Eryken guided the wagon into the stable yard, where a broad-shouldered man with gray streaked through his beard emerged to meet them.
Lucan jumped down from the wagon, exchanging a series of hand signals with the innkeeper that Nero recognized as old rebellion code. Satisfied, the man nodded and gestured toward a side entrance.
"You're expected," the man said in a low voice, his eyes scanning the road behind them. "Messengers arrived a bell ago. Come quickly."
"Through here. We've prepared the back room."
Getting Nero from the wagon to the inn proved an excruciating ordeal. Though Casteel and Makim supported most of his weight, each step sent fresh waves of agony through his chest. By the time they reached the small, well-appointed room at the rear of the building, Nero's face was slick with sweat, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"On the bed," Makim directed, already unpacking his supplies. "I need to see those wounds now."
The innkeeper's wife appeared with steaming water, clean linens, and a bottle of strong spirits. Her weathered face showed no surprise at their condition—clearly, she had harbored wounded rebels before.
"Silver Guard patrols passed through at midday," she informed Eryken as she worked. "Asking questions about travelers heading north. Said they were looking for dangerous fugitives."
"Did they say they'd return?" Eryken asked, positioning himself near the window where he could observe the road.
"Didn't need to," she replied grimly. "Left two men at the crossroads, half a mile south. They're watching everyone who passes. I'm assuming you passed through them."
Through their bond, Nero felt Casteel's spike of fear, quickly suppressed as the younger man focused on helping Makim remove the blood-soaked bandages. The wounds beneath were angry and inflamed, and Makim swore.
"The bleeding's slowed, but I don't like the inflammation," Makim said, probing gently around the chest wound. "But the journey reopened what had started to heal, and the extra blood loss means he hasn't the strength to fight it. We need at least a day of proper rest before attempting to move again."
"We don't have a day," Eryken said flatly, turning from the window.
Casteel was ready to scream. Nobody was listening to Makim, least of all Nero.
I'll try not to let you die.
Casteel had been incensed. Did this stubborn man still feel his value was in keeping Casteel alive, and worse, that it was what Casteel was worried over? If he hadn't been injured, Casteel would have thumped him.
"If the Silver Guard is already patrolling this far north, they'll have checkpoints at every major crossing by morning." Eryken continued. "We need to be well past the Blackwater Bridge before dawn."
Casteel forced his terrified gaze away from Nero, who had closed his eyes. Their bond was weak, too weak, and Casteel was unable to hide his panic.
"How far to Morven's estate from here?" Makim asked.
"Two days of hard travel," Lucan answered when Eryken hesitated. "Assuming we avoid the main roads and can find boats to cross the river."
Two more days. Casteel watched as Makim shook his head. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. "He can't," Casteel whispered. "We have to stay at least two more days."
"We'll rest until midnight," Eryken decided. "If we wait any longer, we put the family here at risk, and I'm not willing to do that." His tone made it clear this was a compromise. "Then we’ll push on through the night while the patrols are thinnest."
Casteel felt the words like physical blows. Midnight was only a few bells away—nowhere near enough time for Nero to recover from the day's ordeal. Through their bond, he sensed his mate's struggle. Nero's body was failing despite his iron will. He was dying despite everything. He couldn’t survive any more travel.
"Eryken," Makim started, glancing at Casteel, and by the apology in his gaze, Casteel knew what he was going to say. He was going to point out to Eryken Casteel would die if Nero did.
He desperately wanted any excuse to have Eryken save Nero's life, but Nero would never recover from the guilt if innocents died because of him. "No," Casteel said softly, knowing Makim would understand. Hell, he didn't even know if Eryken knew about the risk to his own life if something happened to Nero.
Makim sighed in understanding. Eryken noticed the odd exchange and narrowed his eyes.
"There must be another way," Casteel insisted, his voice low but firm. His hand hadn't left Nero's since they'd entered the room, as if maintaining physical contact could somehow transfer more of his strength across their connection.
The innkeeper's wife, who had been quietly assisting Makim, cleared her throat. "There is a healer in the village. Not trained like your man here, but she knows the old ways. Mountain magic, some call it."
Makim looked up sharply. "What kind of magic?"
"The kind the temples tried to stamp out," she replied, her voice dropping further. "Blood magic, but not the dark sort. Healing magic. Life shared willingly."
