“What news?”
“They're going to have a baby.”
“They...what?” Nick shook his head, disbelieving her words. “Meg, Cal's fifty-four.”
Meaghan shrugged. “And he wed a younger woman. It happens. He may be older than most who become fathers for the first time, but it doesn't change the fact he'll be one.”
“Maybe,” Nick conceded. “But I don't see how you could know about it. Only Healers can sense a pregnancy.”
“Apparently not. I can sense the baby's emotion.”
“What emotions?”
“Not emotions. Emotion. Just one, contentment. Although I imagine there'll be more as the baby grows.”
Nick frowned. “So you're basing your diagnosis on a single emotion you sensed from Neiszhe?”
“Not from Neiszhe, from her baby.”
“You can't be certain of that. It wouldn't be a stretch to say Neiszhe feels content when she's with Cal. And if it came from her direction,” he hesitated, unsure of how to finish his sentence without insulting Meaghan.
“Then there's no way I could isolate her emotions from her baby's,” she finished for him. “Is that what you think?” He nodded and she laughed. “I can tell what direction emotions come from, even when I can't see who they're coming from,” she reminded him. “And when I'm with several people, I can tell who's feeling what. Why wouldn't I be able to distinguish Neiszhe's emotions from her baby's?”
“Because telling people apart is different. They're separate from each other. Neiszhe and her baby share the same space.”
“True, but the baby's contentment feels different. It's hard to explain, but it's faint, primal, I guess.”
“Undeveloped,” he offered, finally understanding.
“Exactly.”
“That's incredible,” he said, studying the conviction in Meaghan's eyes. It erased any lingering doubt from his mind. Somehow she had learned to differentiate the smallest signals her power gathered. He never would have expected her to gain such command over her empath power in a few years, let alone in the few months she had been in Ærenden.
He reached his hands up to bracket her face, and then grazed his lips over hers. “You should get some rest,” he said. “There's a festival starting tomorrow. Neiszhe will heal you in the morning and by afternoon you should be able to practice controlling your power around crowds. For now,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her down on to the bed, “sleep.”
Without protest, she let him draw the blankets up to her chin and promptly did as he had asked.
§
“WHAT A day to be out of spirit,” Cal exclaimed the next morning after Nick and Meaghan had arrived at Neiszhe's house. He held his chest high, his eyes sparkling as he greeted them and Meaghan felt giddy with Cal's contagious excitement.
“It seems a toast is in order,” he continued, clapping Nick on the back. “It's the perfect day for it.”
“It's a bit early to be drinking, isn't it?” Nick asked.
“Not when there's cause for celebration,” Cal responded. His gaze fell on Meaghan and he scooped her into his arms, crushing her in a tight hug. Pain shot through her side, but she gritted her teeth against it.
“You knew,” he said when he set her back down. “I thought you were being, well,” he shrugged. “Your mother could be spoiled sometimes. She got bossy when she didn't get her way.”
“I didn't want to give anything away,” Meaghan said, bringing a hand up to her wound. The pain increased. “I thought Neiszhe ought to be the one to share the news.”
Cal chuckled. “Well, you had me fooled. I thought I'd have to lecture you today, but Neiszhe set me straight. Not soon enough, though. I owe you an apology.”
Meaghan shook her head, but could not manage the words to go with the gesture. Her ribs burned too much to allow much breath. Her skin felt wet beneath her sweater. Nick's arm came around her waist.
“Meg,” he started, but Cal interrupted.
“She looks pale. Is she okay?”
“I don't think so.” Nick's voice seemed distant. Meaghan shook her head to clear the haze surrounding it.
“I think I'd better get Neiszhe,” Cal said, and without waiting for a response, disappeared into the kitchen. Nick guided Meaghan to the couch. She sat, grateful to relieve her shaking legs, then felt panic rise when Nick lifted her sweater and cursed.
“You need to lie down,” he told her. Worry painted his face. She glanced at her side, saw red, and allowed him to pull her down. She closed her eyes. Something soft pressed against her wound, swelling her pain.
“I have tea,” Cal's voice came from across the room. Heavy footsteps moved toward the couch. “What happened?”
“She's bleeding again,” Nick said.
“She had stitches,” Neiszhe's voice came from beside Nick. “I sensed them yesterday.”
“She popped some a few days ago,” Nick told her. “The wound seemed to have healed enough so I didn't redo them, but—”
“I broke more when I hugged her,” Cal realized. “Damn,” he muttered. “I'm an idiot. How bad is it?”
The cloth moved for a second, and then the pressure returned. Meaghan opened her eyes in time to see the panic on Neiszhe's face. “Has she had any tea?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Cal responded.
“Get some into her. She'll need it for an accelerated healing. I'll be right back.”
Cal nodded and Neiszhe rushed from the room, exiting the house through the front door.
“Where's she going?” Nick asked.
“To get help,” Cal said, setting a mug down on the coffee table. “Keep applying pressure to the wound. I'll prop her up so she can drink.”
Nick nodded and Cal lifted Meaghan by the shoulders. Sitting down on the couch beside her, Cal used his body to brace her back, then handed her the mug. She gulped the vile liquid down as fast as she could manage, ignoring the heat scalding her mouth, and soon reaped the reward of her effort. The pain in her side dulled, soothed by a numbing warmth. When she set the mug down, Cal spoke again.
“I reached May through the fire last night,” he said. “I wanted to confirm Neiszhe would be okay to heal Meaghan under the circumstances.”
“What did Mom say?” Nick asked.
“That basic healing would be fine, but if things got complicated, Neiszhe wouldn't be able to complete the job without putting the baby in danger. She recommended a backup plan just in case.”
“Good thing for that,” Nick muttered. He shifted his hand, applying more pressure, and Meaghan winced. He picked up the mug and handed it to her. “There's a little left.”
She nodded and sipped as Cal spoke. “Neiszhe's been training an apprentice. He'll do the healing, but so you know, he and the other villagers think Meaghan is Neiszhe's cousin. It's the story we used after you left last time. We told them her name's Adara.”
“Easy enough to remember,” Nick said. “What's my story?”
“That may be more difficult to remember. You're her husband. Your name's Nick.”
Meaghan's laughter came so swift she spit out the last sip of her tea, spraying the side of the couch. “Ow,” she protested as her hand came up to cover her side. Her fingers met Nick's, and the towel he used to staunch her blood. “Don't make me laugh.”
Cal grinned and stood, easing her back down to the couch as the front door opened. Neiszhe entered, followed closely by a young man. Thick, red curls topped his face, giving him a cherubic appearance. He brought a hand to his mouth to chew on already short fingernails while his green eyes darted around the room. When they fell on Meaghan, he smiled, flashing dimples in her direction.
She swallowed her nerves, and wondered if he was old enough to control his power, let alone manage an accelerated healing. When Cal chuckled and patted her on the shoulder, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Apparently, her face had given away her fears.
“Mycale's not as young or inexperienced as he looks,” Cal assured he
r. “And Neiszhe will be sensing his progress the entire time. You'll be fine.”
“He's right,” the young man said and despite the nerves he had displayed when he first entered the room, his voice held steady. He approached the couch and knelt beside Meaghan. “It just takes me a minute to adjust to feeling pain from someone else.”
“I can understand that,” Meaghan said, but refrained from saying anything more about it. He could not know how well she understood his reaction or how well she could empathize with the oddity of processing someone else's emotions. Only the Queen had an empath power, and right now, she needed to be someone else. “How long have you been healing people?”
“My power first showed up when I was five. My father's a Healer, so I've helped him since. Let me have a look at your wound.” Mycale took the towel from Nick and lifted it, then pressed it back down. Closing his eyes, he spread both of his hands over the towel. A look of concentration passed over his face. “You have three cracked ribs,” he told her, “and your wound is severe, but those stitches saved your life. I'll need to take them out to do my job, though.”
“I'll get some scissors,” Cal offered and left the room.
“When I remove them,” Mycale continued, “your bleeding will get worse. Do you know what accelerated healing is?”
“I've heard of it,” Meaghan said without having to lie. Nick had explained it to her when he told her the story of her father's healing. At the time, she thought how horrible it sounded, but now it seemed even worse.
“But you've never been through it?”
“No.”
“Have you been through a regular healing before?”
“Once,” Nick told him. “She had a broken leg.”
“Then you understand the pain involved in the healing process,” Mycale said. “This is a lot worse. It won't be easy, but I find it's more tolerable for my patients if they have the steady contact of a loved one.”
Mycale shifted down to clear room on the floor beside Meaghan's head. Nick filled the vacated spot. Taking her hand in one of his, he rested his other palm against her brow. For a moment, his fear swelled as his hold on his power slipped, and then the emotion disappeared. She met his eyes and found strength in them.
Mycale began removing the stitches. Nick's fingers tightened around Meaghan's hand, and a moment later, pain cascaded through her. She dragged breath in and out of her lungs, and then gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. The effort did not last long. Cries ripped from her throat before she could control them. They raked through her, joining with the fire springing from Mycale's hands. When even that outlet no longer alleviated the agony squeezing her mind, she sought solace in the same darkness her father had found so many years before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LESS THAN six hours later, Meaghan basked in the sun's waning warmth, amazed at how fast things could change. This morning, a chill had soaked the air, clinging to her frozen skin as she walked from the guesthouse to Neiszhe's cottage. Now, the day felt renewed. As did she. Her fingers sought her side, pressed, and found no pain.
“You're not bleeding,” Nick's voice broke into her thoughts.
She turned to face him. “I know that.”
“Then stop poking at your side.”
She scowled, but her agitation eased when he chuckled in response, letting her know he had been teasing. Bringing an arm around her waist, he planted a kiss on her temple, and then skimmed his eyes over the scene in front of them. She followed his gaze.
The main road for the village teemed with people, their voices overlapping in excitement. Lines snaked past booths set up in front of houses, offering food and drink. A vendor offered some sort of pink meat on a stick to Meaghan's left and the sweet aroma awakened her appetite, but before she could take one, her attention jumped to another item and then a third, each more tantalizing than the last. Young kids slurped seeds from the rind of a yellow and white striped fruit. An old man devoured a thin green pancake stuffed with grilled vegetables. A woman clutched one of the largest turkey legs Meghan had ever seen. Teenagers chowed down on multi-colored popcorn kernels. And everyone seemed to have a goblet in their hands. When a few people staggered by, she guessed Cal would not have trouble making a toast tonight.
Interspersed among the crowd, tables provided places to congregate and eat. Musicians played and danced. Jugglers dressed as clowns entertained groups of children. A fire starter designed elaborate shapes in the sky, sparking and fading flames so that smoky paintings remained behind. And three men who appeared to be triplets hovered overhead, performing acrobatic feats.
“How are you feeling?” Nick asked.
“Good.” She reached behind her back to feel for the doll she had tucked into her belt. Hidden by her cloak, only she and Nick knew it existed. Her focus remained intact, steadier than it had ever been before. It seemed Nick had been right about her pain distracting her from gaining control.
“I'll keep my power on all night,” he told her. “So don't try to overdo it. Use my power to block yours whenever you need. And Meg,” he focused his full attention on her, broadcasting his seriousness in both his gaze and his tone. “I need you to make a promise.”
“What?”
“Don't try to use your power on anything but the doll. I know you'll want to at some point tonight, but I'd prefer you master this part of the technique first.”
“All right,” she agreed, and then turned her head when she caught a familiar scent. “Roast lamb,” she said in longing. “This festival is so impressive. I don't even know where to begin. What's it for?”
“The birth of our kingdom,” Nick said, and began guiding her through the crowd. His voice remained at a whisper and she realized everyone who grew up in the kingdom would know the festival. The fact Meaghan knew nothing about it would give away their identities if they were not careful. “The Founders' Festival celebrates Ærenden's beginning and the first King and Queen.” He stopped in front of a booth to pick up two wooden goblets, and then pressed one into her palm, forcing her to grasp it. “Try this.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Founder's juice. It's a mix of several different types of berries. It's only made for the festival.”
She sniffed the deep red fluid, wrinkling her nose when a sour-tart aroma greeted her, followed by the scent of strong alcohol.
Nick chuckled. “Just try it, all right? I'm not going to poison you.”
She lifted the goblet to her lips. A thick liquid coursed over her tongue, first burning it, and then settling into soothing warmth. The taste blossomed, both complex and familiar, and she lowered the goblet in surprise. “It tastes like spiced wine, but darker, more like blackberries than grapes.”
“That's a good description,” Nick agreed. “But be careful. It has more alcohol than you're used to, and you haven't eaten much.”
“We should fix that,” a voice came from behind Meaghan. She turned, smiling in recognition when Mycale's grin greeted her. He slid his hands into his pockets. Even though he slouched some, he towered over Meaghan by almost a foot. “I'm famished myself. Accelerated healing takes a lot of energy.”
“I imagine so,” she responded. “Thank you for that. I was sorry to see you left before I woke.”
“It's my pleasure.” He nodded toward a booth across the street. “Shall we get food? The baker just put out fresh envelope pies.”
Nick led the way through the crowd. Locating the baker's booth, he grabbed three small, white bags from the counter, then handed one each to Meaghan and Mycale. Meaghan set her goblet down at a table close by, and opened her bag. Steam escaped, carrying the scent of pastry and meat with it.
Nick tore his bag down the middle, and then folded over the paper so he could use it to hold the pie. Meaghan mimicked his movements, revealing the envelope shaped pastry nestled inside. She took her first, tentative bite, sucked in a breath of cold air to keep from scorching her tongue, and then savored the flavor. The ground mea
t tasted like a sweeter version of beef, spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. A berry exploded in her mouth, overwhelming her senses with memories of pumpkin pie, and she realized the baker had laced the meat with spice berries. She took another bite, tasted currant, and smiled. The envelope pie offered a savory and sweet combination that had her devouring it in half a dozen fast bites.
“This is amazing,” she said.
Digging into the bag, she pinched up the last of the crumbs and dropped them into her mouth. She cast Nick an embarrassed smile when he raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to mask the amusement dancing within his eyes.
“What type of meat was that?” she asked, tossing the bag into a nearby trashcan.
“Bison. Do you want another one?”
She shook her head, though she felt more than a little tempted. “There's too much food to try. I don't want to miss anything.”
Mycale chuckled. “You act like you've never been to a Founder's Festival before.”
“She does this every year,” Nick said, covering her slip with a wave of his hand. “It's her favorite holiday.”
“It's everybody's favorite holiday,” Mycale responded. “And it's hard not to get excited this year, given the recent turn of events.”
Meaghan nodded, pretending to know what he meant.
“Besides,” Mycale continued, offering her a sheepish smile. “A lot of it's new to me, too. My village is half this size, so our festival isn't nearly as good.”
“Where are you from?” Nick asked.
“A village by the Zeiihbu border,” Mycale answered. “In a valley below Clear Mountain.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “You're a long way from home. Isn't it customary for Healers to apprentice at a village nearby?”
Mycale's hands slipped back into his pockets. He rocked on his heels, and Meaghan realized the motion stemmed from nerves. Despite the promise Nick had elicited from her, she refocused her power from the doll to the young man in front of her. She sensed his nervousness, as she had expected. But she also sensed deceit. The added emotion concerned her and she decided to keep her power focused on Mycale until his intention became clear.
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 10