24. Witch’s Curse
Lyra hated Wilder. Hated him for how he made her feel at this moment.
Safe and cared for. It was despicable.
He was her enemy and had wanted to kill her, had been ordered to kidnap her. This was the part of her she had tucked away for good. A part of her she thought had been drowned and beaten away.
Her feet dangled as he carried her to the horse he had dismounted, Otto’s horse. That howl had cost them an extra mount.
Wilder looked from her to the horse and back to her again. She could tell he was debating not just her pain, but her fear of getting back in the saddle. How extraordinary. He looked genuinely concerned.
And for once, she wanted to put someone out of their misery.
“It hurts, but I can ride,” she muttered.
The pain was an annoying throb down her lower back and to her toes. She had been more annoyed than terrified when the horse took off until she fell, then was terrified. But he had put her mind at ease.
Wilder’s lips pressed into a thin line and nodded. With supreme caution, he lifted her back onto the horse. Lyra gripped the saddle horn and grimaced. Nothing was broken, thankfully, but she was severely bruised.
“There’s some yarrow in Maelys’ saddlebag,” Wilder said as he swung up behind her. “And we can take more breaks if needed.”
Lyra shook her head, and a few leaves that had tangled in her hair fell between them.
If she had to spend any more time on the back of this horse, she would lose her mind.
“Let’s just go. I’m sick of traveling.”
This is what she got for wanting a life of adventure. She hadn’t been able to stand still for longer than a few hours in the last week. That couldn’t have been right?
An entire week had passed already. The world must be spinning faster on land. The days and nights dragged on under the water, but up here, without the weight of the entire ocean above your head, they flew by. Carried by the wind.
Ridge and Maelys, followed by Otto on foot, approached from behind. Maelys had yarrow outstretched in her hand and a carefully blank expression on her face.
Otto didn’t even try to hide the smile that stretched across his face. Ridge scanned her over, and she felt the prodding of his assessment as if he could see beneath her skin, to the very core of her being.
“Otto thought something like this might happen,” Maelys said, handing the yarrow to Lyra.
“A warning would have been nice,” Lyra snapped, ripping the yarrow from Maelys’ hand.
“He would have told you, but …”
“It involved me,” Wilder supplied. “And I don’t like knowing.”
Lyra stared at him with her mouth parted in surprise. That made sense. He did very much seem to make his own decisions and forge his own path.
“In the future, if it has to do with my well-being, you let me know,” Lyra said around Wilder as she looked directly at Otto.
He stood with his hands in his breeches pockets, looking for all the world like he was on an afternoon stroll.
“Noted,” he replied with a dip of his chin.
“Time?” Wilder asked Otto.
“We’ll find your stallion up ahead. They won’t catch us by the time we reach the border.”
Wilder nodded and prodded the horse along.
Otto was right, of course.
They found the black stallion next to a massive ash tree. Otto mounted the beast and kept pace behind them. With each jostling step, Lyra’s backside ached.
It made her breathing labored as she tried to hold her breath to keep from crying out. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to breathe around the pain.
“Do we need to stop?” Wilder asked.
“No. I just want to be there already.”
She wanted to be anywhere but where she was. In pain, pressed against him. It increased with that thought, but was different.
A searing burn lashed down her hip and leg, all the way down to her toes, and she screamed. Wilder yanked the horse to a stop.
“Gods, woman! What is it?”
“Something—something bit me!” she shrieked, scrubbing at her hip and thigh. She felt something crawling under her hand and flung herself off the horse.
Wilder was right behind her, staring at her with a confused and horrified expression.
Lyra didn’t care. Something had bitten her, and it felt creepy and crawly. She ran in place as if she could dislodge whatever it was and ripped at her clothing.
“Otto—” Wilder barked as he continued to stare at Lyra as she flailed about.
“I can’t see,” Otto breathed, his face twisting in confusion.
Wilder gripped hold of her hands, keeping her still.
“Stop moving for one second so I can see,” he ground out against her lurching.
There was a command in his voice she hadn’t heard before, so despite the pain and the icky feeling, she halted. But she couldn’t help the bouncing of her leg or the tremor down her spine.
“Gods,” Wilder whispered, as something dropped from her and onto the ground.
It was about the size of an acorn and almost as dark as the fertile earth beneath their feet, but with eight long and hairy legs.
“It’s a witch’s curse spider.”
Lyra blanched, her skin becoming as pale as the fog the sun had burned off earlier that morning.
She hadn’t been able to read the book in their library about spiders. The image on the first page had given her nightmares for weeks.
“Is that bad?”
She began whimpering from the pain that burned down her leg and was spreading up through her torso.
Wilder looked at her, and she could see it written on his face.
“It’s not good.”