21. Winter #2
Having never before cared for the ill or injured, he tended to Raven’s needs as best he knew how, which wasn’t much.
He continuously wiped the sweat from her exposed skin and replaced the compress on her brow with a fresh, cool one as needed.
He also helped Camilla organize the room to best accommodate any care needs that might arise during Raven’s recovery process.
Assuming she did recover.
Her skin appeared too white, felt too hot, and her face and lips too pale and drawn. She didn’t look well. Not well at all.
He pulled up a chair and took a seat at her side.
Maybe she would end up like Myla, trapped in an unwell state for the rest of her days. Or maybe she would end up like the other member of her group. The one who had yet to wake up. The one Aoes had the healer tend to daily.
Winter didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of Raven never waking left an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. An unhappy and unwanted weight.
He knew it was a mistake to become terribly vested in her fate. She was still a stranger to him, and their paths hadn’t profoundly mingled. And yet…
With the tip of his finger, he drew a line along the edge of her face. Her facial features looked soft and relaxed, but only moments ago, they had tensed with some unseen distress.
What nightmares plagued your thoughts?
In a moment of semi-clarity, she had mentioned Valen, suggesting he might have an answer regarding treatment for her ill friend.
How did Raven know Valen? And if she had spoken a sober truth, would Valen have the answer to help her? What was their connection, and did Valen know more than he had advised the court?
“Please.” Raven’s body shook. Her word sounded tiny, only just audible. “Not yet.”
“I’ll be back,” he whispered at her ear, dragging his fingers slowly over the length of her uncovered arm.
Winter rose from his seat, donned his jacket and a hooded scarf to hide his identifying features, and headed for the front door. Came face-to-face with Camilla in the kitchen doorway.
“Where are you going?” Something in her eyes caused him a momentary pause.
Was that hurt he saw? No sooner had he noted the emotion than it wiped from her face.
Hurt didn’t make sense to him. Irritation, yes, but not hurt.
“I need to check on a few things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He stepped into the street, ignoring Camilla’s complaints and words of frustration.
He’d make everything up to her, for all that she was doing and all that she was. He owed her that and more.
Darkness crept across the sky. The hour had become late, and his absence would not go unnoticed. However, he couldn’t return to his post just yet. A few things remained that required his attention.
Rolling his back and shoulders straight, he stalked toward the pub like a fae male on a mission.
When he arrived, he slipped into the pub, careful not to draw much, if any, attention. The crowd appeared larger than usual—if one could call a collection of ten or so people a crowd. Still, the establishment was busier than it had in decades.
Earl hustled behind the bar, pouring drinks, and Aoes worked the patrons, moving from table to table with his usual friendly banter.
Did the visiting strangers have something to do with the increased show of life? Could their mere presence, a change in the usual cursed existence, be the spark of hope this citadel had desperately needed? Or was something else at play that he had yet to learn?
Hugging the wall, Winter took a few steps into the pub.
A nearby female noticed his entrance and balked at his attire.
He glanced down at himself and cringed. Having been so focused on his self-given mission, he’d foolishly forgotten that when he found Raven, he’d pressed his overcoat to her wound.
The blood now darkened the golden beige of his jacket.
Having no believable lie ready to slip off his tongue, he removed his jacket, draped it over his arm to hide the blood, and nodded apologetically to the woman.
Blood also stained his breeches, but against the dark color, the taint was less evident.
Thankfully, Camilla had provided him with a new, gore-free, white shirt.
Or mostly gore-free, since he’d immediately marred the sleeve with a spot of blood transfer.
A swift scan of the room armed Winter with necessary information. Raven’s partner or coworker—whatever Chace was to her—was unaccounted for. He likely wandered the citadel, doing whatever they secretly did, or he resided upstairs in his room. Maybe with the old man.
Winter casually and quietly made his way up the stairs.
Aoes had assigned each member of the group their own room at the end of the upstairs corridor. From discussions with Aoes, Winter had a pretty good idea which room Raven used.
All the doors in the upper hallway were closed, aside from one, which remained slightly ajar. Raspy breathing drifted from the space beyond where Raven’s injured friend resided. The elder Raven seemed to think Valen could somehow help.
Valen. The name slithered through his thoughts like a viper.
He had known Valen, semi-trusted the rather pompous ass, for too long now. But the guy clearly had secrets. Secrets Winter had yet to uncover.
Standing silently in the corridor, he listened for any sign of life on the second floor. Contentment—joy even—carried to him from the floor below. The rest of the rooms around him…complete and utter stillness.
Aside from the raspy breathing of the old gent.
If Chace were present, he was an absence of sound.
Winter turned the door handle to the room he believed to be Raven’s. It was locked. He pressed his ear to the wood of the door. Listened. In the space beyond, a light rustle.
Crouching before the door, he brought his face even with the lock.
A millisecond later, a muffled cough at his back had him halting all intended action and spinning to face Aoes.
His old friend stood at the top of the stairs, his shoulder resting against the wall, his eyes filled with mischief. He pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“She’s not here.” Aoes’s gaze shifted to the next room down and across the hall then back to Winter. “And I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re fairly lucky he’s not here either.”
He, meaning Chace.
No doubt, Aoes’s assessment would hold true that the hotheaded, overbearing companion of Raven’s wouldn’t take kindly to Winter letting himself into any of their rooms. Where Raven was relatively warm and friendly, Chace was a six-foot-two wall of solid frost.
Winter’s back straightened, and he edged an inch away from the door. “No doubt you are correct.”
Aoes crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. “It isn’t like you to be sneaking around, trying to gain access to a female’s room. At least…I haven’t seen you do so in a very long while.”
A sigh dragged through Winter’s chest. “Okay. You got me. The truth is, I ran into Raven, and she…”