Page 71 of Ravenrose

He hasn’t issued me any orders, but I know I’m meant to follow. I scramble after him, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides.

He doesn’t say a word.

Not to me.

Not to anyone.

My stomach twists and I feel a slight burst of nausea as I work to keep up with him.

We stop next to a wooden tethering post near the center of town but still within sight of the cottage. I freeze when I see him pull out a familiar bundle of rope from his satchel.

The silence between us is palpable, and I don’t move when he grabs hold of my wrists, winding the rope tightly around them. Tighter than necessary. I suck in a breath as the rough rope digs into the raw skin of my wrists, but other than that, I don’t make a sound.

I can feel his fury, the way it writhes just beneath the surface; his silence is utterly deadly, and I have good enough sense to keep my mouth shut.

Anxiously, I search his face, looking for a sign of the price I’m about to pay for causing that fury, but he avoids my eyes. As soon as I’m secured, he steps away, checking the knot one last time before leaving me there. As he stalks back toward the cottage, even the shadows cast by the setting sun seem to gravitate toward him.

I watch him disappear into the cottage before I sink to the ground, my legs shaking from today’s exertion. I’m not alone—Ayer’s men still mill about the square, collecting supplies for the road and food they’ve found in the houses. It’s nearly impossible to fight the overwhelming urge to sleep. My body aches and my head swims as dizziness takes over, exhaustion taking hold and dragging me down.

My eyes flutter shut. Just for a moment. Then I force them back open. I can’t sleep. Not now. Not here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Wyatt returning and sit up a little straighter. I focus on him to keep the seductive draw of sleep at bay. He’s carrying a basket—a basket I hope is full of the ingredients I instructed he gather to brew the tonic.

A few moments later, Ayer steps outside with Kent. I watch the latter scan the street, and when his eyes catch sight of me, something in his face snaps. Even in the dying light of day, I can see the rage burning there.

He storms toward me, coming fast. When he’s within striking distance, he lifts his foot. My hands come up to protect my face, while my knees curl up. But Ayer catches up to him before his kick lands, hauling the sputtering medic back on one foot.

I lower my hands slowly, but I don’t rise, not certain I even can.

“Kent,” Ayer warns, his voice sounding tight—strained—for the first time since I’ve met him.

But Kent is near boiling now; his anger rebounds because he’s unable to take it out on me physically. “She’s a liar!” He shoots a finger in my face, and my eyes narrow.

I let my expression shift into something akin to boredom, pretending his words don’t bother me.

“Look at her! She’s enjoying this!” he spits, coming at me again while Ayer holds him back. “It’s just a game to her,” he curses, “giving that poor woman false hope!”

Kent wheels around to face Ayer. “There is no doubt that the baby is in the last stages of red fever. We all know there is no cure. And for a child that small—” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “She never had a chance. She’ll never survive it. Least of all with some stones-cursed tonic made of milk and honey.” His eyes slide back to me, sharp and full of accusation.

“Of course not,” I agree, smiling sweetly. “You can’t forget the cinnamon.”

Kent lunges at me. “Why you—filthy faerie trash,” he lashes out.

But Ayer intervenes, and this time I catch his eye; he gives me a look sharp enough to snap my jaw shut.

“That baby will die. Tonight, most likely.” Kent shakes his head in either frustration or despair. His hair is mussed from repeatedly running his hands through it. “All this wretched creature did was add to that poor mother’s torture.” He turns his attention back on me. “How could you do something so cruel?”

I lean my head back against the pole, grateful for the support as my head spins, and the world and both men tilt along with it. I cock my head slightly to the side, offering Kent a slow, sly smile. “Who, me?” I murmur. “Never.” The last word comes out in a whisper.

Oh, I’ve gone and done it now.

Kent loses whatever control he had left, surging forward, but this time Ayer steps fully between us, physically blocking him from reaching me. He beckons two of the soldiers watching the exchange from across the road to assist him.

“C’mon, Kent, she’s not worth it,” one of them tries convincing the medic as they attempt to muscle him away.

I slump further down on the pole; another overwhelming wave of vertigo overtakes me, but I pass it off as disinterest, watching them go.

Then it’s just me and Ayer.