Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The wagon rolled through the northern gate with agonizing slowness, every revolution of the wheels carrying them farther from immediate danger but deeper into unknown territory.
Nero lay still in the straw, fighting waves of pain and nausea as the cart jolted over the rough road leading away from Abergenny's walls.
Through their bond, he felt Casteel's relief mixed with lingering terror. His mate's hand remained clasped in his, a lifeline anchoring him to consciousness as his body threatened to surrender to the trauma of their escape. He was bleeding and he knew Casteel had noticed but they couldn't stop.
"How far to the first way station?" Lucan asked softly once they were well clear of the city.
"Eight miles," Eryken replied, consulting a map by the fading daylight. "There's an inn called the Copper Kettle—rebellion sympathizers run it. We can rest there until dawn."
Eight miles. Nero closed his eyes, calculating. At the wagon's current pace, nearly three full bells of jolting over increasingly rough roads. He could feel fresh blood seeping through his bandages with each bump, his body's reserves depleting with alarming speed.
"I need to examine his wounds," Makim whispered urgently, noting the spreading crimson stains. "If the bleeding doesn't stop soon..."
"We can't stop here," Eryken's voice carried back to them, tense with the knowledge that Silver Guard patrols might be following. "Too exposed."
Nero felt Casteel's growing desperation. His mate was torn between the need for speed and the fear that the journey itself might kill Nero. The younger man's anguish cut deeper than any physical wound.
"Don't worry," Nero managed, though speaking required tremendous effort. "I won't let you die."
He missed the incredulous look Casteel sent him because even as he spoke the words, darkness crept at the edges of his vision.
The constant drain of pain, blood loss, even with the magical energy flowing through their bond, was taking its toll.
He felt Casteel pouring more of his own strength into him—strength they might both need before this journey ended.
He woke occasionally as the cart jolted and tried to keep the hiss of pain in. Eryken rolled up the sides of the cart as if seeing the scattered farmsteads, most showing signs of the ongoing drought—withered fields, empty livestock pens, wells that had run dry—made the journey bearable.
"There," Eryken pointed ahead to where smoke rose from a chimney nestled among a grove of oak trees. "The Copper Kettle."
Nero pried his eyes open as Eryken spoke—a modest two-story building with a stable yard and several outbuildings. But it looked prosperous enough, with well-maintained walls and glass in all the windows. More importantly, it sat far enough from the main road to offer some concealment.
Eryken guided the wagon into the stable yard, where a broad-shouldered man with gray streaked through his beard emerged to meet them.
Lucan jumped down from the wagon, exchanging a series of hand signals with the innkeeper that Nero recognized as old rebellion code. Satisfied, the man nodded and gestured toward a side entrance.
"You're expected," the man said in a low voice, his eyes scanning the road behind them. "Messengers arrived a bell ago. Come quickly."
"Through here. We've prepared the back room."
Getting Nero from the wagon to the inn proved an excruciating ordeal.
Though Casteel and Makim supported most of his weight, each step sent fresh waves of agony through his chest. By the time they reached the small, well-appointed room at the rear of the building, Nero's face was slick with sweat, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"On the bed," Makim directed, already unpacking his supplies. "I need to see those wounds now."
The innkeeper's wife appeared with steaming water, clean linens, and a bottle of strong spirits. Her weathered face showed no surprise at their condition—clearly, she had harbored wounded rebels before.
"Silver Guard patrols passed through at midday," she informed Eryken as she worked. "Asking questions about travelers heading north. Said they were looking for dangerous fugitives."
"Did they say they'd return?" Eryken asked, positioning himself near the window where he could observe the road.
"Didn't need to," she replied grimly. "Left two men at the crossroads, half a mile south. They're watching everyone who passes. I'm assuming you passed through them."
Through their bond, Nero felt Casteel's spike of fear, quickly suppressed as the younger man focused on helping Makim remove the blood-soaked bandages. The wounds beneath were angry and inflamed, and Makim swore.
"The bleeding's slowed, but I don't like the inflammation," Makim said, probing gently around the chest wound.
"But the journey reopened what had started to heal, and the extra blood loss means he hasn't the strength to fight it.
We need at least a day of proper rest before attempting to move again. "
"We don't have a day," Eryken said flatly, turning from the window.
Casteel was ready to scream. Nobody was listening to Makim, least of all Nero.
I'll try not to let you die.
Casteel had been incensed. Did this stubborn man still feel his value was in keeping Casteel alive, and worse, that it was what Casteel was worried over? If he hadn't been injured, Casteel would have thumped him.
"If the Silver Guard is already patrolling this far north, they'll have checkpoints at every major crossing by morning." Eryken continued. "We need to be well past the Blackwater Bridge before dawn."
Casteel forced his terrified gaze away from Nero, who had closed his eyes. Their bond was weak, too weak, and Casteel was unable to hide his panic.
"How far to Morven's estate from here?" Makim asked.
"Two days of hard travel," Lucan answered when Eryken hesitated. "Assuming we avoid the main roads and can find boats to cross the river."
Two more days. Casteel watched as Makim shook his head. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. "He can't," Casteel whispered. "We have to stay at least two more days."
"We'll rest until midnight," Eryken decided. "If we wait any longer, we put the family here at risk, and I'm not willing to do that." His tone made it clear this was a compromise. "Then we’ll push on through the night while the patrols are thinnest."
Casteel felt the words like physical blows.
Midnight was only a few bells away—nowhere near enough time for Nero to recover from the day's ordeal.
Through their bond, he sensed his mate's struggle.
Nero's body was failing despite his iron will. He was dying despite everything. He couldn’t survive any more travel.
"Eryken," Makim started, glancing at Casteel, and by the apology in his gaze, Casteel knew what he was going to say. He was going to point out to Eryken Casteel would die if Nero did.
He desperately wanted any excuse to have Eryken save Nero's life, but Nero would never recover from the guilt if innocents died because of him.
"No," Casteel said softly, knowing Makim would understand.
Hell, he didn't even know if Eryken knew about the risk to his own life if something happened to Nero.
Makim sighed in understanding. Eryken noticed the odd exchange and narrowed his eyes.
"There must be another way," Casteel insisted, his voice low but firm. His hand hadn't left Nero's since they'd entered the room, as if maintaining physical contact could somehow transfer more of his strength across their connection.
The innkeeper's wife, who had been quietly assisting Makim, cleared her throat. "There is a healer in the village. Not trained like your man here, but she knows the old ways. Mountain magic, some call it."
Makim looked up sharply. "What kind of magic?"
"The kind the temples tried to stamp out," she replied, her voice dropping further. "Blood magic, but not the dark sort. Healing magic. Life shared willingly."
Casteel felt a flicker of hope ignite in his chest. "Where can we find her?"
"Blood magic is dangerous—unpredictable," Eryken warned.
"More dangerous than trying to travel in his condition?
" Casteel countered, already rising to his feet.
"More unpredictable than Silver Guard patrols?" Eryken didn’t reply. Casteel’s heart pounded because the bond was barely a whisper now.
If he hadn't heard Nero's short rattle of breath he would have died himself.
The innkeeper's wife was already moving toward the door. "I'll fetch her. She doesn't come to the inn—too many strangers. But for this..." Her eyes lingered on their clasped hands, understanding in her gaze. "She'll come."
After she departed, the room fell into tense silence. Makim continued working on Nero's wounds, applying fresh poultices and bandages with practiced efficiency. Eryken and Lucan conferred in low voices near the window, discussing routes and contingencies.
Casteel closed his eyes and tried to focus on Nero, but he knew his reserves of strength were low. An image of his ma came into his head, so real, so vibrant it was almost as if she was there.
There had been no time to get to know Nero properly and he ached to be able to do that.
He wanted to share stories of his ma. How she was so insistent he learn his letters and always spoke as if he had something to say that others would want to hear.
How funny she was. What she did to protect him.
He knew he was the reason she stayed at the palace.
Kathy was one of the kitchen cooks, and a great friend of his ma's.
When she became sick that last time, Kathy had gently told him he was going to have a brother but the baby had been born too early and too little to survive.
Casteel would have loved a brother to teach to read himself.
To teach how to look after the horses. Maybe they would have bred the Skellarae together.