Chapter Twelve #2
“I’m fine. We need to put distance between–” She started coughing again, her eyes watering. She waved Idris off.
He shook his head and went to sit on his plank.
“And the revenant?” he asked.
“He can walk,” Seraphina said, wheezing. “Nine, you’ll walk next to the cart. You’re too heavy for Bramble to struggle with you too.”
“I don’t mind walking,” Nine said.
“Seraphina, that’s not very humane,” Idris said.
“I’m not human,” Nine answered, since Seraphina couldn’t speak because of the cough. “So you don’t have to treat me like one. But if you’re worried about me, master surgeon, know that I don’t tire and my feet don’t hurt.”
“It’s settled, then.” Seraphina took a deep, ragged breath. Tears were streaming down her temples, disappearing into her hair. “Idris, just drive.”
She stared at the tarp rippling above, wondering when it had been the last time she’d gotten sick.
After the attack, at Saint Vivia’s Convent.
Her weakened body fought infection after her eye sockets had been cleaned and bandaged, and she got a stomach bug, then a cold.
Those had been three miserable weeks. The nuns had poured so much chicken broth down her throat…
Oh, chicken broth… How she craved a bowl.
The press of the cold metal under her chin made it hard to swallow.
The muzzle bit into the soft skin there, her body was tense, shaking, her fingers tight on the barrel.
Her brain gave commands her hands refused to obey.
She blinked, clenched her jaw, heard her teeth gnash, and willed her arms down.
They wouldn’t straighten at the elbows, they wouldn’t lower the musket.
Her index finger hovered over the trigger.
Seraphina startled awake. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep.
She was exhausted, deprived for so long.
Her eyes closed of their own accord, her mind lulled into a sort of numbness by the repetitive sound of the cartwheels turning and the Sentinel’s heavy, crunching footsteps in the snow.
She was so terribly cold. Was the Hearthband broken?
The loud crack bounced off the barn walls.
The captain’s body met the threshing floor with a thud, a single hole oozing blood from between his eyes.
She wanted to bolt, run out of there, scream at the top of her lungs, alert everyone.
Her feet were glued to the spot and her mouth wouldn’t open, let alone form words.
She thought she’d die on the battlefield, with honor, but she was going to be executed here, asked to kneel first. She wouldn’t even be allowed to beg.
“Seraphina.”
She woke up sobbing. Idris was shaking her gently.
“Why did we stop?” she croaked, her voice raw. Her throat was killing her.
“You were screaming in your sleep.”
“What?” She tried to get up but was immediately humbled and pushed back down by a splitting headache. “What did I say?”
“You weren’t coherent. You were begging, then saying something about a chevron.”
Her eyes went wide.
“What did I say exactly?”
He shrugged.
Nine poked his head inside the cart. With his white hair and glowing, golden eyes, he was a vision, a creature from another world. Seraphina’s heart gave a painful jolt. She’d forgotten about him.
“You said, ‘Its shape is that of a trebled chevron’,” he supplied helpfully. “Those words exactly.” He tapped his ear. “I have good hearing.”
“No,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.
Idris pressed his palm to her cheek, then her forehead. She’d felt cold before falling asleep, now she felt hot and sweaty. His touch was refreshing.
“You need food and something to drink,” he said. “Medicine and an Antipyretic Net.”
“The convent,” she said. “I’ll eat at the convent.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“It’s morning,” she noted. “We’re close. We should get there by nightfall.”
“It hasn’t stopped snowing,” he said. “Bramble is struggling.”
“The cart got stuck twice,” Nine said. “It was easier to lift it up than remove the snow.”
“He… He’s been helpful,” Idris murmured under his breath, averting his gaze as if ashamed to admit it.
“The thrall–” Seraphina started.
“Still under it, but barely.” Nine gave her a smile. “Don’t worry, I would come with you even if I weren’t compelled.”
She sat up properly, stared into his eyes, and repeated the commands she’d given him before. Just to be sure.
“We must keep moving,” she said. “Idris, please.”
With a sigh, he hopped out of the cart so the horse wouldn’t have to carry him too. They were moving again.
She was tall, heavy, stronger than she’d ever been. Every part of her body pulsated with life. There were no aches, no weaknesses… She looked down at her hands. Fine stitches wrapped around every finger, ran across her palms and met thicker, coarser stitches at her wrists.
The next time she woke up, she vaguely registered that someone was carrying her. Her head lolled back, she caught a glimpse of Idris’s tired face above her, then the vastness of the gray sky.
She coughed, and this time, it sounded wet. Gurgling.