Brightly Woven
Page 47
“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.
I carefully mixed a large batch of the sleeping draft. When I was sure I had the right consistency, I set it aside and went to find the others.
“How is he?” Pascal was sitting outside the door, as if standing guard. Hearing his voice, Aphra appeared from her room and crossed the small hallway.
“Sleeping,” I said. “He didn’t want to take the elixir.”
“I should wring that boy’s neck,” Pascal said. “Of all the times to refuse it…”
I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply. I couldn’t banish North’s tortured face from my mind’s eye.
“I’m going to Provincia,” I told them.
“Out of the question,” Pascal said firmly. “It’s not safe for you to travel alone, especially now with all the men and wizards heading in and out of the capital. Prima Road is dangerous enough without the extra crowds.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said. “North isn’t in any condition to travel. If you’re concerned, then you can come with me—if we go by horseback, we should be there just in time.”
“Wayland said Owain’s gone ahead,” Pascal countered. “He can bring the information to the Sorceress Imperial.”
“Do you honestly believe they’ll take his word for it?” I asked. “North has proof; it’s in his notebook. If I can get that into the right person’s hands, it’ll be far more effective.”
“You can drop that mad idea right now,” he said. “I won’t leave Wayland’s side until he’s healed, and as for you going out, without any kind of protection—”
“Then give me a sword!”
I was shaking with anger now. To have come all of this way only to have North nearly die because of my own stupidity—I had to do something. All I could see in my mind was Cliffton burning, crumbling, North falling under Dorwan’s magic. Everything was coming down around me, and I was powerless.
“Pascal,” I begged. “Please.”
“Don’t ask me again,” he said in a rough voice. “You’ll go when Wayland is up to it.”
With that, he pushed past me and forced open the door. He didn’t say another word, but I heard the door shut behind 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.
I carefully mixed a large batch of the sleeping draft. When I was sure I had the right consistency, I set it aside and went to find the others.
“How is he?” Pascal was sitting outside the door, as if standing guard. Hearing his voice, Aphra appeared from her room and crossed the small hallway.
“Sleeping,” I said. “He didn’t want to take the elixir.”
“I should wring that boy’s neck,” Pascal said. “Of all the times to refuse it…”
I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply. I couldn’t banish North’s tortured face from my mind’s eye.
“I’m going to Provincia,” I told them.
“Out of the question,” Pascal said firmly. “It’s not safe for you to travel alone, especially now with all the men and wizards heading in and out of the capital. Prima Road is dangerous enough without the extra crowds.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said. “North isn’t in any condition to travel. If you’re concerned, then you can come with me—if we go by horseback, we should be there just in time.”
“Wayland said Owain’s gone ahead,” Pascal countered. “He can bring the information to the Sorceress Imperial.”
“Do you honestly believe they’ll take his word for it?” I asked. “North has proof; it’s in his notebook. If I can get that into the right person’s hands, it’ll be far more effective.”
“You can drop that mad idea right now,” he said. “I won’t leave Wayland’s side until he’s healed, and as for you going out, without any kind of protection—”
“Then give me a sword!”
I was shaking with anger now. To have come all of this way only to have North nearly die because of my own stupidity—I had to do something. All I could see in my mind was Cliffton burning, crumbling, North falling under Dorwan’s magic. Everything was coming down around me, and I was powerless.
“Pascal,” I begged. “Please.”
“Don’t ask me again,” he said in a rough voice. “You’ll go when Wayland is up to it.”
With that, he pushed past me and forced open the door. He didn’t say another word, but I heard the door shut behind me.
