Page 9 of Heart’s Rescue

Rowan

We’ll Be Ready

Something’s wrong.

I stumble through the murky tangle of dead trees, pushing at fog that seems to be rising up from the ground to tangle my legs. Somewhere, someone’s in pain. Someone—

“Phaedron,” I gasp.

I jolt upright, my eyes still burning from my dream. My legs are tangled in the blanket I dragged off my bed last night so I could sleep on the floor, next to Phaedron and the fire, and my head’s still fuzzy from the cheap booze. Phaedron moans behind me, his cry so loud it’s almost a scream. I kick free of the blanket.

The fire’s died down, and the glowsoft orbs are still out. Cold has started to creep through the windows and the walls, pooling in the corners of our little house. I grumble, wishing for what must be the billionth time that I had nice, useful magic, the kind of magic that would kindle a fire or light a lamp, instead of my voids-cursed black tentacle magic that exploded Kara’s barn yesterday. Phaedron makes that horrible noise again, that moan-scream, and then he thrashes so violently that, for a heartbeat, it looks like he’s going to fall out of his bed.

“Hey, hey,” I say, as I sit on his bed and grab his hand. “Phaedron. Buddy.”

He makes a gurgling sort of sound in the back of his throat. His fingers tighten around mine.

“Rowan,” he gasps.

“You okay?” I ask, only to realize what a stupid question that is.

Phaedron strains against the mountain of pillows Charay built for him. “Voids,” he spits through gritted teeth. “It hurts, Rowan. My arm’s not even here, and it hurts.”

Damn. The painkiller Charay gave him last night must have worn off. I glance around the cabin until my eyes settle on the half-empty bottle of rotgut booze I’d been nursing until I passed out. Phaedron’s not much of a drinker, but hey, it would be better than nothing, right? Unless—

“Did Charay leave anything?” I ask.

Phaedron nods. “Counter,” he says.

He kicks his leg away from me like he’s thinking of going and getting it himself, the big idiot. The heavy silver crown that I’d forgotten I’d put on the bed falls to the floor with a hollow thunk. Phaedron screams.

“Hey, I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” I say.

Dark or not, I can see just fine; another perk of my horrific magic. The neat little flask from Charay is indeed on the counter. I bring it to Phaedron and tilt what’s left through his lips, and then I get busy relighting the fire. By the time it’s kicked up enough to let out some heat, Phaedron’s gone silent and still. I turn around, half expecting him to be asleep, but he’s watching me. Or, rather, he’s watching the floor, where my blanket is tangled up with a mostly-empty bottle of cheap booze and that garbage crown.

“Better?” I ask.

He looks at me with glossy, painkiller eyes. “You could put the bottle back in the pantry, you know. You’re gonna trip over it.”

“Heh. Nice, Phae. You could be on your deathbed and you’d still yell at me to pick up my socks, wouldn’t you?”

“Voids curse it, did you leave your socks on the floor again?” he says, but his voice is tired.

“Of course not,” I answer.

He doesn’t reply. I bend over and pick up the bottle in one hand, the crown in the other. Then I raise an eyebrow at Phaedron.

“Just… put ‘em in the pantry,” he says.

He sighs and turns away. I put the bottle and the crown in the pantry, pick up my blanket, and discreetly kick my wet socks into the corner with my boots. When I turn back to Phaedron, his eyes are closed.

“All cleaned up,” I say, and I do believe it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever strung those three words together.

Phaedron snorts something that’s probably appreciation.

“Hey, you know me,” I continue. “Always willing to lend a hand.”

I emphasize the word hand just in case Phaedron doesn’t get the pun. Phaedron raises his right hand slowly and puts it over his eyes.