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Chapter twenty-two

C az’s leg stopped bleeding early into the night courtesy of Finn’s tourniquet and bandaging. He slept on the sofa—where he now ate breakfast, slowly—while Finn and Ezra took up space on the floor to tend to him. He was weak and in immeasurable pain, but his humor and outlook remained steadfast.

If I ever suffered a near-fatal wound, I prayed to be half as brave as Caz.

Gemma was quiet this morning. Her feisty, combative wit had molded into pensive awe. When Gavin walked into her line of sight, she stared wide-eyed at him, gulped, and then over at me with a similar look.

Not a single objection left her usually sharp lips when Finn brought up their route to the Caves.

It had been my idea and my desire to go, but I had expected more of a fight.

I silently rattled off the possibilities. He’d likely told her of his wife, and she now understood why he feared losing someone he cared for.

Or he had threatened her.

I wished the latter wasn’t so likely.

Clad in all black, Gavin entered the back room after everyone had finished eating. Late into the night, he’d been preparing supplies, horses, and a cart to carry Caz. When we woke, he was still at it.

“Finn, Caz, Ezra, Gemma. I have three horses prepared for you.” He took up a post beside me and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “One to lead, two to pull a carriage. If there is even a murmur of her, you tell everyone that you’ve seen her head south, north, or west, I don’t give a shit.

Anything but the truth. Give them a false description. ”

I looked at Gemma. She gave me a sad smile. Relief and warning battled in my gut, but I rose from the table and followed them to the wooded area behind the tavern.

It was a misty, chilled morning. The wind was brutal. Gray skies threatened snow or freezing rain. The day was more cold than any other I’d experienced in Wymara—but I wore the wolf’s fur shawl around my neck. It kept the shivers at bay.

Ezra and Finn carried Caz to the bed of the carriage, padded with blankets and hay. They both rolled their eyes when Caz cheerfully questioned what he’d done to deserve such “royal treatment.”

He wore a fur-lined brown jacket borrowed from Damond and a dark-green hat. I climbed up next to where he sat reclined and began to mindlessly pat and prod the bale of hay resting behind him.

“You’re fussing, Ary.”

He smiled up at me with his straight, bright smile, but my throat tightened at his complexion. Too pale.

I ignored his comment and tightened his wool cap over ears that poked out beneath a mess of ebony hair. Definitely in need of grooming by the time he returned.

“Is Your Majesty tucking me in ?”

I snorted. “You know I hate being called that.”

But indeed, I was wrapping his whole body—besides his injured leg, which had a single, loose covering over the bandage—in blankets .

“I’m fine, Ary.” He took my wrist and lowered it. I sat back on my knees. “Thank you.”

Gemma called and motioned for me to come down from the carriage bed. To the east, the early sun was trying to peek out over the horizon.

Turning back to Caz, I swallowed back tears and said, “Please tell Marin I’m sorry.”

“I can try, but she might slap me. Both for getting my leg blown off and letting you apologize.” Caz grinned when I laughed.

“Ary,” Gemma called again, more impatiently this time.

I carefully wrapped my arms around Caz’s neck. “Be safe.”

When I pulled back, he winked at me. “Not very fun, but sure.”

With one last eye roll, I hopped down from the carriage to face Gemma.

She stood confidently in her black fighting leathers with knives sheathed on her belt.

She wore a thick gray sweater covered by a worn leather jacket.

No hat, but a black scarf was wrapped around her neck, thick enough to pull over her mouth for additional warmth.

“I’m worried,” I began. “The temple will draw their attention, and you might bring them right to you.”

“No second guessing.” She took my thin fingers in her leather-gloved hands and squeezed. “It’s the right call.”

My eyes widened, remembering her conflicting comment from last night.

“It is.” She sensed my hesitation. “If they catch up to us, you won’t be there for them to find. We’ll move fast.”

I tightened my wolf-pelt shawl around my shoulders with my spare hand. She turned away, but—

“Gemma?” I held her hand and lowered my voice. “I asked him to speak with you. I trust him, and I want you to trust him, but…” I winced. “What did he say? Did he threaten you?”

She laughed once, shaking her head. “No, Ary. No threats. I just didn’t know that…” Her long fingers wrapped around mine again, and her br eath was a ball of mist when she huffed. “He won’t hurt you.” Emotion brimmed in her eyes as she drew me in for a tight hug.

I returned the embrace, a few tears of my own spilling onto her shoulder.

“Come when you’re ready.” She pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “Do what you need to do to… find yourself. We’ll all be there, waiting for you.”

With one agile leap, she climbed into the front seat of the wooden carriage, her long fingers tightening around both reins.

I hugged Finn next, who was clad in all-black leathers as well.

Then Ezra, dressed similarly. He walked to where Gavin stood by the white mare positioned to lead them. Despite the height Gavin had on Ezra, my cousin sneered up at him, unafraid. I was grateful Gavin let Ezra say his piece with no more reaction than a lifted eyebrow.

Ezra climbed onto the white mare and gave me one last worried glance.

He looked forward, and they departed westward, toward Avendrel, beneath the orange and ocean-blue hues of Nyrida’s densely wooden dawn.

***

An hour later, Damond stood with us outside the horse stables on the outskirts of Tovick. He planned on staying in town for a few more days before deciding whether to rebuild the tavern, or, with war against Molochai in the near future, relocating to the Winterton Caves.

The sun was bright in the sky, and I prayed the others were far away by now. I wished there was a way to know when they returned to their families. Safe, where Molochai and his Insidions could not find them.

Both our bags were slung over my favorite mare, and her sleek black glistened in the morning mist. Two bags were all we had.

Most of our supplies had gone with the others.

I had insisted as such, confident Gavin would be able to get us whatever we needed on the way.

Perhaps I would even try my own hand at a hunt.

“Time to go.” Gavin led the chestnut-brown stallion beside the black mare.

“We can take just her.” I rested a hand on the mare’s sleek neck and looked at Gavin. “I’ll ride with you. It feels safer that way.”

And warmer. Even with gloves, my hat, scarf, and the wolf’s pelt shielding me, the wind bit at my cheeks.

“If that’s what you want,” he answered after a moment of jaw-clenching contemplation.

I turned to Damond, who took my face in his smooth, slender hands and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Sweet, brilliant, beautiful girl.” He sighed. “Keep him on his toes for me, will you?”

I snorted, wondering if that was possible. But then I remembered what Damond had said about my teacher losing his wits and returned his knowing smirk with a nod.

It seemed like muscle memory—the way I hitched myself up and over the black mare.

She shifted her majestic form beneath me.

Excitement rushed through me, as if it flowed straight from her body into mine.

I waited while Gavin leaned over and muttered something to Damond—a command, by the way Damond nodded in response—and climbed onto the saddle behind me.

I gave Damond one last look of thanks, and we rode off.

I sucked in a shallow breath at the way Gavin felt pressed against my back—warm, powerful, dominating.

Aware of every shift of his body, the way his strong legs locked on either side of mine, both of us straddling the mare.

How, with every breath, his chest rose and fell against my back. My stomach quivered .

I shoved it away, quenching it with thoughts of something, anything else. This was going to be a very long couple of days if I didn’t get a hold of myself.

“How long will it take to get there?” I asked, in dire need of a distraction.

“A little over two days by horse.”

Two days. That’s all I had left with him before I was handed off to my ancient, sorcerer father.

“There are a few small villages on the way. We can stop each night,” he continued. “I want you out of the cold if we can help it.”

“I’ll be fine with a campfire. I was before, and it was colder in Warrich.”

He gave no response, which meant no budging on that, apparently.

Changing the subject, I asked, “What did you tell Gemma?”

I waited through his silence. Gave him about a minute before speaking again.

“What did you tell Gemma?” I repeated, wondering if he’d heard me. “What did you say to make her trust you?”

He sighed and shifted around me, gripping the reins so firmly that I could see the tendons rippling beneath his scarred, calloused hands. I shivered at a sight as terrifying as it was tempting. The thought of those hands on me…

“I told her the truth, Ella,” he finally spoke, his deep voice firm.

“And what’s that?”

“Gemma understands the lengths I will go to protect you.”

“You scared her.” I remembered the troubled look on her face beneath the moonlight. “Something was off with her when she came to bed last night.”

“I didn’t scare her,” he replied calmly. “I just helped her understand the true weight of the burden you carry.”

“What does that even mean? ”

Silence ensued.