Page 52 of Fear the Flames
“I cut his back under his shoulder armor,” I add, knowing it could aid their search. I’m leaning heavily into Ryder, but he’s keeping me upright.
“I’m taking Elowen to my house, and I expect a report in less than an hour. Find out whatever you can about the woman and pray to the gods you have some information before Commander Veles gets here,” Ryder declares.
“There’s another body on the roof.” My voice is only loud enough for Ryder to hear; I can’t force anything louder than a mumble. My head lolls onto his shoulder.
“There’s another body on the roof!” Ryder shouts while throwing my uninjured arm around his shoulders and ushering me away from the mess.
The older man begins listing off names and giving out orders, but the only thing I can focus on is placing one foot in front of the other. We briefly stop in front of a tan horse before Ryder lifts me. “Hello, horsie,” I run a heavy hand through their mane while Ryder climbs up behind me. My eyes fall shut to stop myself from vomiting while he urges the horse through the streets, keeping a secure arm around my waist.
“How much of that shit got into you?” he asks.
“I pulled it out before half. Do you know what it is?” My anxiety manages to bring some feeling back into my body. Leave it to anxiety to rival a drug.
“It’s only a sedative.” He tightens his arm around me while making a sharp turn. “I can’t believe you took on three people while drugged. Remind me to buy you a drink when you wake up.”
“It was either fight or die, so my options were limited,” I mumble. “You’re a painter.”
“I dabble, I’m not very good,” he chuckles.
“So humble,” I muse. “I don’t feel good.” Riding induced nausea is becoming painful.
“We’re almost there,” he promises, yanking lightly on my braid before wrapping his arm around my waist again. “I’ll hold your hair back if I have to, Atarah.” The humorous moment between us is short-lived. My eyes open slightly as he slows the horse. His hands are tight on the reins. “Finnian left you on the street?” he asks, voice thick with anger.
“Yes.” I keep my answer short. This isn’t a conversation I want to have in general; add in drugs and nausea, and I’m absolutely perturbed. He stops the horse, slides off, and reaches up to help me down. I don’t have time to take in my surroundings while he quickly ushers me inside.
ChapterTwenty-Four
“Saskia!” Ryder shouts as the door falls shut behind us. “Saskia!” he shouts a second time. Footsteps pound against the floorboards, and a blurry outline of Saskia appears at the foot of a staircase.
“Ryder, you have five seconds to explain what the fuck is going on,” Saskia demands.
“She got attacked,” Ryder barks when we stop at the bottom of the staircase.
“I can deduce that for myself,” she bites back. “Weren’t you and Finnian guarding her tonight?”
“She’s bleeding and drugged, and Cayden has already been alerted.” I yelp when Ryder wraps his arms around my waist and carries me up the staircase. My hands slap against his back, but they’re more like light pats than smacks.
“I’ll be fine. I just need coffee or an ice bath. Preferably both,” I mumble. Ryder sets me down in the middle of a bedroom, and the back of my thighs brush against a bed. I spring forward and force myself to keep moving. If I sit down, then I’ll fall asleep. I must fight this; I can’t not be in control of my body. My hands scrub my face while I pace the floor; my senses woke up before the fight and I can wake them up again.
“Elowen,” Saskia appears in front of me with a comforting smile and black knit sweater in hand, “I’m going to help you out of your armor, and then I’ll get a washcloth for your hands.”
“That’s okay.” I do my best to feign that I’m unaffected; maybe then my brain will start to believe it. “I can manage.” Saskia ignores me, already helping me out of my boots. “I have to write a letter,” I gasp while Saskia undoes the laces on my leather corset.
“Don’t worry about that. He’ll be here soon.” She continues to speak to me in the same soft, comforting tone.
Saskia slips from the room after the complicated parts of my armor are off. I muster some words of thankfulness while shimmying out of the rest and throwing the sweater over my head, using the sting in my arm to urge my senses to wake up. The sweater stops at my mid-thighs and stretches past my hands. Saskia reenters the room with a warm washcloth in hand. I thank her again while scrubbing my hands and face, continuing to pace back and forth.
“Why don’t you lie down?” Saskia gently offers.
I shake my head vigorously, “I can’t.”
“I don’t want you to hit your head.”
“I can’t fall asleep. Not like this.” Anxiety makes my throat feel tight, despite everything else about me feeling loose.
“You’ll be okay,” she promises.
“No, no, no,” emotion mingles with the anxiety already tightening my throat, “I can’t give up control.” My breathing turns sharp. I need to calm down. The lack of oxygen is only adding to my spotty vision. My legs wobble, but Saskia shoots her hands forward to steady me. I find my pacing pattern again. “I just need coffee. I can wake up. I’m fine.”
