Romeria
“Careful, or you will undo all my hard work tonight,” Gesine scolds as she helps Zorya out of the wagon. “Rest now, and I will finish in the morning, as soon as I have more strength.”
“Aye, witch.” Her one good eye meets the caster’s before she hobbles away. The camp is quiet tonight, with only a few warriors awake and on watch. The windows within the farmhouse are dark, curtains drawn, its residents keeping their distance.
I wriggle down, testing my leg before I put full weight on it. Gesine cauterized the gash during the ride back to camp, but didn’t fully knit the muscle together, the last dredges of her power needed elsewhere. “Will she be okay?”
“I believe the worst is over.” Gesine watches the warrior cross the campground toward a tent. She’s hunched over, favoring the side where the arrow hit, her vest hanging open to reveal a taut female torso, no concern for modesty.
Gesine isn’t in much better shape, leaning on the wagon for support, her once-pristine white caster garb streaked in everyone else’s blood.
“You saved her life tonight. She knows that. Eventually, she’s going to trust you completely. They all will.”
“Trust is easy enough to lose even after it is gained. I will continue to help them in every way I can, regardless.” Her drawn and red eyes survey me. “Can you manage until tomorrow for your other injuries?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I smooth my fingers over the back of my skull. She also sealed that wound, leaving nothing but a headache. That, along with the throbbing in my shoulder from the collision with that male, can wait. “Get some sleep.” I’m dying to tell her what happened, to ask her questions, but there will be plenty of time over the coming days as we head north to the mountains.
“I will stay in the wagon with Ianca tonight, to ensure she remains comfortable.” She peers into the darkness where the seer rests on skins. The old woman hasn’t stirred once, not even during the attack. I don’t know if that’s from what Gesine did to her or her affliction. Maybe both. At one point, I almost suggested checking to make sure she was still breathing.
“How old is she?”
“We celebrated her forty-fifth year halfway to Westport. The change began two days after. That is no small feat, for a caster to avoid it for that long.” Gesine’s smile is sad. “I suspect her age is also why she declines so rapidly.”
This change from caster to seer usually happens between their third and fourth decade, Wendeline once told me. I hesitate. “And how old are you?”
“I’ve passed my thirty-sixth year.”
Thirty-six. Which means Gesine could technically go through this same change any day now. It could happen before she’s been able to train me. What must this be like for her, to watch her friend fade, knowing she may be following her soon?
“My lady? I mean, Highness! … Romy!” Pan’s desperate shouts pull my attention to the horses.
“I will make it swift,” Abarrane promises, drawing her sword. It seems she’s learned his secret already.
“For crying out loud.” I charge forward as fast as my injured leg will carry me, searching for Zander. Since setting me in the wagon, I haven’t seen or heard from him. Now, I find him by the barn with Jarek, the two of them alone and facing off in conversation.
I can guess the topic, but it will have to wait.
“Zander!” I holler. “Some help, please?”
Pan scurries over to hide behind me as Abarrane stalks forward, her bloodied blade glinting in the torchlight.
“She cannot help you. This is the king’s decision, and he has declared it.”
“Put it away.” Zander marches in, Elisaf closing in quickly behind him. “He has earned his place here. We are going to mark him instead.”
“Mark him? With that useless symbol?” Her expression sours. “You cannot be serious—”
“I am.” He glares at her. “Go and clean up. You look like you bathed in blood tonight.”
“I did. And I enjoyed it immensely.” With one last scowl at Pan, she stalks off, her back rigid with anger.
Zander rubs the back of his neck. “Pan, why don’t you go find the other mortals. They’re likely asleep in the barn. Tomorrow, you will be given your daily tasks.”
Pan looks to me, waiting expectantly.
I smile. “Go on. They’re really nice. Especially Eden. You’ll like her.”
He trots off, eying the direction Abarrane left as if she might charge out again, blade swinging.