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He shuddered as it dissolved. But his eyes soon sharpened.
She pressed a kiss to his feverish forehead. “How close are we to a village?”
“We can’t . . . be seen.”
“Grayson, you need help.”
He didn’t object, and that alone made her fear escalate.
He grimaced and pushed up until he was sitting, his shoulder pressed against a narrow tree beside the path. “We have to be near Edgewood,” he said, sounding breathless and far too worn. But he spoke less tightly, and with more clarity. “We just have to keep following this path. Once we’re there, you can hide in the woods and I’ll find a physician if they have one, and food and horses.”
“You can barely stand. I can go—”
“No.”
“Grayson—”
“It’s too much of a risk.”
She didn’t argue, because she didn’t want him to exert all his strength on a useless disagreement. The burst of strength from the medicine wouldn’t last long; soon enough, he would be in no condition to protest.
She stood, ignoring the bruises on her knees, the soreness in her feet, back, and shoulders. She helped pull Grayson to his feet, and they resumed walking. He didn’t lean on her, at first. But within an hour, he was slumped against her, barely shuffling forward.
It was full dark now, though moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead. She heard the distant howls of wolves, and the fine hairs on her body lifted.Fates, no.
Then, through the trees, Mia spotted the yellow glow of lights in the distance. The village—Edgewood. A wave of relief hit her, and she gasped. “Grayson, we’re almost there.”
He let out a low groan, but she didn’t know if he’d actually heard her.
The howling of the wolves hadn’t grown any louder, so she dared to leave Grayson near a thick pine tree. She couldn’t keep carrying him, and she needed to make sure the village would be safe for them.
He was so lost to his fever, his eyes barely fluttered as she stroked his dark hair off his sweaty brow. “I’ll hurry,” she whispered. “Don’t move.”
He croaked her name, and the sound was so broken, it tore at her heart.
She left her pack with him, taking only a pouch of coins. She checked the knife sheathed at her hip, her fingers trembling from the cold and from fear.
With a last look at Grayson, she darted into the village. It was a small settlement on the edge of the woods, with only one unpaved street. Most of the windows were dark. There was an inn in the center of town, with a wooden sign that creaked as the breeze made it swing.
She tried the door, but it was locked.
She felt the unsettling touch of watching eyes, but when she looked over her shoulder, the street was still empty, and she couldn’t see anyone hovering in the nearby windows.
She forced her anxiety away and knocked on the door.
The sound was small. Timid, even to her own ears. Her already tight lungs tightened further. Panic was closing in.
She forced herself to breathe and knock again—harder this time.
Movement rose from inside the inn, and the front window lightened as footsteps approached. The lock disengaged and the door eased open, revealing a glimpse of a man.
He had dark hair, narrowed eyes, and a pinched face. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice low and gruff.
Mia’s breath hitched. “I . . . Is there a healer in town?”
The man eyed her. “You hurt?”
“No, but my companion is.”
