role with dignity. But the only person he seemed to have fooled was himself. Joining the army at the border had made him aware of that. He had relished visiting his kinsmen and the land where he had grown up. He had even toyed with the idea of breaking his promise to Adelina. The idea had only lasted about a day before he began to miss her.
He drew his fingers to her brow and wished he had her gift to see in the dark. “If you feared I wouldn't return, why did you let me leave?”
“Because you needed to be there,” she said. “You needed to protect your people. I understand that.”
“It's why you fought in the Zeiihbu war, isn't it?”
“Yes. But going to the border meant more than that to you. You'r
e a nomad at heart. I can't change that, and I'd rather let you go than hold you here against your will.”
“Is that how you see me?” he asked. “Can't I be more than that? Can't I be the man who stays by your side, and the one who travels to ease his wanderlust?”
“Is that possible?” she asked. “Can you really be both?”
“If you let me. Adelina, I want to be here with you, but I need this to be my home. I need to be King by your side. And I need to perform my full duty for your land to be mine.”
“It's not an easy job.”
“Easy is boring.”
She laughed, shifted beside him, and then her lips pressed into his neck. The softness of the gesture thrilled him.
“I love you, Adelina.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” He buried his hands in her hair, and drew her head closer. “Since the beginning, you've left me little other choice.”
“Good,” she said. “I thought I was the only one.”
He smiled, and though he could not see her, he had no doubt she did the same.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE INTIMACY of Adelina and Ed's story surprised Nick. He would have felt like a voyeur if he had not recognized parallels between the past and the present. Cal had not changed much, except for the length of his beard. Nick's mother still commanded her healing power with the same strength and assurance. And Garon still cared more for controlling those around him than for understanding their needs, though Adelina and Ed had been blind to that failing in their advisor. They might not have remained that way if Ed had caught up to the red-eyed men he had chased.
Nick sighed and set the book aside. Despite the skirmishes on the border, it had been a peaceful time in the kingdom. It amazed him how fast things had changed. Not even twenty years later, the border seemed to be the only safe place to hide.
He stood and moved to the fireplace to check the soup. The broth boiled with such force that the lid rattled, letting steam escape up the chimney. A taste test revealed the soup had finished cooking, so he grasped the handle of the pot with a towel and moved it to the table, then sat down to eat. The howl of the storm kept him company until he spooned up his last bite, then Meaghan stirred and the noise of the storm disappeared behind a wash of her pain.
“Nick?”
He returned to her side. Her eyes opened, though they appeared unseeing, clouded with the pain he had sensed. She struggled to rise to her elbows, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, easing her back down.
“It's better if you don't move,” he told her. “Do you want more tea?”
She nodded. He filled a cup and brought it to her. After propping her up with pillows, he helped her drink, easing the hot liquid past her lips until her pain subsided. When she nestled back against the pillows and closed her eyes, he stood, intending to leave her to sleep, but stopped when she grabbed his arm with tight fingers. She opened her eyes again, and he realized why her strength had surged. Fear widened them.
“Please,” she said. “Stay with me.”
He sat back down. “What's wrong?”
Her grip moved from his arm to his hand. He intertwined his fingers with hers.
“I keep dreaming about what happened,” she whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, he's there.”
Nick nodded. He had suspected as much. “He's gone now. He won't bother you anymore.”
“That's not true. He always will.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked away. “Who was he? Beneath the Mardróch, I saw a man. He seemed familiar.”
Nick drew her hand into his lap, and then pressed it between his palms. He had recognized the man, too, and the realization of what Garon had done had torn at Nick. But it had also made it easier to fire the final arrow. In the end, releasing the man from his prison had been as much of a sympathy killing as Dell's death.
“His name was Vaska,” he told Meaghan. “You met him in my village.”
Meaghan's eyes returned to his, widening once more. “I remember him from the party,” she said. “He played with the band, some sort of instrument that looked like a shell.”
Nick nodded. “A whelk horn.”
“He didn't seem like the same person.”
“I know,” Nick said. “The Mardróch spell doesn't just change a person's powers. It changes features. It robs humanity.”
“Was he the traitor then? Did he let the Mardróch into the village?”
Nick shook his head. “No. If he had, he would have been a full Mardróch by now. The spell usually only takes a day to work, but he had only half-turned. He fought it.”
“That's why I felt him instead of smelling him,” Meaghan realized. “He was in agony.”
“Most likely from fighting the spell,” Nick said. “He would have lost in the end, and probably had started to or he wouldn't have attacked you, but he still fought it.”
She closed her eyes tight enough to crease her eyelids. Tears escaped, coursing down her cheeks in straight rivers. “He threw my knife away,” she whispered. “He could have used it against me, but he didn't. Did he have to die? Couldn't we have helped him?”
Rather than answer, Nick pressed his forehead to hers and released the block on his emotions so she could feel the depth of his grief. She lifted an arm and wrapped it around his neck.
“You helped him the only way you could,” she realized. “Could others from your village have been turned to Mardróch against their will?”
“It's possible, but I doubt it.” He traced a hand along her arm before removing it from his neck. “Garon's army captured Guardians and tried converting them when the war started, but the tactic didn't work as well as he'd hoped. Much like Vaska, they fought the change. Some even managed to kill a few Mardróch before the army disposed of them. Since then, Garon has adopted a no prisoner policy.”
“So why did they try to convert Vaska?”
“It's hard to know,” Nick said. “But there's no point in speculating. Garon's reasons rarely make sense.” He stood and moved to the table, then filled a bowl with soup and brought it to her. “You need to eat.”
Meaghan eyed the soup at first and he thought she would refuse it, but when he sat next to her again, she accepted the food and ate in silence. Only a spoonful remained when her eyelids drifted closed.
Nick removed the bowl from her hands, leaving her to sleep as he set about completing long overdue tasks. He sharpened the knives, tightened the string on his bow, and swept the cabin floor. After he checked the progress of the storm, not at all surprised to see over a foot of snow on the ground, he placed the soup pot outside so it would not spoil, and then curled up on his own cot and succumbed to a dreamless sleep.
§
THE NEXT morning, faint sunlight woke him, bringing a smile to his face. He turned on his side. Meaghan lay motionless in her cot, except for the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She had slept through the night. He took that as a good sign and hoped she would stay asleep through most of his hunt. Tossing back the blankets, he rose to verify her skin remained cool to his touch, and then rebuilt the fire before grabbing his bow and arrows and heading out the door.
No trace of the storm remained in the cloudless sky, though an endless sea of white still blanketed the ground, pushed by wind into small hills and valleys. On the porch, snow lay smooth as an undisturbed lake. He stepped into it, sinking mid-way up his calves. His boots kept the cold at bay for now, but the reprieve would not last long. Dipping his hands into the snow beside the door, he searched for the pot he had set out the night before. When his fingers brushed metal, he dug the pot from its icy burial and lifted the lid. The soup had frozen solid. He took it inside the cabin and hung it over the fire to defrost before heading back outside.
He ventured down the porch steps, barely distinguishable from the drifts surrounding them, and then braved his first journey into the new-fallen snow. Here, where no roof offered protection against the full brunt of the storm, he sunk past his knees befo
re finding hard-frozen earth. Soft powder seeped into the lining of his boots, soaking through his socks and melting into his pants. Despite his desire to escape the cold and return to Meaghan before she awoke, he planted his steps with care, watching for hidden danger. A buried log or boulder could sideline him with a sprained ankle, leaving them to the mercy of Cal's bland supplies. Although it would not kill them, Meaghan would heal faster with fresh meat to entice her appetite.
He headed north, toward the body he had hidden the day before. Although the snow had not fallen as deeply in the forest, a snowdrift hid the hole in the tree, granting him reprieve from figuring out another grave. The frozen ground would not allow any digging for some time.
Turning east from the tree, he spotted fresh tracks in the snow and followed them. Two of the paw prints appeared to be about the size of one of his hands and he realized they belonged to a larger animal—a wood lion, perhaps, as he doubted anything smaller could make its way through snow this deep. He ventured half a mile further into the woods, following the trail, and then discovered its source. A white cat bounded ahead of him, focused on its prey. It pounced through the snow, its tail flicking back and forth in anticipation as it watched a bird flit from branch to branch.
The cat resembled a lynx in size and build, and it held a special power enabling it to mimic its background. The snow had turned it white, but its natural coat appeared brownish-red, earning it the name ambercat.
Because their primary power made them nearly impossible to spot, and a secondary power disguised their movements with artificial silence, years could elapse between sightings. Nick doubted he would have seen this cat, if hunger had not driven the animal into carelessness.
He stopped and slipped an arrow from his quiver in preparation. The cat remained focused on the blue jay's movements. The bird jumped from the branch. Nick waited, watching for the cat's leap straight into the air, and then became the predator. His arrow flew straight into the ambercat's heart, dropping it back to the ground. The bird disappeared into the sky, unaware of its luck.
As the cat's blood stained the fresh snow, turning it a deep shade of pink, Nick worked fast to field dress and skin the animal. When he had finished, he stowed the carcass in his burlap sack, and then hid what he could not use in a hollow log.
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 6