Page 21 of Feral Guardian
The scent of smoke brings me back to the present. There’s a dim light that Kor’Tar is moving toward. It’s a stout building nestled inthe trees and I don’t know what it is other than our only chance of salvation.
I pull Lily off the horse with me. She’s stiff and cold, but her purple lips quiver and I know she’s still alive. She drained herself, too, spending the last of her magic on protecting herself.
I cradle her to my chest as I stagger toward the door. I fall against the frame and kick the toe of my boot on the wood to knock. I hear voices on the other side whispering.
Kor’Tar walks to a mulch-covered stable and begins helping himself to some hay despite the protests of the other horses. I rap my clenched fist on the door next, trying not to lose my hold on Lily.
I sink against the frame, my legs trembling. “Please, help.”
The voices on the other side turn more urgent, fighting.
I can’t wait for them to find their consciences. I take a step back, then ram my full weight into a heavy kick next to the door handle. The wood of the frame splinters and the door bangs open. An older woman lit by the orange fire screams, and a younger man, perhaps her son, brandishes a butcher’s knife.
“Help,” I growl, staggering toward the fire.
I fall to my knees and set Lily near the blaze.
“Get out!” the younger man yells in Seterian. “I’m not afraid to hurt you!”
“Johan, shut up! Can’t you see he means us no harm. Look at her!” the older woman shouts at him.
“He broke into our home and look at him! He’s not Seterian! He’s speaking Fynish,” Johan argues back, but I’m hardly listening.
I keep the knife in my periphery as I lean into the fireplace and dip my fingers in the ash. I’m so low on magic I’m not sure I can make the warming ward work, but I have to try. I draw the first symbol on Lily’s forehead—Inasoli, Gaien’s warmth from the deep. It willcocoon her in heat and increase her natural healing. I put two more of these on her chin and throat in a direct line.
Three might not be enough.
The swell of her breath pulls the threadbare shirt of the pirate tight across her chest. I loosen the ties at the top and place anotherInasolion her sternum, and then place my hands over the marks.
The flicker of my demon’s magic is weak, but there. I pull him closer to the surface and infuse the runes with his strength. The ash turns from black smudges to red embers on her skin, and I feel the shield of heat envelop her.
“It’s the princess,” I hear the woman murmur over my shoulder.
I’m worn thin but know my work is not done. I turn and stand, blocking Lily from view. The fireplace warms my back and I cast a massive shadow over the little room. There’s a kitchen and dining table to the left, close to the door that’s still swinging on damaged hinges. There’s a room in the back where I see two sets of little eyes, watching me.
A mother, adult son, and his children, perhaps.
My stomach turns. I do not kill children, whether they threaten my princess or not. The one thing my master could not break me of. Innocence cannot be harmed, no matter the cost. I’d find another way to keep Lily safe.
Johan takes a step forward, pushing his mother back as he holds the knife out in warning. At that angle, with his arm extended, I could take the knife and break his elbow in one swift strike. He’s not a fighter. Just trying to protect his family.
“We were attacked,” I say in Seterian. “Pirates.”
I can understand the language far better than I speak it, but the woman hears me.
The mother clucks her tongue and smacks her son on the back of the head. “See, not a threat. He’s just trying to protect her.”
“Al—st—r,” Lily mumbles behind me.
I glance down to see her eyes still shut. Dreaming, then. I wish I had the magic left to chase away her nightmares, but I’m barely standing.
Trask is still somewhere out there. The dog likely ran back to Yelesna. When he saw the fight wasn’t going his way, he left his men to die to cover his escape. But I don’t think he’ll be close. I don’t think he could’ve followed us here. If I can’t rest, I can’t protect her, and as hostile as Johan has been, his mother seems reasonable.
I turn to the older woman. “I’m Alastair. We need sleep. I can pay.”
She nods and simplifies her language for me. “Maria. You can stay. Hungry?”
“Yes. Cold and wet,” I say, my body aching and trembling at the admission.
