Chapter 48
Chapter
Forty-Eight
HAVEN
Keeping my eyes open became impossible. My chin bounced off my chest, jerking me awake. Again.
Zane shifted in his saddle, angling toward me with obvious concern. “You all right?”
“Tired.” I wasn’t used to riding so far. My thighs ached, my butt throbbed, and my back screamed in pain.
“We’ll find a place to stop.”
“Are you kidding?” Remy’s attitude was the opposite of Zane’s. Harsh. Sneering. “We need to get out of this forest.”
“We need to rest.” Zane meant me but was nice enough not to say it.
“And if she attracts more nians?”
“That wasn’t Haven’s fault. Besides, she handled them easily last time.”
Using so much magic was one of the reasons I was fading now. I doubted I could do it again. But I was so desperate to get off Buttercup’s back that I kept my lips firmly sealed.
“There.” Zane pointed toward a clearing.
“We’re only an hour from the village we passed on our way to the border.” Remy jerked his reins, making his horse sidestep. “Sorry, Shamba,” he murmured, stroking the animal’s neck. “I say we keep going.”
Two impulses warred within me. An epic breakdown would be cathartic. But running a sword through Remy might feel even better.
I was only teasing myself. I couldn’t do either. Because if I allowed myself to cry, I might not stop. As for Remy meeting the pointy end of my favorite dagger, I suspected Zane would object. He was looking at me now, his face drawn with worry.
“He’s right, Haven. That village is an hour’s ride. Can you make it?”
Too much had been piled upon me in too short a time, and my shoulders bowed beneath the weight of Gladys’s expectations, exhaustion, death, and the very real pain in my ass from riding. Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
We rode on, and I daydreamed about a toasty blaze in a stone hearth, a bowl of hearty stew, warm socks on my feet, and a hot bath waiting for me when I finished my supper. Who could ask for anything more?
Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. They’d said an hour. I couldn’t ask how much longer without sounding like a spoiled child. But oh, how I wanted to. Instead, I asked, “What’s that smell?” The air carried a trace of smoke. Was a roaring fire just around the next bend?
“Smoke.” Remy’s dismissive tone rubbed my last nerve. Perhaps after my bath, I’d teach him some manners.
Zane urged his horse to a canter, and Buttercup followed without my prompting her.
When we rounded the final turn, I pressed my free hand to my lips. The village they’d promised lay in ruins. A few skeletal timbers remained. Blackened chimneys marked where houses once stood. Here and there, a burned wall looked ready to crash to the earth. Ash covered the snow.
A crow cawed, and its harsh cry sent a chill down my spine. I searched the empty gray sky for the bird. Not finding it, I shivered and clutched my cloak around me.
If we poked through the rubble, we’d find dead villagers. I was sure of it. Tears clouded my vision, and I blinked them back. Wrenching sadness wouldn’t help survivors.
Zane leaped from his horse and drew his sword. Remy landed on the ground and drew two swords. I sat on Buttercup’s broad back and fought to keep my tears in check.
“Stay here,” Remy ordered.
I nodded my agreement, and the two men disappeared among the smoking remains of what had once been homes and shops.
The blackened timbers told a bleak story. There was nobody here—no one left. Emptiness yawned, threatening to swallow me.
I leaned forward and stroked Buttercup’s neck.
Buttercup whinnied as if she understood my need for contact.
Minutes passed, and I waited. With each passing moment, the fissures in my heart grew larger. What had happened here? Why would soldiers destroy a place like this? And if soldiers hadn’t caused this destruction, who had? Not nians. Those monsters hated fire—I’d learned that firsthand.
Also, the silence was wrong. After so much destruction, there should be carrion birds or scavenging animals. But nothing stirred except that lone crow. What could kill an entire village and leave even the scavengers afraid to approach?
I shivered as the breeze blew stray snowflakes against my cheeks. The wind carried an unexpected sound.
Buttercup flicked her ears.
I should stay put. Remy had been clear about that. But the sound … it was so faint, so fragile. What if someone was hurt? What if they died while I sat here doing nothing? I urged Buttercup toward the edge of a snowy field.
“Hello?” I listened. Hard.
There it was again—a soft cry.
I dismounted, taking a moment for my legs to regain their strength. When I was sure I wouldn’t fall, I searched for the source of the sound.
Snow and ash crunched beneath my boots as I scanned the field.
There! There was a small mound in the snow. Someone had constructed a tiny shelter out of sticks.
I fell to my knees and peered inside.
A baby wrapped tightly in blankets mewled weakly, its tiny voice barely audible over the wind. The child was impossibly small and frighteningly still.
“You poor thing.” The child’s lips were tinged blue, its skin pale and cold as marble. I scooped the baby off the frozen earth—so light, like holding a bundle of twigs—and gasped at how cold its tiny body felt against my hands. I opened my cloak and pressed the infant against my chest.
Where was its mother? I glanced back at the smoking remains. Had she hidden her child and then died? No mother would willingly leave her baby. But a desperate woman might have hidden her child as a last resort.
I screwed my watering eyes shut and held the baby tighter.
“Haven!” Zane sounded panicked.
“Over here,” I called.
The baby stirred in my arms.
Remy reached me first. His expression was stark, and he snarled at me, “I told you to stay put!”
For half a ridiculous second, I thought he’d worried about me.
Not likely. I shook my head, dispelling the thought, and opened my cloak, revealing the tiny bundle.
The baby’s eyes were closed, lashes dark against translucent cheeks, and its breathing came in shallow puffs that barely fogged the cold air.
“It’s a baby.” Remy’s shoulders tensed as he glanced between the infant and the surrounding destruction. “What are we going to do with a baby?”
“We’ll take it to someone who’ll care for it.”
“An orphanage?”
“Or a family who wants a child.”
“An extra mouth to feed.”
Anger flared in my chest. “Are you suggesting we leave it here?”
“No. Fuck, no, but …”
“We’ll manage.” Zane had joined us, and his tone brooked no argument. He reached out tentatively, then stopped. “May I?”
I shifted the baby so he could see better.
His expression softened completely. “Hello, little one. What’s your name?” He frowned. “Boy or girl?”
I hadn’t checked. “Does it make a difference?” In Legacia, girls weren’t worth saving.
“Just curious.” He looked back at the devastation. “It’ll be hours before we can leave.”
We needed to find a warm place to care for the baby. “Why stay here?”
Remy scanned the ruins, jaw firm. “Someone should bury the dead.”
His words hit me. I’d been so focused on the child in my arms that I’d forgotten what lay beneath the ash and rubble. People. Families. Children who hadn’t survived. “Oh.” I hugged the infant closer. “That’s very … decent of you.”
Exhaustion creased his face, and for an instant he looked … sad. “It’s the only decent thing to do.” Then he remembered who he was talking to and sneered. “Besides, it was Zane’s idea.”