Echoes of the Raven (The Eldrystone #2)

36. CHAPTER 36

36

RíFíOR

“Niamhara, why have you stopped listening to our prayers?”

Vivan Aster - Fae Outcast - 21 AV

W e ride nonstop, Valeria holding the reins and keeping the horse at a considerable trot. The first few hours she is relentless, but after some time, exhaustion gets to her, and we slow down. I know Kadewyn is fair and will remain behind for some time before he finally follows us. Valeria does not have to worry about him.

Moreover, there is a different route that can lead us to the veil—one neither Kadewyn nor Calierin are likely to follow if we carefully cover our tracks. I will tell Valeria about it, just not yet. She is in shock and needs to feel in control again.

The moon shines overhead, and a light breeze blows from the west, pushing Valeria’s scent in my direction. Her sweet combination of lemon and lavender is fainter after days of travel, but it is still there. She is so close, I long to bury my nose in her hair and take her scent fully, but I resist, keeping my hands on my thighs as the gelding’s movements rock us back and forth.

Damn Calierin !

I feared she might try something, so I made her promise to behave. I thought her word as a Tuathacath warrior might be worth something, but I was wrong. Still, despite my need for rest, I tried to keep an eye on her, only halfway sleeping. I was nearly too late, which is unforgivable.

Valeria’s hands fall limp at her sides, and the horse slows. I’m about to say something when she slides off the saddle, I catch her just in time, my hands circling her waist.

I shake her lightly. “Valeria, wake up.”

There is no answer. I shake her again, still nothing.

Something warm and wet slicks my right hand. I stare at my fingers and find them stained with sticky blood.

“Drocháin!”

I jump off the horse and help an unconscious Valeria lean forward until her torso lies along the horse’s neck. Blood blooms over her tunic, looking as black as the night.

“Valeria, wake up!” I slap her cheek, but her eyes remain closed.

Grabbing the reins, I guide us to the side of the road, ease her off the animal, and lay her gently on the ground. Her face is ghostly pale from the loss of blood. Lifting her tunic, I examine the wound. She didn’t escape Calierin unharmed. The dagger pierced Valeria’s side. Yet, she said nothing, more concerned with getting as far as possible from those she can only regard as her cruel enemies.

This is my fault.

“Valeria, please wake up!”

I shake my head, puzzled as to why I didn’t notice the scent of blood earlier. I should have detected it. Now, she has been bleeding for hours, steadily losing her life force. It makes no sense. Frowning, I peer at the chain around her neck. There’s only one explanation. The Eldrystone hid her injury from me, but why? Never before it acted with a mind of its own, but now it seems to have some sort of plan.

I press my fingers to her neck. Her heartbeat is weak .

Pulling on the amulet’s chain, I snake it out and stare at the jewel.

“Heal her!” I command it, the way I have done a thousand times.

I peer at the wound, expecting it to knit itself, but nothing happens. The amulet does not obey me. Instead, she seems to grow paler, her lips turning a terrifying shade of blue.

“Heal her, dammit ! Why won’t you listen to me?!”

No result.

My eyes rove in all directions, concern mounting.

I have no healing skills, none that would help her at this point, anyway. If it were a small wound, I could bandage it, and it would help, but for this… she needs a real healer, a fae one even. But where?

Attempting to quiet my mind, I take a deep breath, mentally retracing the roads we have traveled, trying to pinpoint our exact location. I know this land like the back of my hand. For nearly twenty years, I wandered these parts aimlessly, harboring anger toward life and shunning company, until I eventually journeyed to Castellina and discovered the truth about Simón Plumanegra’s identity.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out we are close to Badajos, a small town only a mile east of where we stand. Wasting no time, I tear my sleeves off, tie them together, wrap them around Valeria’s middle, and pick her up. She is solid, fit as any sword fighter and tree climber—all the things a proper lady should not be. Yet, she feels light in my arms, small, and it takes little effort to put her back on the horse and leap behind her.

With a jerk of the reins, I urge the animal forward. I go as fast as I dare, afraid that too much jostling will intensify her bleeding. It seems an eternity before we ride into town. It is late, the streets quiet, but I remember an inn with a tavern that stays open day and night.

There will be people at the inn, and they will be able to direct me to a healer. I will accept no other possibility. When I arrive, I carry Valeria in my arms, bursting through the thick wooden door. The chatter quiets as I step inside. Several sets of eyes turn my way, immediately filling with distrust.

“She is injured,” I announce. “I need a healer. Now!”

No one moves. They just continue staring. I walk further into the inn, weaving through the tavern’s tables, pushing all the way to the back counter, where a burly man with a dark mustache stares at me with the same disdain I am used to.

“She is human,” I say, hoping this will make a difference. “She needs help, or she will die.”

The innkeeper lowers his eyes and examines Valeria closely.

“She’s probably wearing one of those glamours,” he says.

I want to reach out across the bar and strangle him, but not yet.

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I say. “If I were, I would be wearing a glamour myself. Please, she is dying. We will pay for your services and for the healer. A fae one.” I suspect only magic can save her at this point.

I knew it would come to this, so I am prepared with gold from her rucksack. Before he comes up with another excuse, I slap five gold coins on the bar top.

“Five now. Five more later,” I say.

His eyes grow wide. I doubt he has ever seen one gold coin, much less five. The thought of ten seems to be scrambling his brain.

“No?” I ask. “I guess we will take our coin elsewhere?” I make as if to take the gold back.

He beats me to it. “No, no. We can help.” He picks up the coins and slips them into his pocket. “Go upstairs,” he instructs. “First room on the right is clean. Take her there, and I’ll send for the healer. He’s one of your folk. They say he’s good. Only reason we keep him ‘round.” He laughs at this.

I remind myself that I am going to strangle him later , not now. Instead, I nod and rush Valeria upstairs .

The room is small with a narrow bed, a chair, a dresser, and a table. The furniture is rough-hewn, but the space is clean as the innkeeper said. I leave the door open to allow light from the hall to spill in, then set her down on the bed and check her pulse. It is weaker still.

I throw our rucksacks and swords on the floor. Cursing repeatedly under my breath, I remove her boots, unsure of what else to do to make her comfortable. In the dim light, her cheeks look hollow and her eyes sunken. Kneeling at the side of the bed, I watch her and wonder at the edge of fear in my heart.

If she dies, the veil will remain closed. It is the only reason for my worry.

“Oh, dear, she looks frightful,” a heavyset woman comes in, carrying a tray with a water bowl, rags, and a lit candle. She places the tray on the small table by the bed and proceeds to soak one of the rags.

“Are you the healer?” I ask, confused. She is not fae.

“No, just that fool’s wife,” she responds as she begins wiping Valeria’s face.

I infer she means the innkeeper.

“She’s so cold,” she says. “Worse than I thought. My daughter is making some tea, but now I doubt she’ll be able to drink it.” She looks up at me. “What happened?”

“Knife wound,” I say.

She folds back Valeria’s tunic and, with practiced hands, cleans the wound, removing all the blood and revealing the extent of the damage. Carefully, she palpates Valeria’s stomach, a trickle of blood oozes from the wound.

“It seems she’s bled a lot,” she says, “but I don’t think there’s damage to any vital organ. If there was, she’d be dead already. If they find Thoran, I think he can help her. Pray that they do.”

I close my eyes, and for the first time in many years, I find myself invoking Niamhara’s name .

Please, Goddess, let them find the healer, let him come and help her. I have not asked anything of you since… I shake my head. Please, Valeria does not deserve this.

When I open my eyes, I find the woman peering up at me.

She nods and offers me a gentle smile. “A prayer is the best thing right now. The girl needs it.” The woman presses a hand to Valeria’s forehead. “San Rafael keep her safe. She’s young, and it’s yet too early for her to enter the heavens. Guard her and spare her life for she may yet have much to do.”

I swallow thickly, unsure of what I am feeling. My chest is tight, and I think it is anger, but I do not know anymore.

Her hands move over Valeria’s hair, one finger tracing the streak of white hair. Peering back at me, she has a questioning expression on her face. Does she know that the youngest Plumanegra sister sports such a defining mark? If she does, I am not about to confirm any suspicions she may be harboring.

There’s a small knock at the door, and I dash to open it. I expect it to be the healer, but a young girl comes in with the tea the woman mentioned. She rushes in, places it on the table, and leaves in the same hurried manner.

The woman tries to make Valeria drink, but liquid spills down the sides of her mouth, proving a useless task. She straightens and turns to me. “No luck but keep trying. See if she’ll drink a little. It should help her with the pain. I’ll go see if they have word from Thoran.”

She walks to the door, and halfway out, glances over her shoulder. “My name is Francisca, by the way.”

When she leaves, I grab the teacup and sit at the edge of the bed.

“Drink,” I urge. “It will be good for you.” I press the teacup to her lips. Her mouth remains closed. “Do it for me.”

To my surprise, her lips part. I tip the cup and allow a little tea to dribble in. She closes her mouth again .

“Swallow, Valeria.”

Her throat works, and she swallows.

My breath catches as her eyes open for an instant, meeting mine. It happens so quickly that I think I have imagined it.

Hope, that terrible betrayer, glimmers in my chest.

She will be all right. She will make it.

A part of me does not think so. Not without the healer, anyway.

I stare at the door, willing it to open and let this Thoran in, but it remains shut. He is not coming and without him…

I don’t dare finish the thought.

Setting the teacup down, I am determined to try again in another moment. My hand moves of its own accord, and I caress the side of her face. I whisper her name, hoping the sound will anchor her to this world.

Several moments pass, my impatience building and building. I try the tea again, but this time she doesn’t drink it.

“Look at me, Valeria,” I entreat her.

But her eyes remain as tightly shut as her lips.

My desperation quickly switches back to anger—a more familiar emotion, and I am at the brink of going downstairs to demand someone bring me that damn healer when the door opens.

Francisca rushes in with a wart-covered dwarf, carrying a satchel slung across his chest.

Hells devour me! This is no fae healer, and if he is a healer at all, he must be a Nightmend, a savage with the worst kind of magic.