Chapter 45
W hen we reach the cabin, Maddox is already there.
It looks as if he’s just beaten us. He’s kneeling, hands braced against his knees, panting.
I can’t imagine how fast he must have sprinted to have beaten us.
I glance around, searching for the healer.
Maddox, still catching his breath, says, “He’s on his way.
He’s human, so he’s a bit slower, but he’s running, too.
I just had to run ahead. I had to make it back quickly. In case?—”
Maddox stumbles forward and glances at Charlie, his eyes glazed over with tears. Making a fist with his calloused fingers, he traces them across her forehead, now soaked with sweat. He brushes her dark hair behind her ear, scratching slightly just behind her earlobe.
“Come on, Charlie,” he says. “Every step, all that way for you, and you still haven’t woken up.”
The tenderness in his face causes my stomach to writhe. Maddox doesn’t have to ask. Nolan passes Charlie over to him, then opens the door to the cottage, getting it out of the way so that Maddox can carry her across the threshold and into the house.
We follow behind him, Nolan immediately returning to my side, draping his arm around me to support my weight. My legs are still trembling, though there’s no telling what it’s from—whether it’s the adrenaline, the aftereffects of labor, or if it’s as simple and potent as grief.
“To the left,” says Nolan.
Maddox doesn’t respond, but he must hear Nolan, because he goes straight for our bedroom, where he lays Charlie out across the bed.
With a manic air about him, he searches the room until he finds a basket full of quilts.
He takes one of them, spreads it over her, then, apparently displeased that her body is still shaking, goes for another, spreading it atop her as well.
Once she’s covered, Maddox stands with his arms limp at his sides, palms flexing open and closed.
“Do you think she’s cold?” he asks.
“It wouldn’t hurt her to have somebody next to her,” says Nolan.
Maddox’s eyes go wide and he looks at me. “You should do it,” he says. “She’d be more comfortable.”
My mouth drops open. It’s not that I’m unwilling. It’s not that I wouldn’t do anything to help Charlie live.
It’s just that I don’t deserve to be anywhere close to her. Charlie shouldn’t have to wake up in the arms of the person who might be responsible for her death.
Nolan glances at me, watching me fumble for my words.
He must read my mind, or at least understand that I have some reason for not wanting to be the one to warm her, because he says, “Wendy needs rest. Besides, she’s cold herself.
She’ll hardly be able to warm Charlie up when she needs warming herself.
I’m sure Charlie won’t hold it against you if you explain once she wakes up. ”
“Yes, well, then you don’t know the same Charlie I do,” says Maddox.
He swallows and rounds the other side of the bed, lifting the quilt and sinking in next to Charlie, wrapping his arms around her and pulling the covers over both of them.
Charlie doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. Maddox must notice, because he swallows again, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against her cheek.
“You need to sit down,” says Nolan.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me. I let him lead me over to the rocking chair in the corner, but when he goes to set me in it, I let out a whimper.
“I can’t sit in that,” I say.
Nolan looks confused. Then, when he glances back down at the rocker, realization dawns on his face.
He takes me by the hand and instead leads me into the living area, placing me on the couch.
I expect him to leave me there—perhaps find a quilt, wrap it over me, and abandon me to sleep—but he doesn’t.
He just kneels down on the floor next to the couch and places his hand on my chest, closing his eyes like he’s counting my breaths, as if somehow, they anchor him in place.
He doesn’t touch my belly. I can’t blame him. There’s a gaping absence there. One neither of us can bear to address.
“You must be so angry with me,” I say. “If you need to leave—I know what I said earlier—but if you need to leave, I would understand.”
His eyes flick up to me, staring at me from beneath his long black lashes. “We agreed, Darling. I’m not leaving you again.”
“But you are angry.”
He stares at me, mouth open for a moment. “There are too many feelings swarming about me for me to put them into words,” he finally says. “But I do know one thing: I have no desire to leave your side ever again. I can’t—” He stops himself.
“You’ll change your mind though,” I say. “Once the shock wears off. Once you realize what I’ve done.”
Nolan looks at me, and there is an intensity in his eyes. It’s the anger I’ve been waiting for.
“Darling, don’t ever say anything like that again?—”
“And if you need space?—”
“No,” Nolan snaps. “I can’t imagine—” He stops, swallowing. “I can’t be alone right now,” he says, his entire body trembling. “I need…I need you right now. And I apologize, because I know you need me. But I can’t…”
I put my hand out and place it on his, squeezing it. He nods. The words remain unspoken, but they don’t need to be uttered to be understood.
“I couldn’t protect him,” Nolan says after a few minutes of silence. “When I found out you were carrying our child—I knew from that moment what I would do. I had prepared myself to be a slave to the Sister once more. To lose you. To lose myself. I had accepted that eventuality. But this…”
He trails off, unable to find the words, but I understand. The gaping void in my heart is all too familiar, all too similar to the concept he can’t speak aloud.
“It doesn’t feel real,” I say.
He shakes his head, gaze far off. “No. No, not at all.”
“I’m not even crying,” I say. “Shouldn’t I be crying?”
Nolan glances at me and opens his mouth as if to say something, but just then, there’s a frantic knock at the door.
“The healer,” I say.
Nolan snaps back to reality, squeezes my shoulder, and stands, hurrying to the door. A sense of urgency seems to overtake him again now that he remembers Charlie’s dire state.
When he opens the door, a feeble-looking man with reddened cheeks waddles through, a satchel thrown over his shoulder. He’s huffing, but there’s a determined look about him.
“Where’s the patient?” he asks.
Nolan directs him down the hall, and the healer waddles down it with rather impressive speed, given his age and state.
Nolan stays by my side, but I shake my head.
“I can stand long enough to hear what the healer has to say,” I say, not because I feel like I deserve to get updates about Charlie, but because I know if I remain here on the couch, Nolan will stay with me. Charlie is his friend. He’s never betrayed her. She deserves to have him by her side.
So I stand. And Nolan accompanies me back to the room.
Charlie is still. Maddox appears to have extracted himself from her side in a hurry, as if he fears what the healer might assume. As if he’s still expecting to face Charlie’s wrath on the other side of this.
Because he still believes there is another side of this.
“Now, explain to me how the girl is injured,” the healer says. He glances at the wound. “Did the arrow shaft break off, or did you remove it yourself?”
“It wasn’t an arrow,” says Maddox. He fumbles for a way to explain. “It was fired from a device similar to a cannon.”
“It was a bullet,” Nolan says, his voice oddly calm. Serene. Almost rehearsed, as if the emotion has bled entirely out of it, and he’s relying on subconscious memory to speak.
“Do you have an idea of the size of the projectile?” asks the healer.
Nolan makes a ring with his forefinger to demonstrate.
The healer whistles. “Well,” he says, looking down at the soaked makeshift bandage, “we’ll have to get the bleeding to stop first before worrying about its removal. It’s a shame people create weapons such as those. New ways to kill each other every day.”
My heart aches. I stare at Charlie. Anger reddens Maddox’s face, but none of us can bring ourselves to contradict the healer. None of us can find the words to explain.
The healer reaches into his satchel and grabs a potion, which he presses to Charlie’s lips. She does not drink.
“Very well,” he says, ripping a piece of gauze and soaking it in the potion instead. He then presses it to the inside of her cheek, leaving his finger there.
“I don’t want her to accidentally swallow it,” he explains. “But the medicine will absorb through the fleshy part of the cheek. Should help the blood clot.”
His words slap me across the face. I should’ve thought to search Malia’s satchel for more of the anti-hemorrhaging potion.
My mind hadn’t even gone that far. And yet again, I’ve betrayed my friend.
How much blood did she lose unnecessarily , when I might have had the anti-hemorrhaging potion on me?
“Should do the trick. If we can manage to stay the blood flow, I’ll be able to operate and remove the, eh, small cannon ball, as you call it,” the healer says. “Should I be alerting the authorities? That we have a killer on the loose?”
“She’s not dead,” says Maddox, jaw set.
“No, of course not,” the healer answers as he works. “It just seems that was the assailant’s intention. And if the village is in trouble?—”
“There’s no trouble,” says Nolan.
“Very well,” says the healer, packing up his things. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“You’re leaving?” asks Maddox.
The healer sighs. “There’s nothing else I can do for the moment. She needs rest. She’ll need to be in a more stable condition before I try to remove anything. I’ve already cleaned the wound. Besides, the morning’s only a few hours away. I won’t be gone long. Unless there’s anything else?—”
He stops when his gaze lands on me. At the blood on my legs.
“Is that yours?” he asks.
“Yes, but I’m fine,” I say.
Nolan shakes his head. “She needs to be seen to as well.”
“Are you also injured?” asks the healer.