Page 134 of Into the Heartless Wood
IAM CONTENT TO DIE DOWN HERE. IWANT TO. IWELCOME IT. My body grows stiff on the hard floor. A chill seeps into my bones. I let my mind drift away. I think of the wind through the trees, of Awela cuddling close under my chin. I think of violets and fireflies. Of stars and cinnamon tea. It hurts to breathe, to move, to think of anything beyond these brief images.
But there’s a scrape of boots on stone. A jingle of keys. The cell door swinging smoothly open.
Someone kneels beside me. Puts an arm under my head.
“Merrick, I need you to sit up.”
“Go away.” The words rasp out of me.
“Merrick.” Arms pull me upright, prop me against the cell wall.
I open my eyes. Drystan is here, torchlight glancing off the brass buttons on his coat. To my shock, Rheinallt is with him. I stare at my pale-haired friend.
“His Majesty didn’t leave any instructions against a physician,” explains Drystan.
“Didn’t order one either,” Rheinallt adds dryly. “But here I am all the same. Where are you hurt?”
“My leg,” I breathe. “And I think a broken rib.”
Rheinallt frowns at the bloody hole in the front of my shirt. “What happened there?”
I start to shake my head and think better of it. “Too hard to explain.”
“Be quick,” says Drystan. “I’ll come to let you out when you’re done.” He retreats into the corridor, locking the cell behind him. I wonder how many times tonight he’s directly or indirectly disobeyed orders.
Rheinallt pulls a flask from the physician’s bag he brought with him, and presses it into my hands. “Drink up. This won’t feel great.”
He digs the glass out of my leg, piece by piece. Every shard is another small agony. But one drink from the flask is enough for me—it burns all the way down into my gut and makes me cough.
Rheinallt spreads salve on the cuts when he’s finished, and wraps a clean bandage around my leg. He presses gently on my rib cage, and I swallow a scream when his fingers find the broken bones.
“Not much I can do for the rib, I’m afraid, besides bandage it. Sorry, Merrick.”
He does that, too, and the bandage at least makes me feel less like I’m going to fall apart at any moment.
He crouches back on his heels. “What happened?”
I can’t tell him about the king. No one else needs to die because of what my father saw in the stars. “My father’s dead. I … confronted the king.”
Rheinallt lets out a colorful oath, clearly impressed. “Bold, Merrick.”
Drystan appears at the cell door, and unlocks it. “Time to go.”
Rheinallt gives me an apologetic look, and steps out into the corridor. For a moment, neither man moves.
“Rumor has it the army is marching soon,” Rheinallt tells me. “The king means to face the Gwydden. Defeat her, once and for all.”
I shudder at the memory of stars and glass raining down on Elynion.
“Baines thinks we’ll march to our deaths. No one can stand against the wood. Against the sirens.”
I see a flash of yellow eyes. Of bodies snapped in two with silver hands.
“The king wouldn’t march without a plan,” I say. “He wouldn’t march unless he thought he could win.”
Stars and souls. My fingers go to my chest, where the king healed a mortal wound with a simple touch.
“I hope you’re right, Merrick,” says Rheinallt. “And I hope you’ll get out of there in time to march with us.”
