“Well, actually, I need to talk to you about that,” I said, drawing a deep breath. Marcus was not going to like this. “We can’t let anyone know I have magic and we need to act like we’re together. That is, we can’t let anyone know that Devyn and I… They think I’m here as your match anyway… or betrothed, as they call it.”
His face darkened with each word that fell out of my mouth.
“I’m sure they don’t. Not after that little display yesterday.”
“Nothing happened.” At least, nothing had happened because despite having a knife in his shoulder, Devyn had hauled himself off the ground to my side before I could unleash my rage.
“Yeah. Just as well they don’t know what happened in Richmond,” he said, referring to the storm I had rained down on the sentinels who had pursued us in our first failed attempt to leave the city. Failed because of the handfast bond which had led to Marcus inadvertently alerting them to my departure.
“Right,” I said. “I would do the same if they hurt you.”
“Would you?” His eyes were hollow.
This time when he pulled away, I didn’t try to stop him.
Chapter Twelve
I rejoined the rest of the group at the camp, such as it was – some waterproof coverings strung from tree branches providing cover from the relentless rain. I don’t suppose it rained more here than in Londinium, though it certainly seemed to. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in fully dry clothes. The completely natural materials didn’t help either and I thought wistfully of my city clothes. The only room left around the fire that the Britons had got going – in a remarkably short time – was either beside Devyn, who was stretched out against a fallen log, or by his attacker. With an inward grumble, I chose to sit beside the ass who had put the hole in the man I loved.
Gideon cast me a strange look as I eased my aching bones down beside him. Damn. In trying to appear as if there were nothing between myself and Devyn, I had overplayed it. Gideon knew I couldn’t stand him, a reaction with which he seemed to be familiar. He seemed like the kind of person you had to get used to, if Bronwyn’s interactions with him were anything to go by.
“Miss me?” he joked, as I proceeded to ignore him, his long legs stretching out to the paltry heat from the baby flames which were struggling to take hold of the damp wood.
I smiled sourly at him. “Couldn’t last another minute away from your side.”
The evening meal was barley and meat stew, substantially better fare than we’d been managing on our own. The chatter around the group was subdued, with glances continuing to assess us, their reluctant guests.
“How long will it take us to get to Carlisle?” I asked. The sooner the better for Devyn’s sake. He had barely touched his meal, and when Marcus had redressed the wound, I hadn’t missed his wince at what he found under the bandage.
“A few days,” Bronwyn said. “All being well.”
“We need to get there sooner,” Marcus said. These were the first words he had spoken all evening.
Bronwyn cut him a dismissive glance. “We aren’t exactly taking a leisurely stroll. Are we keeping you from something, my lord? Or are our accommodations just not up to standard?”
Marcus narrowed his gaze. “There’s something wrong with Devyn’s wound. We need to get him to help.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. So much for appearing unconcerned.
“I don’t know. It’s not deep, but he’s developing a fever.”
Unable to help myself, I scrambled to my feet and crossed to where Devyn lay sleeping. Developing a fever was putting it mildly; his cheeks were flushed and, laying my hand to his forehead, I could feel that he was burning up. This close, I could also hear that his breathing was laboured.
“Marcus, do something.”
“I can’t. He’s not responding to anything I try.”
Bronwyn had joined me and, pulling back his shirt, lifted the makeshift bandage. Dark tendrils crept outwards from the inflamed mark. Bronwyn laid her hands around the site and frowned grimly.
I glared across at Gideon who was less concerned with Devyn than the state of the fire, which he was nudging with his great oversized boot.
“What did you do?” There must have been something on the knife. What little knowledge I had of sickness came from my brief stint working in the hospital with Marcus, and I had never seen anything like this.
“Me?” He had the gall to play at innocence. “Nothing. I can’t be blamed for what’s inside the Griffin. Maybe I just gave it a way to get out.”
Bronwyn pulled the bandage back before straightening up and walking away into the dark. Devyn was her cousin and she cared so little? Marcus gave a slight shrug; he had little faith in our new friends. My anger boiled up inside me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to draw magic to me, but what did it matter if Devyn was going to die? Was he going to die? It was just a shoulder wound, but it looked nasty. I felt the power flood through my veins, warming me, making me feel whole. I turned back to Devyn and, after checking nobody was near enough to see, I laid my hands around the wound as I had seen Bronwyn and Marcus do. My eyes slid closed as I focused on Devyn, on the oily, grim foreignness that slimed through his blood, lighting it up, but it just slithered further into the shadows. I tried again and again to draw it to me, to push it away, to burn something. I refused to let it defeat me. It felt wrong, and my skin prickled each time I got close to it, as if every atom of my being was repulsed by the dark matter that
