17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Callan lay on the bed, writhing weakly, the gauzy white linens twisting and bunching up underneath his squirming limbs.
More or less unconscious, he murmured nonsensically.
Sweat beaded on his skin and pooled in the hollow at the base of his throat.
Bryn said he’d been in that state since she arrived back at the Estate with him dangling limply in her grasp.
Nova sat beside him and planted her hand on his bare chest. His heart thundered beneath her palm.
Opening the amber glass bottle she’d obtained from Samira’s healer in residence, she squeezed three drops of the tincture into the corner of his mouth.
Gradually, his movements slowed as he drifted off into a deep sleep.
The healer assured Nova the effects would last only a few hours, and that Callan would be as good as new when he awoke.
With her patient finally still, Nova examined the wounds on his torso and thighs, slashes of varying lengths and depths from Bryn’s talons.
“Gods be damned,” Nova muttered, dabbing at a shallow slash along his rib cage with a damp cloth.
“It wasn’t my fault,” came Bryn’s voice from the doorway. “He wouldn’t stop moving. Finally tired himself out when we’d nearly reached the grove.”
“I don’t blame you, Bryn.” Nova squinted, the tip of her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth, as she wiped away the last bits of dried blood. “I blame him, the damn fool. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
Nova slathered a strip of gauze with a thin layer of raw honey and laid it over the cut, pressing down firmly.
She was tempted to leave his wounds undressed, if only to prove a point, but she could never do such a thing.
She wouldn’t heal them outright for him, though. His body would have to do the work.
Let itchy bandages be a lesson to him, she thought.
“I supposed it could have been worse,” Bryn offered, coming closer and leaning against one of the bedposts.
“Much worse,” Nova sighed, swiping her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “He’d have been lucky to drown before Mara got to him. The lake bottom is littered with bones.”
Nova glanced at Callan’s sleeping face, his brow smooth and lips slightly parted.
He always looked so carefree when he slept.
So unburdened. Nova blew out a breath, took a clean cloth, and dipped it in the bowl of tepid water.
Gingerly, she mopped the sweat from his face and the sides of his neck.
Callan stirred, his forehead crinkling. Nova leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.
He is a handsome fool.
With Callan’s injuries tended, she set to work tidying up, dropping the soiled rags in the bowl beside the bed and corking the jar of honey.
“Were those my father’s ravens today?”
“They were.”
“Any of them trackers?” Nova asked, joining Bryn at the foot of the bed.
“No shifters. Just ordinary birds. They came with the sun at their backs. By the time I saw them, it was too late—they’d already swarmed us.” Bryn made no apologies, but her tone left little doubt she felt responsible for what had happened.
Nova laid a hand on Bryn’s shoulder in silent absolution.
“But if none were trackers, how did they find us? Even if my father had learned we were in Tundara, how could he have known our precise location?”
Bryn shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“He must be following our movements somehow. Could someone in Samira’s Court have given us away?”
Bryn shook her head slowly. “I haven’t encountered anyone but servants inside the Estate. I doubt any of them are conspiring with the Shadowbringer.”
“True.” Nova thought for a moment. “Even so, I don’t imagine it’s wise to linger here any longer than necessary. We have what we came for. We’ll depart first thing in the morning, so long as Callan has recovered.”
“Depart for where?” Bryn asked.
“I haven’t a clue.”
Nova squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. Though the pain in her hand had ebbed to a faint ache, her mind had grown increasingly weary, a nagging headache settling in.
“We’d better take our meals in our rooms again tonight. No sense calling attention to ourselves in the Great Hall at the dinner hour.”
“Agreed. I’ll let Samira know,” Bryn said with a nod, then left.
Once alone, Nova crossed to the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass, taking in the city of pale coral-hued structures stretching to the edge of the lush jungle and the thunderheads gathering along the horizon to the west.
Few knew of their plans to travel to Tundara. Even fewer knew the true purpose of their journey. Which of them had betrayed her?
A distant rumble of thunder pulled Callan from his sleep, and he bolted straight up in bed—an enormous mistake.
Pressure throbbed at his temples as if he’d indulged in one too many mugs of ale.
Crashing back down onto the pillow, he threw an arm over his face, a slow hiss escaping from between his teeth.
Several moments passed before he tried sitting up again, much slower the second time around.
He squinted in the darkened room, illuminated briefly by a bright flash of lightning.
For an instant, he spied the blot of a silhouette against the gauzy curtains leading out onto the terrace.
Callan eased himself to the edge of the bed and onto his feet, steadying himself on the bedpost. His shirt was nowhere to be found, and several bandages clung to his ribs and abdomen.
Gingerly, he walked to the balcony, scratching absentmindedly at the edges of the sticky gauze strips.
Waving the curtains out of his way, Callan stepped out into the night.
A gust of warm, humid air blew by, sending his hair into his eyes.
He pushed the strands back and found Nova leaning on the railing as a thunderstorm rolled across the dark sky.
He wasn’t worried about startling her. Knew she could sense him drawing near.
He sidled up beside her. “Don’t pout,” he murmured against her ear.
Nova glanced sideways at him, arching an eyebrow and saying nothing. Perhaps a jest wouldn’t be enough to make amends.
“Is it too soon for us to laugh about this?” He turned to face her directly, wincing as his bandaged ribs bumped against the rail.
“There’s nothing to laugh about.” Nova stared straight ahead, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “You shouldn’t have come to the lake.”
A bolt of lavender lightning danced across the charcoal clouds. A deep roll of thunder followed a moment later.
“I only wished to help,” Callan explained, eager to plead his case.
Her chest rose and fell with several slow breaths while he stood in silence, eyes fixed on the side of her face. Why wouldn’t she look at him?
“I saved you, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You did.” Her words were clipped. “But then I had to save you. Trust me, it was far easier for you to pull me onto the ice than it was for me to stop you barreling into the water.”
Callan reached out to touch her cheek, but she tugged her chin away, staring off in the opposite direction. A prickly heat bloomed at the base of his neck, creeping toward his face. She couldn’t honestly be angry with him.
“I saw the ravens circling, and I knew you were in danger.” He spoke slowly, striving to keep his voice even. “I felt it. Through the bond. What did you expect me to do?”
“I expected you to remain in the clearing. Where it was safe,” Nova snapped, finally turning to look at him.
“Truly, you’d expect me to just sit there? Do nothing while you got hurt? Or worse?” He wasn’t yelling, but, gods, he was close.
Nova stared at the medallion hanging in the center of his bare chest for a beat, her mouth clamped shut, breathing fast through her nose.
“It’s not worth risking your life to save mine,” she said finally, voice brittle.
“Don’t you dare say that.” Callan cupped her face. Tilting her head back, he forced her to meet his eye. “I will risk everything for you. Again, and again, and again. I haven’t even had the chance to love you properly, and will never apologize for doing anything in my power to keep you safe.”
Nova’s posture softened, her body relaxing into him a bit. A flash of lightning illuminated her face, revealing the glimmer of tears gathered in her eyes. Callan paused, tamping down the torrent of emotions swirling in his chest as the thunder rumbled, closer than before.
She wasn’t angry. She was afraid.
Nova blinked, twin tears trailing down the apples of her cheeks. Callan erased them with a brush of his thumbs. When he spoke, his voice was contrite.
“But I am truly sorry I frightened you, Starlight.”
“I could never forgive myself. If something happened to you because of me—”
“Then I promise to try and be more careful in the future,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tentative smile.
Nova sniffed, then let out a watery laugh. Callan bent his head, pressing his lips to hers. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tucked her against him.
“Be honest,” he said after a moment. “Were you jealous?”
“Of Mara?” She scoffed and pushed against his chest, creating some space between them. “Certainly not. You couldn’t see her clearly.”
Callan repositioned them, caging Nova in with her back against the rail and resting his hands at her waist.
“But you worried for me,” he said.
A simple statement of fact. Sliding his hands lower, he curled his fingers possessively at her hips, relishing the softness of her body through the sheer fabric of what passed for nightclothes in the Summer Court.
“I did,” she admitted, her voice barely louder than the wind tossing strands of her midnight hair across her face.