Rafe reached out and felt my forehead. “You’re running a fever again.”
“It’s only the fire and warm soup,” I said.
“Whatever it is, you need to rest.”
I didn’t argue. I thanked Orrin for the supper, and Rafe helped me over to my bedroll. The last few steps drained me, and I was barely able to keep my eyes open as Rafe helped me get settled. It was the most conversation and activity that I’d had in days.
He leaned over me, wiping strands of damp hair from my face, and kissed my forehead. He started to stand, but I stopped him, wondering what else he had seen.
“You’re sure you saw him dead?”
He nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry. You killed him, Lia. Rest now.”
“What about the others, Rafe? Do you think they survived? Governor Faiwell, Griz, Kaden?
His jaw clenched at the mention of Kaden’s name. He was slow to answer. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t think they made it. You saw the soldiers swarming in as we left. Kaden and the others had nowhere to flee. There was Malich too. The last time I saw Kaden, he was engaged in combat with him. If Malich made it down to the river, you can guess what happened to Kaden.”
The ache of what he didn’t say swelled in me—Kaden was no longer an obstacle for Malich.
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“He got what he deserved,” Rafe said quietly.
“But he helped us fight so we could escape.”
“No. He was fighting to save your life, and for that I’m grateful, but he wasn’t trying to help you escape. He had no idea we even had a way to escape.”
I knew he was right. For their own reasons, both Kaden and Griz wanted to keep me in Venda. Helping me leave wasn’t their motive for raising swords against their brethren.
“He was one of them, Lia. He died the way he lived.”
I closed my eyes, exhaustion already making my lids too heavy to keep open. My lips burned with heat, and my mumbled words stung on them. “That’s the irony. He wasn’t one of them. He was Morrighese. Noble born. He only turned to Venda because his own kind had betrayed him. Just like I did.”
“What did you say?”
Just like I did.
I heard Rafe walk away and then there was more whispering, but this time I couldn’t discern what they were saying. Their muffled words wove with the darkness into a silky black fog.
* * *
I startled awake and looked around, trying to remember what had roused me. A dream? But I could recall nothing. Rafe slept next to me, his arm protectively around my waist as if someone might whisk me away. Jeb sat back against a large rock, his drawn sword at his side. It was his watch, but his eyes were closed. If we had a two-week lead, why did they feel the need for a watch? Of course there were wild animals to consider that might like this nice roomy cave to take refuge in. Orrin had mentioned seeing panther tracks.
Jeb must have just stoked the fire, because it blazed with heat, and yet a chill tiptoed over my shoulders. The flames flickered with a breeze, and the shadows grew darker.
Don’t tarry, Miz.
My head throbbed with the sound of Aster’s voice, and I wondered if it would forever haunt me. I rose up on one arm and sipped from a canteen. Rafe sensed my movement, and his arm pulled tighter, his body edging closer. I found comfort in his small tug. It felt as if he would never let anything come between us again.
Sven was snoring, and Orrin lay on his side with his mouth wide open, a thin line of drool trickling from the corner. Tavish was curled in a ball, his blanket pulled over his head, only a rope of his thick black hair peeking out from beneath it. All of them peaceful, getting the rest they very much deserved, their bodies healing from their wounds too.
I had started to ease back onto my bedroll when the chill hit me again, stronger this time. It pressed on my chest, making it harder to breathe. The shadows grew darker, and dread snaked through me like a viper waiting to strike. I waited. Knowing. Fearing. Something was—
Don’t tarry Miz, don’t tarry, or they will all die.
I sat upright, gasping for breath.
“Can’t sleep?” Jeb asked.