Page 119 of Wicked Tides
I watched as she brushed the cloth over Dahlia’s arm, cleaning dry blood from her skin. I knew guilt when I saw it and she was rank with it.
“What happened out there?” I asked.
“What always happens. She put herself between me and something awful. And she nearly died for it. And now she’s proven she will do that for you.” Her gaze once more lifted to mine. “I’ve come to find it is a curse to watch her suffer in my stead and now you may find what that feels like.”
The idea of Dahlia risking her life for me was absurd, but I’d witnessed her kill two men who were a threat to me.
Or perhaps it was just another trick to chisel out a place for herself in my good graces.
“Why does she not wake? Her wounds have surely been worse,” I pointed out, ignoring the anger festering inside me at Meridan’s confession.
“We heal best when we sleep.”
“Would she not heal faster in the water, as she did at Port Devlin?”
“Not this water. It is not hers. It’s too cold.”
I gave it some thought and then sighed, “What about the spring? It’s warm.” Her head snapped up as if just remembering the spring existed. “We’ll take her on horseback.”
“Why? After what I’ve told you?”
I stepped forward, urging Meridan to move as I scooped Dahlia up in my arms. My shoulder cried out at the movement, but I ignored the inconvenience with a groan.
“Because I would hear it from her mouth when she wakes,” I said, walking out.
With Dahlia wrapped in a single blanket, I carried her toward the round pens. A young man was tending to the horses when I arrived, but upon seeing Dahlia in my arms, he understood what I needed and nodded. He was quick to toss a thick blanket saddle and a soft halter onto one of the mares and even helped hoist Dahlia’s barely conscious form onto her back.
“Get on,” I said to Meridan.
She drew back like I’d insulted her. “We do not ride.”
“I’ll walk the horse. All you need to do is sit, but Dahlia won’t stay upright on her own.”
She bit her lip, thinking. When she finally inched toward the mare, she snorted, stomping a hoof on the ground as if sensing Meridan’s unease. I stroked the mare’s forelock and made a few soft, hushing sounds until she calmed while the young man helped Meridan onto the horse’s back. She looked awkward and stiff, but once she was distracted with Dahlia’s wellbeing, she seemed to settle in. I shook the hand of the young man and walked the mare out of the pen and onto the path toward the spring.
I set a brisk pace with the mare in tow. Eventually, we reached the pool and Meridan slid off the horse like she’d been hanging on for dear life the entire ride. I pulled Dahlia down into my arms next and carried her toward the water. Meridan took the blanket off of her as I knelt to lay her down in the pool. I watched as her body sunk beneath the surface and though I knew what she was, seeing her fullysubmerged made me want to immediately pull her back up so she would not drown.
But I was supposed to be angry with her after what Meridan had said. Still… part of me was in denial. Perhaps it was all a lie to regrow tension between us, though I couldn’t fathom why Meridan would want to do that at the expense of their safety.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I will look after her here.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I groused.
“What will you do when she wakes?” she said quickly, a hint of regret in her tone.
“I have not decided,” I grimaced. “But pray she stays out of my head tonight.”
I moved toward the horse and swung myself on her back. I knew Meridan had no use for her in my absence, so I urged her into a trot back toward the village, eager to get some space. I returned her to the round pen and to her caretaker with a nod of thanks and strolled back to my cabin. On the way, I sent a few of my men to the coast to help patrol the water in case those witches were not the only ones skulking around. If we were going to be staying longer in the village, we might as well pull our weight.
Inside my cabin, the silence should have helped me clear my head, but instead, it fed the haze. Everything Meridan had told me struck a nerve. Maybe two. Or three. Things between Dahlia and I had become such a blur and it left trails of debris in my thoughts that rattled everywhere I went.
I slumped onto the pile of furs and thick blankets that were layered on the floor for me to sleep on and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Unable to rest my eyes, I reached for my leather folder of what now seemed like just a mess of knowledge and scribbles. I had only a couple of pieces of paper left.
I grabbed a fresh piece of charcoal, ground it to a nice tip, and began to pull threads from my memory to create one image that I was certain would haunt me to my grave. I sketched until my fingers were black and my eyes were heavy, letting my hands do the work.
~ 40 ~
Vidar
