Chapter 31 Evera
EVERA
“Thank you, child.” A warm smile graced Leighis’s lips as I handed him a mug of fresh tea. “Lemongrass?”
Nodding, I returned his warmth, though it didn’t reach my eyes. The contentment I’d felt in Neirin’s presence was soured by the tension that hung in the room.
Behind the shop’s counter, Aureus sat with a stern set to his jaw, going over the day’s sales.
An old brass lantern illuminated the papers before him and cast shadows across his face.
Creases lined his brow, and when he flipped through the pages, he sighed from time to time or pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
After leaving Neirin at the inn, I’d ridden Sorrel a few paces behind Aureus back to the shop where he’d sent me in to make tea for Leighis while he returned our mare to the pasture.
He’d wanted space to clear his head, and I understood that.
Aureus had always been thoughtful, nearly to a fault.
Always in his mind, worrying, thinking six steps ahead.
The problem was that he could never see what was right in front of him.
And when faced with suddenness, he struggled to make decisions.
Now, settled into the normalcy of routine, an air of unsaid words hung around us like a thick fog.
Leighis’s touch drew my attention, and I lowered my gaze to meet his searching eyes. His thumb trailed the wraps at my wrist, and when he spoke, he did so on a hush so only I would hear. “Tell him.”
If I told Aureus of the bond Neirin and I shared, would it change his stand?
Was I ready for that conversation? Was I ready to choose a path and commit to it?
In Neirin’s arms, the decision seemed so simple.
But nothing about the situation we were in was simple.
Though we’d not discussed it beyond Neirin’s statement in the pasture, I knew the time would come when he would need to leave, compelled to protect the brother he hardly spoke of.
There were still many questions that needed to be addressed.
Unease trickled down my spine and, not for the first time tonight, a dark murkiness hazed the edges of my mind.
The doorknob rattled, jolting me. A fist followed—hard, insistent— and the old wood creaked beneath the blows. Aureus set his jaw but made no move to respond, so I went to the door. Premonition hollowed me as I crossed the room, each step weighted heavier than the last.
“Evera,” Aureus hissed.
Did he sense it too? Or was it only the day’s events that put him on edge? The image of him standing silhouetted against the fields and the dying sun, unmoving, came back to me. The same fear shone in his eyes now. Pulling my brows, I turned back to the door.
“Evera.” The voice that called my name this time was youthful, familiar, and hastened.
My heart leapt. Calix. The foreboding intensified and settled over me like a heavy woolen blanket. Without hesitation, I unlatched the door. The panic in the boy’s eyes justified the thundering of my heart.
Swallowing, I braced myself. “What happened?”
“Neirin is dying.” His voice cracked, sounding small, frail, frightened.
For a moment, I felt nothing but the clench of fear. It consumed me.
Arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I succumbed to the familiarity of my brother’s embrace.
Regaining myself with a choked breath, I wiped a tear with the back of my hand and pushed from Aureus’s arms.
I was distantly aware of Aureus questioning Calix while I gathered the bag of emergency medical supplies from beneath the counter.
My body flushed with heat, a knot formed in my throat, and my vision blurred as tears threatened, but I held to the necessity of composure.
All I had were my abilities, and they were useless if I allowed myself to crumble.
Calix was only a boy. Perhaps it was not as bad as he—
“Evera, stop.” Aureus reached for my hand. “I will go.”
“No, Aureus.” I spun on him, my teeth gritted to keep them from chattering. “No.” The word cracked in my throat and came out broken, splintering with the weight of everything I couldn’t hold back, and my brother’s eyes gentled.
“Let her go,” Leighis said.
Aureus turned his attention to our mentor, but Leighis’s permission meant nothing to me in this moment. Using my brother’s distraction, I broke from his grasp and rushed to the doorway. I took Calix’s hand in mine and tugged him after me as we broke into the chill of the night.
The brisk air hit me with a start, and I gasped, trembling. It held me in place as the shop’s bell rang and the door closed behind me, the cusp between emotion and reaction a looming presence.
The small hand in mine tightened its grip and pulled, encouraging me forward, forcing me from my stupor.
“This way,” the boy said, leading me at a quickened pace between a short cropping of forest that backed up to the inn. With each step, the slick darkness within my chest thickened until it grew overwhelming. It was not a premonition, but the distant call of Neirin’s bond. Of his pain.
A figure lay in a clearing beyond the garden, a formidable staff jutting from its form.
I brought a hand to my chest, heart thundering, and choked on my panic.
The only thing that kept me from falling to my knees was the presence of the bond, the rush of sensations, the promise that, for now at least, Neirin still drew breath.
“That’s not him,” Calix said.
“I know,” I replied, the words broken, too soft.
Tearing my eyes away, I went with Calix to the back entrance of the inn.
The thick knot in my throat made breathing difficult, and when the boy opened the door to reveal the scene within the inn’s kitchen, my head spun.
Clutching tight to the bag with one hand, I held the boy’s hand with the other and steadied myself.
Crimson pooled and streaked the floor. No one could survive so much blood loss.
As the thought came to me, a pulse of energy filled the air. The hand in mine grew sweaty, and Calix panted.
The boy’s lapse caught my attention, and I squeezed his hand. “Where is he?”
Calix trembled. The current of magic ebbed and flowed around us as we followed the crimson path through the kitchen that led to the steps. Splattering droplets and smears where a boot had dragged marked the way.
I managed a brisk inhale and ascended the stairs, keeping Calix’s hand in mine. His grip was slack now, as his small body fought itself. Was it Neirin’s blood that affected him in this way?
At the top of the steps, I stilled.
Maerel sat atop a chaise at the end of the hall, her eyes brimming and her hand cupped to her mouth. The healer in me recognized the signs of shock instantly, and I turned my gaze from her to Calix, the weight of my responsibility settling over me.
Leading Calix to the chaise, I instructed him to sit. Time was running out, and the awareness of it stole across my skin like the breath of death itself. Digging through my bag, I withdrew a vile of dwale.
“Drink.” I pressed it to Calix, whose eyes still flickered. If Maerel noticed, she made no indication of it.
Turning to her, I braced my hands on her shoulders. “Can I trust you?”
The woman blinked and met my gaze. There was no way to know if she would run to the garrison or if she would otherwise betray the situation. But there was nothing that could be done for it, and time was slipping away. She nodded.
“This is not the time to succumb to shock,” I told her. “You are stronger than that. We must be stronger than that.”
A clarity came over her, and as she firmed her features and nodded again, she took my hand and stood. Wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, she sucked in a breath. Was it only seeing death that brought such emotion for her, or did the innkeeper care for Neirin?
“You need to clean the kitchen,” I told her. “Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she rasped, and brushed past me.
I set my eyes to Calix. He was already yawning as the anesthetic began to take effect.
“Rest,” I told the boy, though it was an unnecessary order. He would be unconscious in minutes and sleep deeply through the night.
Drawing a steadying breath, I left the chaise and paced to a solid oak door, the smeared red of a handprint just above the knob.
The emotions coursing through the bond were now tangible, physical things, like thick smoke choking out the air or like drowning in the sea. I gripped the handle and turned.
The tang of iron hit me as I stepped into the room. I closed the door quickly behind me, my concerns briefly flitting to Calix and the problems that could arise should the tincture I gave him not be strong enough, should he lose control.
My eyes went to the bed, empty and stained, and again fear threatened to hold me in place.
A snarl from the corner of the room sent a shudder down my spine. I whipped around. The rumble was inhuman.
A trembling breath left my lips as I met the silver eyes of a creature. The figure was curled in the shadows, its teeth pointed and bared. When the warning sound came again, I slowly lowered to my knees.
The fox’s ears perked, and its black nose raised, scenting the air.
“It’s okay.” My tone was gentle, though my heart pounded in my chest.
Cautiously, I shifted forward. This time, the animal gave no defensive reaction.
His gaze fell watchful on me, though the lids of his eyes fluttered as if they were too heavy to keep open.
With a whimper, his head wavered. Reservations cast aside, I rushed to the animal, catching his head in my lap as he fainted.
I stared down at the silver fox. My hands hovered above his pelt, and in the dim light, I noted the labored rise and fall of his flank.