Silver Secrets

Chapter 18: Mel

Days pass. It's no longer a case of helping Rowan get better, but of making him as comfortable as possible as the red tendrils claw down his legs and wrap around his throat, all while his cut grows ever blacker. As I help him through the cold sweats and screaming nightmares, his words—the last he's said to me—haunt me like a monster perching on my shoulder.

He killed his family—but Captain Holanan forced him. Holanan, who gave me a silver dagger so I could protect myself if Rowan turned on me. He knew this was what the silver would do to Rowan. I could have been responsible for this. And yet, a solid silver dagger would never come cheap. He must have thought I'd need it.

But though Rowan was sometimes sarcastic and maybe a little gruff, he's also been kinder and more considerate than I would ever have thought a guard sent out into the wilderness with a stranger would be. I have never felt threatened by him. He saved my life at least twice, and I would never have made it all the way to this forest without him.

He lied to me, though, back at the statue. I'm sure it has something to do with whatever Holanan ordered him to do. Did he kill his own grandfather, who brought him to Moon Bay?

Nothing makes sense.

I don't know who to trust, but I guess it won't matter for much longer. Rowan may have saved my life, but I can't save his. I know that as soon as he...as soon as I'm alone, the bandits will finish me off. Maybe that would be better than being stuck out here alone, though if it's money they want, they'll probably be disappointed. The dagger and a small purse of coins are the only things of value I have—I doubt they'll get much for a crude wooden necklace—and honestly, they're welcome to it. The dagger, at least. Then I won't have to make the decision to get rid of it forever.

I spend most of the fifth day of Rowan's sickness with my head in my hands and my back against the damp cave wall. I can't even be bothered to try keeping dry. Rowan's been almost silent today, his breathing shallow and the red lines creeping along his jaw. The loudest sound in the cave is the occasional groan of my stomach. I've been trying to ration our provisions, eating only enough to stop me feeling ill. Leaving Rowan to hunt is out of the question, even though there isn't a lot I can do for him other than murmuring soothing, empty words that he probably doesn't understand anyway, while I rub the pad of my thumb reassuringly over the tendons on the back of his hand.

Sometime in the late afternoon, a shadow falls across the entrance to the cave. I look up, blinking in the light. Two shadows. The bandits? I should be scared, but I'm not. I can hear Mistil and Ember whinnying and stamping their feet, and I hope they at least don't hurt them. They've been good horses.

For a moment the figures just stand there, peering into the cave. I don't have a fire lit—maybe they can't see me. I can't make out their faces in the glare of the sun, though they both seem to be men. Human men. That's strange, as the only human male I remember being with the bandits was the ginger archer. Then again, everything happened so fast. Maybe I missed these two.

"Hello?" one of them calls. His voice is cautious, but that's it. He doesn't sound like he's about to whip out a sword and hack us both to pieces. He takes a step inside the cave. "Rowan? You there?"

Hearing Rowan's name makes me go as rigid as the stone wall behind me, and the wolf statue, the Guardian, looms into my thoughts unbidden.

Werewolves.

My heart leaps into my throat and I freeze. My instincts tell me to back away into the shadows, away from these strange men—these werewolves—but my head tells me that would be stupid. They're going to find Rowan, and there are two horses outside; it only makes sense that there would be two riders.