29. Kaedryn #2
Why did she not fly? The question arrives cold and ugly.
I see the Varrow’s hand around her throat. The fallen guard’s sword clutched in both hands. The way she drove it upward and twisted the blade while the creature drank the strength from her body.
She fought, but before that, she just froze. She gave up.
I felt it through the bond, despair pouring from her, every dark certainty the Varrow dragged to the surface. Conviction that no one would come. That every road ends in another cage. That surrender might be easier than surviving whatever waits beyond it.
For one heartbeat, she believed it.
Then something in her became desperate enough to lift the sword.
I do not understand how she can believe herself so entirely alone while surrounded by my men. The confusion is unbearable because until I know why she nearly surrendered, I cannot promise it will not happen again.
I have already knelt once today with her life slipping away beneath my hands. I will not do it twice.
I look down at her. Silver hair spills across my arm, coming loose from its pins one strand at a time. The gray fades gradually from her lips. The dark tracery beneath the skin of her throat is already lightening as Soren’s potion works.
She is so still.
“Sylas.”
He looks up.
“Her satchel. The one she watches and clings to like it is the only thing she owns.” I have seen her do it since the temple road, the way her eyes find the bag before anything else, the way her boot rests against it beneath every table to ensure it has not moved.
“It was inside the carriage. Send someone back for it before we leave.”
Sylas blinks, and something in his expression softens in a way I do not care for. He does not comment, which is how I know he wants to. He leans out through the door to give the order. A moment later, I hear Rowan riding back toward the ruined carriage before he hands the bag to Sylas.
I tell myself it is a practical decision. A frightened woman with nothing left should not also lose the one bag she guards. I tell myself it is not about her. I am becoming a practiced liar inside my own skull.
The carriage lurches into motion. The wooded road unspools behind us, and ahead, beyond the final rise, the land drops toward the coast and the ship that will carry us south. Less than an hour remains, perhaps longer now that one carriage is destroyed and several men are wounded.
Adelina does not wake.
The thread remains firm as long as I hold her, so I continue holding her and mark the small changes as they come.
Warmth slowly returns to her fingers. Color seeps back into her mouth.
Her breathing settles into a deeper, more even rhythm instead of the shallow scrape of a body fighting to remain alive.
Soren watches us both with an expression I refuse to meet.
By the time we reach the harbor, the last daylight has faded into bruised violet above the Celestial Sea. The Verdant Star, an Elyrian royal ship, waits at the long dock, sails furled and green banners hanging limp in the cold salt air.
Maelin, mother’s most trusted healer, is already on the pier when the carriage stops, her cloak whipping around her legs and a healer’s satchel in hand. Word must have reached her through one of the riders sent ahead. She has the door open the instant we halt.
Her eyes move to Adelina, to the lingering gray around her lips, and then to the way I hold her. Her healer’s calm does not so much as flicker.
“What happened?”
“Varrow drain,” Soren says as he climbs down.
“Near total. I stabilized her on the road with iron and bitterroot, then gave her a warming draught. She aspirated a little of the second dose, but her lungs are clear. Her heartbeat was dangerously slow. It is better now. She has not regained consciousness.”
Maelin reaches for Adelina. The bond thins before her hands ever touch her. My arms tighten instinctively.
Maelin stops.
“When I hold her, the bond steadies,” I say. “When I move her away, it weakens.”
Her gaze sharpens, but she does not challenge me. “Then keep holding her. Bring her onboard and below.”
I carry Adelina up the gangway and into the warmth of the ship, following Maelin down the narrow passage to a private cabin. A fire burns low behind an iron grate, and someone has already turned down the blankets on the bed.
“Sit there,” Maelin says, pointing to the padded bench beside it. “Keep her upright against you.”
I lower myself carefully, arranging Adelina across my lap with her head against my shoulder. Her hands remain trapped between us.
The thread holds.
Maelin kneels in front of us and presses two fingers to Adelina’s throat. “How long has her breathing been this even?”
“Perhaps half an hour,” Soren answers from behind her. “It was shallow before that.”
Maelin lifts one of Adelina’s eyelids, watches the response, then checks the color beneath her lower lip. Her movements are quick and controlled, limited to what she can assess without moving Adelina from my arms.
“No fever,” she murmurs. “Pulse is weak, but regular.”
She draws a small vial from her satchel and pours several drops into a cup of warm water. “Can she swallow?”