Silver Secrets

Chapter 17: Mel

As abruptly as it began, the deluge of water stops and I'm left lying face-down in the shallow stream. I roll onto my side, taking desperate gasps of air and spitting mud and water and silt. The weight has disappeared from my back, but I can feel my tunic sticking to me where River's boot pinned me down.

The elemental girl standing on my back was the same one Rowan threw off me back at the mill. It had to be. They really are following us. I scramble out of the water as if burned, climbing up the riverbank and rolling onto the grass.

I lie there on my back for a moment, panting up at the wispy white clouds. I don't know where they went, and I don't care. The clearing is empty, and that's good enough.

That's when I remember Rowan.

I jolt to my feet, too quickly. Black spots dance in front of my eyes and I grip the nearest tree for support. The bark cuts into my hands, but it doesn't matter. Where is Rowan?

I stumble further into the clearing. There's a few arrows littered around and the mud's been churned up by the centaur's hooves. Blood smears the ground. There's a trail of it leading towards a wide oak tree. I walk over to it as if in a dream, the long grass whispering against my calves. I saw Rowan claw the armoured woman. That must be it. This is her blood.

But the curses coming from behind the tree don't sound like a centaur or a woman.

The dreamlike trance shatters and suddenly the air is sharp with the metallic scent of blood. I rush around the tree, not caring about startling him. Rowan is slumped at the bottom, almost as if the roots are cradling him.

His hands are clamped over his shoulder, jerkin and bloodstained shirt pulled out of the way. Blood oozes through his fingers. On the ground next to him is an arrow, broken in half.

He looks up at the sound of my approach and a faint smile flickers across his lips, but it's gone just as quickly. "Mel," he says. His voice is surprisingly normal, though his face is clammy and pale with pain.

I try to say something, but I can't form any words. Instead I just kneel next to him and take his hand in mine. "How bad is it?" I finally manage.

Wordlessly, Rowan lets his hand fall into his lap, exposing the wound. The arrow hit him just above his collarbone, but it's not the cut that frightens me—it's the angry swelling around it, as if it's already infected. How is that even possible?

My eyes snap to the broken arrow. I pick up the head end. The metal of the arrowhead is chillingly similar to the blade of the dagger Captain Holanan gave me. My heart plummets as my fears are confirmed.

One small cut will be fatal, Holanan said.

Rowan shakes his head, his breathing laboured. "Silver arrows. Taken out by a fucking silver arrow."

I shush him, gripping his hand tighter. "You aren't going to die," I tell him as firmly as I can. I wonder if he can detect my lying like I did his. "I won't let you."

Rowan snorts. "You have psychic powers, not healing. Unless you're going to get into my head and convince my blood it's not been poisoned. Can you do that, Melanthe of Highhold?"

"Shut up," I snap. "I think I saw a cave at the bottom of the hill. We're going to get over there."

"I always hoped I'd die with a roof over my head. Can you help me up?"

I bite back a retort and help him stand, taking care not to touch his shoulder as I do. His skin is searing hot, but I don't know if it's because he just shifted or because of the silver.

He leans heavily on me as we stagger through the clearing like a pair of drunks, and though he grunts in pain occasionally, its mostly me doing the stumbling. The shock of almost drowning is catching up to me, and my sodden clothes and hair cling to me unpleasantly, but I don't slow down until we get to the little cave, even when we have to wade through the stream. I don't let Rowan slow down either, in case he falls and never gets up again. That thought alone is enough to keep me going.

Once inside the shallow cave, I do all I can to make Rowan comfortable. I lay out his bedroll and cushion his head with the black, gold-embroidered cloak he's worn since we left Moon Bay. I go down to the stream with a flask, even though being near the water sends stabs of fear through me. While the water is boiling, I find Ember and Mistil and tie them to a tree just outside the cave entrance, after removing their saddles and brushing their coats down with my hand like I've watched Rowan do countless times.

Even though I keep the cut as clean as I can, Rowan's temperature rockets overnight. By morning, his olive skin is shiny with sweat, his shirt soaked with it. I unbutton it and help him take it off, but I immediately wish I hadn't. Red tendrils snake from his shoulder and over his whole torso, and the wound itself is as black as a bruise. He doesn't react when I trace my finger over one of the tendrils, except to whimper softly. I fight back tears and lay a cool wet rag over his clammy brow, freeing his hair of its ponytail to give him more room to move his head.

In the evening, I eat some of the salted fish Rowan brought, but I don't even try giving any to him. I tried to get him to drink some water earlier, but he couldn't even keep that down. When darkness falls, I drag my bedroll close to his and hold his hand until morning. Despite the fever, the tips of his fingers are cold. He sleeps fitfully, as he's been doing all day. I can't sleep myself. Every time one of the horses outside moves, I picture that centaur with the battleaxe, waiting until I fall asleep so he can finish us both off.

I'm woken in the early morning by Rowan mumbling something. I sit up with my heart racing, but as soon as I look at him I know he's only delirious. His eyes are wide and glassy and his breathing is rapid, uneven, and comes hissing though bared teeth. He tries to sit up and I push him gently back down, careful of where my fingers are touching. The jagged red lines now reach his hips and up his neck, but if I let him move then the wound just reopens. He looks like he's been cracked open. I brush his damp hair away from eyes that aren't seeing anything, but my attempts to calm him down are useless. His hands tear at the blankets beneath him, his fingers hooked like claws. For an instant I'm terrified he's about to turn, but then he whispers a name that makes me freeze.

"Captain Holanan."

Rowan closes his eyes and starts to sob, and I have to lean in close to hear his next words.

"Don't make me," he pleads. "I don't want to kill anyone." He shakes his head viciously as tears trickle down his temples and into his dark hair.

"Don't want to kill who?" I whisper. I know Rowan couldn't have heard me, but his next words feel like a block of lead settling in my stomach.

"Please," he chokes out, "they're my family."