Fire Wolf Page 8

Myah waited for the moment, the split second of pain before nothingness claimed her. However, when he failed to strike her, she opened her eyes and stifled the sob wrenching from her throat.

  The man stood with his back to her, his shoulders relaxed. His sword, still in his hand, hung down so that the tip of his sword cut the surface of the stream. Beyond him, five gray wolves spanned out across the channel—three in the creek bed and two on the high ground to the right and left.

  She gasped at the sight and launched to her feet, reaching for her bow that had been cast away.

  The largest wolf, nearly the size of a bear, stepped forward while the other four paired off and returned to the forest, circling back the way she had come from, but thankfully away. The lead wolf circled her, sniffing at her legs. Her muscles tightened and she shrank away from him, lifting up the broken bow to strike if he hurt her, but he brushed past her and paused in front of the soldier.

  He knelt before the beast and stroked the wolf’s fur, whispering words so softly that they came across as hisses. Sparks ignited between the creature’s fur and the man’s fingers. The wolf’s eyes glittered as if the yellow of its eyes were filled with a thousand lightning storms. She had never seen anything like it.

  The soldier’s body tensed, and he whipped his head around to look at Myah, as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze shifted between the wolf and her, and then he tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, as if seeking an answer from her appearance.

  She gasped and retreated a step, stumbling on the loose river rock.

  His eyes … his eyes were the same color as the wolf’s, and they glittered with the same energy storm.

  What? Her mind tried to process. She had seen the eyes of spellweavers glitter while using magic, but this was somehow … different.

  He stood slowly and faced her, but he made no move to continue his assault. His scarred hand stroked the wolf’s head, and the giant creature leaned into his touch.

  “I—” He extended the opposite hand toward her.

  Myah gasped, and then she was moving, retreating farther downstream as fast as her injuries would allow, her boots sloshing through the water. Her bow, the shaft broken in two, clutched in her hand.

  “No, wait,” he called. “Please … stop.”

  But Myah was no fool. She would not wait to see if he would follow through with his attempt at murder or wait to become a meal for that glittering-eyed wolf beast.

  With her heart thrumming in her chest, she ran and did not look back.

  ~*~

  Skye lifted his arm to shield his eyes. The snow flurries whipped about on the gusts of wind, pelting his face and stinging his eyes. Branches swayed all around him, swiping at his shoulders and head. His horse danced beneath him as he searched the area for any sign of life. Any sign of Myah.

  As the light of day faded around him, an uneasy feeling settled in his chest.

  What if she hadn’t made it through the wards?

  What if—?

  “Skye!” The wind swallowed Cal’s shout. They had spread out to give them a better search field. “The old millinery!” He pointed to the east.

  The ruins of a millinery perched on the banks of the Nordlingrace River. It was inside the ward boundaries, close to the City of Kings, and a good place to take shelter from the snowfall, especially if she were on foot. Myah would know this, he told himself. She knew every inch of her kingdom. She would do the smart thing; he was sure of it.

  Skye drew his horse around and nudged him into a canter until he reached Cal near the flat bank of the river. All the while, Skye searched, hoping to find a glimpse, a fragment that would lead him to Myah. Because what if they missed her on the way to the mill? What if she were hurt? What if she were—? He stopped that thought. He could not think like that. Myah was smart. Myah knew the wards. If anyone could have escaped and gotten back into the kingdom, it would be her.

  Twenty minutes later, Cal stopped ahead of him. Skye could see the mill in the looming darkness. Its water wheel sat at an unnatural angle, leaning in toward the stone of the structure, and the roof thatches, still connected to the roof, danced about like a string on a kite. Somewhere in the roof, a board banged with each gust.

  “I’m going to check the area,” Cal yelled to get his voice above the wind. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

  Skye dismounted and led his horse toward the structure. Rocks shifted beneath his feet as he climbed the slippery slope back up to the cobbled path, now covered in snow, that used to be a road. The mill had been abandoned at least a hundred years—that he knew of. Most of the milling was upriver now, closer to Nordlin City.

  He tied the leads to an old fence post near the door, making sure his horse was out of the wind as much as possible. He stroked the creature’s long neck and his hand skimmed the dried blood from Allen’s wound crusting the gelding’s coat. Brown flecks tinged his pinked skin when he looked at the palm of his hand. He had more than just Allen’s blood on his hands; Skye felt responsible for every soul they had left trapped in the Osten’s net.

  At least Allen was on his way back to the city on the back of a wagon with the refugees. His wound looked fatal, though.

  With a growl, Skye brushed away the thoughts and headed toward the entrance. He searched for the latch but instead found a vacant hole in the wood panel. He pushed against the barrier once, then twice, before it opened with a creak of the hinges and banged against the stone wall. He cringed at the noise.

  He ducked inside. The room reeked of mildew and rot and dying things. He gagged, his hand reflexively coming to his nose to stifle the stench.

  He scanned the room. On the far side, he could make out the mechanism of the old mill, its cogs once turned by the power of the great river. Snow flew through the pane-less windows on the river side of the building. He walked the breadth of the room, checking the corners and behind the old mechanisms.

  Myah was not here.

  His heart sank; a wave of grief filled him.

  She had to have escaped. She would make it home, he told himself as he searched the millenary once more. Because maybe she had been here earlier in the day. Maybe she had left a clue before she continued to Nordlin City, or to the caves to meet Owl.

  Right now, she huddled by a fire, sipping tea and laughing with Allen. Allen, who had been injured in the escape back into Nordlin. Still alive, unlike most of the men. Her lips would press into a frown, and she would not dare to breathe to hold the tears at bay as she thought about those they had lost. Skye knew her tears would come eventually. When she was alone. He knew this about her. He knew every expression, every curl of her lip. The way the light lit her blue eyes when she was happy. The way her red hair looked like living flame in the sunlight. The way she sighed when she found him exasperating. The way she hit a target with an arrow, even when he was determined to distract her.

  Skye had to find her.

  And Myah had to be out here, along the boundaries somewhere, because the distance back to Nordlin City was too far without a horse.

  Skye spun around to head back to the doorway to wait for Cal when he heard it. A voice. Distant, muffled.

  He stepped out into the wind and searched the area.

  A rider on horseback cantered toward him. The form coalesced as it came closer.

  “Skye!” Cal shouted.

  He came forward, onto the old road, hearing the panic in his friend’s voice. “What is it?” he yelled, throwing an arm up to shelter his face from the ice and wind.

  Then, he saw it.

  Cal was not alone on the horse.

  Skye rushed forward, meeting them when Cal drew the horse to a stop. Immediately, Cal slid Myah down to Skye. She fell into Skye’s arms, he her only support.

  She felt like ice. Her clothes were wet and coated with ice crystals and snow. Her head lolled to the side, exposing her face to him. Her lips were blue, her skin pale. Ice clung to her eyelashes and crystallized along the length of her long, red
braid. She was not shivering.

  Skye reached down and looped his arm beneath her knees, bringing her up into his arms. Her lashes fluttered open, a hint of life, as he rushed inside the millenary. He laid her down on the stone floor, her cloak pooling beside her.

  “My, can you hear me?” He brushed the stray strands of hair from her forehead. Her eyes opened again, holding his gaze. “You are soaking wet. We need to get you out of your clothes. Do you understand?”

  Myah’s head turned as her eyes closed again.

  “Myah!” he shouted, shaking her. Her eyes blinked open. “Do you understand?”

  This time, she nodded.

  Skye pulled his cloak off his shoulders, draping it over her body. The bite of the air hit him. He moved to her legs and pulled off her boots and stockings as Cal came in.

  “Close that door the best you can, and get a fire going,” Skye instructed. He worked upward, going for her pants next. “There’s a hearth on the back wall.”

  Skye undid her belt and slid the fabric of her pants down her legs, leaving only her underthings. He tossed them to the side near her stockings. He moved to her head and pushed his cloak off her upper body. He undid the clip to her cloak and tugged the fabric away from her body, then went for her shirt, tugging it over her head. His hands pressed against her bodice. It was damp but not soaked. It would have to come off still. He pulled his knife from its sheath and cut the laces, then tugged the bone and fabric free from her body.

  “I’ve got it started,” Cal’s deep voice called. “I’ll see if I can find some dry wood.”

  Skye lifted Myah into his arms, keeping the fur side of his cloak around her body. He sat on the hearth with her in his lap. His hands rubbed her arms, sliding down the length of her limbs to her hands. He rubbed her fingers, her palms, anything to get the blood flowing through her body again. He slid his hands up her arm once more.

  Myah flinched.

  He stopped, examining the area he had touched. A shadow on her skin. And as the fire grew brighter, the bruise took shape. Long, slender lines, as if someone had grabbed her so tightly, it had left impressions on her arm. He covered that arm with the fabric and exposed the other arm. The same bruises lined the other side. Someone had grabbed her hard.

  Skye cursed under his breath, kicking himself for not staying with her. He was supposed to protect her, to be there for her. He kissed the top of her head. Copper. Strong and heavy. He pulled away, looking at her head.

  Blood.

  He touched the spot with his fingertips. It was dried, but Myah jerked away from his touch.

  The door banged open. Cal’s body filled the space, his arms laden with sticks.

  “She’s going to need a healer,” Skye said.

  “She’s going to freeze to death if I can’t find dry wood.” Cal shoved the door closed with his broad shoulder. He crossed the room to them and threw some of the wood on the flames. Sparks leaped, shooting ash into the room.

  “She has a head wound and bruises on her arms.”

  Cal sat down, bringing Myah’s legs into his lap. He rubbed her legs through the fabric of the cloak. She jerked away from him. “Think she has some on her legs too.”

  What had they done to her? Why had he left her?

  Skye took her hand, rubbing her fingers. The beds of her nails were blue.

  “My,” Skye whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  Her fingers curled as if to grab his hand.

  “My?”

  “Cold,” she whispered, her voice so soft he had to strain to make out the words.

  “I know. We need to warm you up, and then we’re going to get you home.”

  She turned her head, hiding her face in his chest.

  ~*~

  Myah woke to a world of pain, so much pain she was not sure where it came from. Her head throbbed, her muscles screamed, her body cried as if she had been beaten about like a rag doll. She curled into herself, flexing her fingers into soft fabric; squeezing her eyes shut as if it would block out every measure of agony.

  “Myah?” A voice, soft and familiar and soothing, caused her to pause. Then, a gentle hand brushed the top of her head.

  She braved opening her eyes, to let in the light of the world, and looked up. Skye’s brown eyes, warm and filled with worry, stared back at her. She was safe in his arms. A fire blazed beside them, and he … wasn’t wearing a shirt? They were skin to skin, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak and sitting next to a fire. It was then she realized her legs rested on something lumpy. She glanced to the left. Cal was asleep, sitting up. His chin tucked into his chest. His face was streaked with dirt and blood. Her legs rested in his lap. His winter cloak draped over him and her. One of his hands rested on her leg, the warmth of his touch like fire on her skin.

  “What happened?” Myah croaked out, shifting her body to find a more comfortable position, but no matter how she shifted, it didn’t extinguish the prickling, bone-deep ache.

  “We found you in the snow,” Skye told her. “You were soaked through. Your clothes are dry now, but we need to get you back to Master Griffith.”

  Master Griffith? Why would she need the healer?

  A sound like buzzing flies filled her senses; she dropped her head against his chest, willing the sensation away. His arms wrapped around her, and his warm hands slid down her back, smoothing over the curves to rest at her lower back.

  “We’ve had you by the fire all night. You’re finally shivering, but you are still really cold and …”

  She nodded against his chest. Anything to make the pain, the swimming in her head, all of it disappearing. She faded back to sleep.

  ~*~

  The only thing that remained of the storm by the time they reached Nordlin City that night was the quivering wind. Snow and ice caked the cobblestones, making the roadway slick and treacherous. The snowdrifts blew like dust, swirling up into cyclones of white, only to falter when the currents of air stopped abruptly. Few people lingered outdoors, giving them a clear shot to the castle with Myah. Although, they could not ride as fast as Skye needed or wanted while carrying Myah with him.

  She had scarcely woken the entire journey back from the border.

  Skye slowed his horse, examining the pale face of the woman he cradled in his arms. Her legs dangled off one side of the horse and the girl’s head rested against his shoulder. She was wrapped in her now-dry cloak, and he had tied his cloak around them both for added warmth.

  If he could not feel the rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought her dead.

  “What’s wrong?” Cal wheeled his horse around. Its front lifted high as it danced beneath Cal’s body.

  “She’s … She’s stopped shivering again,” Skye finally said.

  “Lords,” Cal swore. “I’ll ride ahead.”

  Cal spun the horse back around and kicked it into a gallop. Skye’s horse jolted forward, trying to follow, and then settled back into a walk as he eased him back. The pace was grueling, but the last time he tried to gallop, he’d almost lost her to a snowbank.

  They were almost to the castle, he reminded himself. Soon, they would be surrounded by warm fires, hot ale, and Master Griffith would use magic to help her. No spellweaver could undo the natural law, but he could boost her natural healing abilities.

  She would be fine.

  Everything would be fine.

  Soldiers called from the outer wall even before Skye could see the barrier of gray stone that shone yellow in the torches lining its length. Another shout echoed when he entered the orchard gate; he could see the black figures of the guards, floating along the ramparts. Their movements were ghostly, otherworldly; their shadows climbed the walls in a haunting dance. More came from the bailey and keep as he approached, and the warning bell tolled, alerting the entire castle of his approach.

  When he came into the bailey, Cal waited with Master Griffith. Guards flanked them both, holding torches.

  “Help me with her!” Skye ordered. Cal slipped to his side, and Sk
ye gently lowered Myah down to him and then hopped off the horse.

  “What happened?” Master Griffith demanded, pushing his way past the bodies crowding around them. He lifted Myah’s chin, turning her face from side to side.

  “She fell in the river,” Cal responded.

  Master Griffith cut him a sharp look. “Get her inside. Now.”

  Cal reached down, drawing her legs up to cradle her in his arms. Her head lulled back lifelessly.

  Lifeless. It was all Skye could think as they traipsed through the castle, heading for Myah’s chambers on the far side of the castle. Would she live? Would she die?

  Would she forgive him for leaving her alone?

  He should have stayed with her.

  Lords, why didn’t he stay with her?

  When they reached her chambers, the maids already had a fire roaring and were filling the bed tins with hot coals to further warm her bedding.

  “Put her on the bed,” Master Griffith ordered as he swept in behind Cal, his robes fanning behind.

  Cal laid her down, only to be brushed aside by the healer.

  “Lady Leicht, can you hear me?” When she did not respond, he lifted her eyelids, and then felt her forehead and the back of her neck, and finally examined her hands.

  He then lowered his ear to her mouth, his eyes looking straight at her chest.

  His gaze shifted to Skye, pinning him to the spot. His eyes narrowed on him, as if measuring the nobleman’s worth.

  “Is she—?” Skye whispered.

  “Mr. Raymond,” the healer interrupted, turning his attention to Cal, “please fetch her mother and uncle immediately.” He shooed Cal toward the door with a wave of his hand. “How long was she exposed to the cold, Lord Lamar?” he asked.

  Skye opened his mouth to answer and then quickly closed it. He wasn’t sure how to answer. A few hours? All day? They had been separated in the early morning, and he had found her at dusk. She could have gotten wet at once, or at any point on her trek back into Nordlin. “I don’t know, sir. It took us awhile to find her, and then we found shelter, got her dry, and warmed her the best we could. We waited for the storm to break before we brought her back.”