Brightly Woven (21 page)

“Dorwan,” North said over the bellowing landslide. There was no trace of pain or any other emotion in his voice. He waited until the wizard was looking directly at him. “My move.”

A burst of fire erupted from North’s palm, and he slammed it into Dorwan’s face. The other wizard staggered back, screaming.

I felt North’s arm come up behind me, pulling me in closer so he could wrap the black cloak around us. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wave of mud that fell over us just as we vanished.

When I reopened them, there was grass beneath my hands instead of rocks and dust.

North pushed me off him none too gently and brought the cloak back up around him. By the time my hands reached for him, there was nothing but empty space to grasp.

“North!” I screamed, stumbling to my feet.
“North!”

I didn’t know where I was. I whirled around, looking for a way back to the mountain, or a village that could help me. There was nothing but tall grass and hills, not even the thatched roofs of a little village. But I recognized the area around me; North and I had passed it on our way down the path. Instead of taking me away from the mountain, he had twisted me back up, toward Arcadia.

I began to run back down the mountain—but it wasn’t only my footsteps that thundered against the ground.

“Sydelle!”
Pascal shouted, drawing his horse up short. His smooth, hairless head glinted with sweat, though the weather was brisk. On his horse, he looked taller than he was in person, more muscular and powerful, and younger as well. There were several young men behind him, all on their own horses.

“North—he—the mountain—the duel!” I gasped for air.

“It’s what I was afraid of,” Pascal said. “We saw it from Arcadia. Gorman, take her back to Lady Aphra and make sure we have bandages and ointment!”

“I want to go with you!” I said, reaching for his saddle. Pascal looked at me and sighed.

“Where are your things?” he asked.

“I left them in the wagon with James and Peter!” I said. “It doesn’t matter! Let me go with you!”

Pascal’s mouth was set in a firm line. Turning to two of the young men, he barked, “Spread out and keep your eyes open!”

Pascal hauled me up behind him and wasted no time nudging his horse into a gallop. The tall grass that grew alongside the path whipped our legs, and the wind kicked a cloud of dust into the air. The snow-covered fields disappeared into piles of mud and loose dirt. The deadly combination of the wizards’ duel and the avalanche that followed had all but destroyed the mountainside.

“Is this where the duel took place?” Pascal asked.

“He couldn’t have twisted far,” I said. “There are limitations—”

The boy on our right let out a sharp cry, jerking his reins back so hard the horse nearly threw him. “Here!” he called. “He’s here!”

Pascal slid down from his saddle, and I was right behind him.

“North!”

He was facedown, his arms thrown out at a strange angle, as though he had tried to brace himself. I rolled him onto his back, calling his name over and over until my voice was hoarse. Pascal knelt beside me, but I couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in my ears. I pressed both hands against his wound, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood, not caring as it seeped into my dress.

One of the young men pulled my hands away from North,
tending to the wound. It was Pascal who forced me to my feet and took me in his arms, pressing my face against his chest so I wouldn’t have to see the deathly pallor that had spread over North’s face.

“I’ll do what I can here,” the boy called, pulling open North’s shirt. “We have to get him back to Lady Aphra—he’ll be needing some of her elixirs.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.
My bags
, I thought.
Why did I leave my bags in the wagon?

“Why isn’t he moving?” one of them asked. “Is he…?”

“No!” Pascal cut in harshly.

“I’m nearly finished.” The young man didn’t look up from where he was stitching North. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m not surprised he passed out from the pain.”

Pascal told two of the young men, “Get the stretcher and tie it between our horses. We can take it slow and steady.”

I watched them lift North as gently as they could onto the stretcher. It sagged beneath his weight, but the thin fabric didn’t rip. I helped Pascal with shaking hands as we tied the rope around him, hoping that was enough to keep him still and safe until we made it into Arcadia.

CHAPTER TEN

W
ith North swaying between them, the other horses couldn’t keep up with Pascal and me. We continued on the dirt path back up to Arcadia, the harsh wind kicking up loose snow from the valley above us and showering us in a coat of white. Closer now, I was finally able to make out the familiar, snow-laden roofs of Arcadia.

“Aphra!” Pascal called. She was waiting for us in the center of the village, a look of horror on her face.

“Get a bed ready,” he told her. “Wayland’s going to need it.”

Lady Aphra guided me through the crowd and up the hill. “Come along,” she murmured, pulling me inside. I looked back, searching for any sign of the other horses. “Rest yourself a bit; you look halfway to death.” She went to work at once, pushing the table and chairs to the far end of the room. She went into her bedroom to retrieve the blankets North and I
had slept on for the past few days, and I watched, completely numb, as she unrolled them again.

I should help
, I thought, but my body refused to move. I sat on the bedding until she came back with a bundle of bandages and rags, as well as water. She set the basin down, and I scrubbed the mud and dust from my skin. I tied my wild hair back into a loose braid, knotting the string so tightly I nearly snapped it.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and Pascal and another man carried North inside the room. The doctor fussed beside them, red in the face and panting hard as they set North’s unresponsive body down on the bed. I searched his face for any signs of life or changes in his condition; the moment my hand touched his pale, dirty skin, he let out a horrible moan.

“Away—just—go—no one—!” His voice broke off in a tortured groan. “I don’t want you—”

“North,” I said. “Can you hear me? Can I get you anything?”

“No!” he yelled. “Nothing—alone!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Pascal said. “I’ll get you a pain and slumber elixir. This is the curse, not just your wound, Wayland! You need to take them!”

“No!”
North thundered. “I won’t…I won’t take it…Make Syd…Make her leave!”

“Not on your life, Wayland North,” I said sternly. “I’ll get you the elixir myself. You’re too out of sorts to make a decision like that.”

“I SAID NO!”

I stood there helplessly as he turned and buried his face in the bed.

“Just go…Just go…,” he whispered brokenly. “No one…”

I felt Aphra’s hands on my shoulders, but I shrugged them off.

“All of you,” I said, my voice surprisingly clear. “All of you, get out.”

“Let me help,” Pascal pleaded. North shook his head as if stuck in some fever dream. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, not even his magister.

“I’ll need my bag,” I said. “I have my own elixirs he might be willing to take.”

“I have it,” Lady Aphra said, her face pale in the candlelight. “Pascal, come with me.”

“And what gives her the right to stay?” he demanded. “She’s known him for two months—I’ve known this boy his entire life!” I had a sudden vision of Pascal’s younger self, putting a small, dark-haired boy to bed and staying beside him through long nights of pain. This had been his role. His were the hands that had soothed away the ache and the vulnerability in North.

I took his hands in mine.

“I’ll take care of him.”

Pascal shook his head. “No, it’s not your place.”

“It is now,” I said firmly.

Aphra took his arm and began to lead him from the room. The door closed gently behind them.

I sat back down on the bed. My lips pressed lightly against the pallid skin of his forehead, brushing his hair back away from his face.

“Syd…” His voice shook. “I don’t want…” It looked as though he would rip the pillow between his hands in two.

“I made more of the pain elixir. Remember how much better you felt after you took it last time? I have some sleeping draft, too.” I rubbed my hand along the length of his arm. I nodded to Aphra as she left my bag just inside the door.

“No,” he grunted. “I don’t want—!” He took in a great breath, holding it in. “You’re not allowed to see…” A barely contained cry. “Please, please just leave me….”

I felt his body shaking against mine; he was deathly pale, and a thin sheen of sweat spread across his face. He brought his hands up to clench his hair, pulling as hard as he could. A guttural scream escaped his lips.

“North!” I said. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

His tortured breathing slowed long enough for me to seize the moment. I pulled him up and slid beneath him. With his head and shoulders resting in my lap, I had better leverage on his arms.

Unfortunately, not his legs. A new flash of pain overcame him, and he kicked wildly. I pulled him farther up against me, wrapping my arms around him. He groped blindly for
my hands, squeezing until I thought every bone in them would break.

“Hush…shhh…”

He turned in my embrace, pressing his face against my shoulder.
“Gods,”
he cried. “Gods, it hurts…please…” He pressed himself even harder against me, as if struggling to hold on against a bone-crushing current.

I kept talking, stroking his back, running my hands through his hair. I kept a careful eye on the bandage, watching for any new stain of blood. The young man had stitched him up well.

North brought his legs up, curling into a ball. I felt a small dampness seeping through my dress, and I didn’t have to look down to know that he could no longer contain his tears. My hand came down to rest lightly against his cheek, wiping away at his clammy skin until it was smooth and dry.

“It hurts…,” he said, trying to pull away. “I want it to…be over…all of it…”

“No, you don’t,” I said, not moving. “You don’t mean a word of that, and you know it.”

“I feel…I can’t breathe…,” he choked out.
“Gods!”

I forced him to sit up again; he was shaking beneath my hands. His breath came out in short punctuated gasps, almost as if he was laughing. But I knew he wasn’t.

I slipped away long enough to retrieve the small bottles inside my bag. Giving him both the pain elixir and the sleeping draft would put him under for days, I realized, but mixing
a portion of each and adding a few leaves of lavender might be just enough.

“Syd?” North called weakly.

“Right here,” I said. “Will you take this for me? Please, I promise it’ll help.”

He turned his head, pressing his lips together until they were a thin, white line.

“For me,” I whispered. “Please, take it for me….”

I brought the bottle to his mouth, my hand shaking. Finally, his lips parted, and he swallowed the elixir in slow, steady gulps.

I held him until his tremors ceased and his breathing became slow and heavy. Only then did I untangle myself from his grasp, sliding down to the floor in exhaustion. I leaned against the bedding and finally allowed myself to cry.

Almost as if he had sensed it in his deep slumber, North turned over to face me, our faces so close they were nearly touching.

“Sydelle…,”
he breathed out, reaching for me.