“How far?” Madoc surveyed his workbench before nodding in satisfaction to himself as he patted the satchel under his cloak.
“Not far, I think. We were not far from Chirk when Gideon met us. He gave us fresh horses to come to fetch you. The rest are coming behind with Devyn. We have him in a cart but it’s too slow. Gideon doesn’t think he will make it if you don’t treat him first.”
I trailed them back out to the courtyard where the two horses waited. Bronwyn’s warrior mounted one, leaving one for Madoc. Gideon and the other soldiers who had gone in search of Devyn had emptied out the stables.
I had never felt so helpless in my life. Not in Richmond watching Devyn ride away, nor on the sands about to face a justice that I knew was rigged against me. As if on a string, I followed the horses through the gate, stopping outside the castle wall as they picked up the pace along the road, watching unblinkingly until they disappeared into the forest. He was dying, and all I could do was stand here in this cold crumbling castle doing nothing. What good was all this power I supposedly had if I couldn’t do anything to save him?
A fine-boned hand intertwined with mine and gripped tightly.
“He will make it, Cassandra,” Bronwyn said firmly.
“Will he?” Or would he die out there in the green forests of his homeland? At least he would have that; at least he wouldn’t be closed in by the urban prison of Londinium. He found me and returned me to the land of my birth; that was all he had wanted. Would he now slip away, leaving me here alone?
My knees gone, I folded to the ground.
What would I do if he never made it here? I pushed the thought away. Devyn would make it. Whatever had been on that blade would not be enough to steal him from this world.
Bronwyn spoke to me but the words were just a faint buzz, my entire body focused on the riders galloping along the road through the great trees of the forest, their horses’ hooves a steady patter over the rustle of the wind in the leaves that carried me along.
They followed the road through the forest, their way littered with the debris of the summer long gone, bare saplings standing solitary under great gnarled trunks. Open fields and craggy cliffs. A babbling brook that rippled along beside the road.
Until finally they met a group of horses carrying men. One of the horses pulled a small cart, alongside which a large man rode. The horse was tired, relieved of its burden as the two groups met, and the man was lifted from the cart.
A wind curled across the bare grass, whistling through the manes of the tired horses. The robed man was tending to the one prone on the ground, whose head rested in the lap of the large, dark-haired man.
His heart was beating but slowly, so slowly. The golden liquid poured into his mouth ran over the cracked lips and slid down his pale cheek. A sliver of gold slid through the body, carrying energy in it, carrying life, pushing back the dimness that closed in on the heart, which now began to beat a little stronger, to beat a little stronger for me.
His eyes opened. For me, for me.
I smiled, and through the bond I felt the slightest stir. It was enough; he would come back to me. Gladness warmed me.
The ground underneath me felt cold, seeping up into my bones, but I felt warm, safe, wrapped in a heavy wool cloak. It scratched at my neck while my head rested against the stone wall at my back.
I drew in a breath of the cold winter air.
“Cassandra.” It was Marcus’s voice. “Come inside. Help me persuade this stubborn old man to let me help him.”
I nodded reluctantly; here was something I could do while we waited.
Night came and went with no sign of them. I breathed out and watched the white vapour extend across the cold air in front of me from the warmth of my bed. I searched for Devyn; I still couldn’t feel him, but he was more present somehow. Had they travelled through the night or had they rested to give him time to regain his strength before attempting the last stretch?
I had no way of telling. I wasn’t sure how I had followed the druid and Bronwyn’s man out to Devyn yesterday, but nothing I was doing to push my consciousness out was having any more effect beyond the wool blankets than the vapour of my breath on the cold air.
I untangled myself from Marcus and, bracing myself, left the warmth and exposed my bare feet to the floor, relieved to find I was still wearing the Celtic tunic and pants I had donned the morning before. At least Marcus’s behaviour as my soon-to-be husband had some boundaries. My last memory of the evening had been watching over Rhodri after Marcus treated him. Without having multiple patients to treat, Marcus was able to concentrate his efforts. He assured me Rhodri would make a full recovery once he shook off the impact of his intervention. He then spoke at length about the differences he had felt in Rhodri, fascinated to explore the effects of the medicine that made the illness chronic rather than terminal. Marcus’s presence ensured that Bronwyn spent the day elsewhere. Their initial encounter not withstanding, she and Marcus weren’t on the friendliest of terms.
My stomach growled. Loudly. It was protesting at the two meals I had missed while tending to Rhodri. I pulled on my soft leather boots and crossed the leather strings around them, winding the thongs up my calf and knotting them closed at the top. I pulled on my outdoor cloak to make my way downstairs.
The
