Page 60 of This Midsummer Heart
The words die in my throat as the magic spools around Titaine, extinguishing her light. I can’t breathe—I dare not. Darkness coils around her, untouched by the golden beam of light stretched across the stable floor, until she is fully cocooned by it, and I with her.
I wait, still not breathing. Spots dot my vision as I try to seek her through this perfect blackness of night.
A soft, warm light breaks through the darkness, barely more than the flame of a guttering candle. I’ll take it. I will take this chance to save my bride.
Thank you,I tell the Blade of Hedril as night recedes, spinning back into the blade at a dizzying speed. I totter on my heels as I take my first real breath in what might’ve been minutes. Titaine’s eyes shift rapidly behind her lids, her breathing ragged as the flow of blood from her wounds slows to a trickle.
A loud clatter and snap has me shielding Titaine with my body, until a shadow falls over me, blocking the light of the slowly setting sun. Giselda dances before me, nostrils flaring, tossing her white-blonde mane.
Just as I am struggling with how to get Titaine into the saddle without aggravating her wounds, the female ranger returns. “We lost her,” she says, breathless, “but we put out the alert. There could be more bandits—what are you doing?”
“I need to get her across the land bridge,” I reply, lifting Titaine into my arms once again.
“She needs mending before you can do that!”
“We don’t have time. Unless the tides will hold off for us, this is my only chance. The fae in the south can heal her. I know they can.” This last part I say to myself, still trying to convince myself it’s true.
It’s the only hope I have. Titaine is still unconscious, still wan and almost lightless. She’s lost too much blood. With her magic still recovering from the curse, I’m not sure how effective it will be.
I have to get her to the southern wolding—to the fae in Nadie.
“Let me tend to her. I can do it quickly. You still have a few minutes before your slot to cross.” The ranger urges me to lower her back to the ground, then retrieves the abandoned first aid kit.
Every second she spends tending to Titaine feels like an eternity. I don’t know if I should be relieved or push the ranger away when a soft groan escapes Titaine’s lips.
“It’s not a neat stitching job,” the ranger says, “but these fae you’re going to see can fix it later. Now, how are you going to secure her in the saddle?”
“I can hold her in front of me.”
The ranger cocks a brow at me.
“What?” I demand, growing annoyed at this further waste of time.
“Are you that good a horseman that you don’t need reigns while crossing the Bridge of Miracles?”
Fine, not a waste. “You have a better idea?”
“You need to make a sling. Any fabric will work—a clean shirt, if you have one. I can cut it to make one. We’ll get help to lift her into the saddle after you.”
My mouth twists as if it wants to wear a half smile I can’t feel right now. It seems that long-sleeved shirt I brought from Lunevelle will come in handy after all.
It takes three rangers to lift and secure Titaine. The female ranger uses a tall stool for currying draft horses in order to tie Titaine securely to my torso.
She sags limply against the bonds, still unconscious. Her wings are pinned between us, little more than the faint kiss of a breeze as they rub against my bare arms.
The female ranger leads Giselda to the gate blocking the land bridge. The sea looks like the sky when it is about to storm, gray and brisk as it licks at the strip of land. In the distance, I see the last of a caravan, little more than a white dot.
I will have to pass that caravan before the land bridge narrows. I cannot waste time. I need to get to the fae at our next stop—even if it will be the dead of night in the last place anyone would wish to be after midnight.
Another ranger swings opens the gate, and then there is no way to go but ahead. The Bridge of Miracles stretches out before me, past the horizon where darkness has already taken hold. It isn’t half as wide as I’d hoped.
From this point on, the way only grows narrower and more treacherous.
A good king would offer some eloquent expression of gratitude to the rangers, or offer a boon for the help we’ve received here. My mind is too muddled, too fixed on the objective: Get Titaine to a place of magic and to the fae healers. “Thank you,” is all I manage, bowing my head. I cannot even press a palm to my heart in sincerity.
I take the reins, careful of Titaine even though in mere moments she’ll be jostled by Giselda’s movements.Hold on. Just a little longer.
Chapter twenty-eight
